Page 46 of His Pretty Little Duet

"Don't mistake me for that man," he says. "I'm not the family man you imagine me to be or the man the District paints. I didn't grow up in a family. I went to boarding school. I was only around them summers, the occasional weekend. So, like you, I had to make the place I set my head down ahome."

This doesn't surprise me at all. He seems... institutionalised, in a way. "Why not make this home?" I ask. "Why aren't therepictures on the walls? Why aren't there books left on couches and towels draped over sofas, comfortable seating outside?" I glance quickly at the wrought-iron table that now symbolises so much about this man; I hate it more than I did a week ago when I first saw it. "Why do you have this horrible wrought-iron table?"

"You have a problem with my table?"

"It's horrible."

He almost smiles. "I don't want to get comfortable."

That's crazy.My brows pinch as I ask, "Why not?"

He steps closer to me. Now, I can smell him—cigars and whiskey, earthy and sweet. "It's what I'm used to."

I laugh once. "Discomfort?"

"We operate best under a level of duress."

"If that's the case, then I've been operating at my best my entire life," I say with a cynical laugh.

His eyes soften on my face, and as his hand reaches up to stroke my jaw, I close the gap by leaning into him. His fingers are warm and dominant on the sides of my cheeks. His gaze, narrowing in contemplation, follows their movement. "You're so young. So very pretty." He sighs with an easy smile. "We are such different and yet such similar creatures, my little deer."

He finally gives me the gentleness I needed, and it somehow manages to douse the irritation. His caress forces weight into my eyelids. I flutter them shut, feeling his sincerity in his touch defy the contradictory ways he treats me. The balmy air sweeps around us, tussling the rogue strands of my hair. In this moment, everything inside me races. My heart. My lungs.

I swallow, content with my eyes closed, solely focused on the feel of him. There was never a moment in my life when I felt quite so seen, so special. I wish that wasn't the case. Wish I had more stories of great loves, warm cuddles with a parent... I have none. Not one single moment compares to this.

"You told me to makemyselfcomfortable here. Can I really do that?"

"Yes."

Suddenly, his hand slips from my face as the sound of heels approaching grows. I open my eyes, taking a moment to adjust to reality, to settle my ballooning hopeful heart, and steady my silly lavish breaths.

"You're needed back inside," the red-headed woman says, a wide unauthentic smile curved across her stunning face. "Who is this? I haven't had the pleasure."

"A colleague's daughter," he states simply, turning his back on me, turning the warmth he showered down on me into icicles in the air.

He walks towards her. Placing his hand on her lower back, he says over his shoulder, "Go to your room, Fawn."

Clay

Leaning back in the chair,drawing the Romeo Y Julieta into my lungs, I watch my Indonesian associates drink my cognac liberally and flirt with my female staff. It's nearly eleven p.m., and the volume has escalated with alcohol-induced confidence.

Scattered around the room, members of theCosa Nostradiscuss business, showing an interest in our foreign guests.

Beside me, Vinny prattles on about his cousin who has been hitting big numbers in crypto currency, the conversation vaguely reaching me.

The warm fumes circle within my mouth and throat before I exhale them slowly, watching the sweet brown vapour cloud my vision. I blunt it out in the crystal tray before spreading my arms wide across the back of the sofa.

Good hospitality was taught to me in boarding school but instilled in me by Jimmy Storm. That man had impeccable manners. He went from warm and inviting to Reaper in less than a second. I smile, imagining him now in this room. A large presence, who enjoyed a far sultrier vibe, but I was always going to move our association away from its sexist origins. Women nolonger used as commodities, was one thing Aurora held fast with when we negotiated our business. I allowed it.

For now.

Still, as I gaze across the room, there are plenty of pretty things to watch move and share a drink with. For a moment, I miss Jimmy. Not for the women he made sprawl across my lap for my drink to rest on. But for his guidance and assurance.

It is all on me now, though.

Every decision.

Every order.

---