Page 13 of Love Without Demands

Regret.

Chapter 3

As soon as Iwoke on Tuesday morning, blonde curls and a pretty smile were at the forefront of my mind.Lehra. Maybe I’d dreamed about her, but I couldn’t remember any specifics.

Getting ready for work, I pushed her from my thoughts and reflected on my dinner meeting last night. These dinners had been a weekly thing for the past month, every Monday, and I had begun to actually look forward to them. Last night was very informative.

Checking my tie in the mirror, I stared at the man looking back at me, deciding I looked pretty damn sharp in the black suit and tie. The Bouvier company provided all employees with their clothing for work to promote the brand or some such shit. I guessed it made sense. It wouldn’t look good for employees to wear their competitor’s clothes.

To my surprise, it didn’t bother me to wear a suit each day. The fabric was luxurious and breathable, and the shoes were likegoddamn butter on my feet. A helluva lot more comfortable than combat boots, that was for sure.

My phone chimed with a message from my boss.

Auburn: Come up to my penthouse. Your key card should give you access.

That was weird. I usually brought the car around and waited for him in front of the building. Striding through my apartment, I marveled at the view of Manhattan from the tall windows. I still couldn’t believe my housing was a benefit of being Auburn Bouvier’s driver. He said it was for convenience since he lived on the top floor of this lavish building, and I was his personal security guard.

It was a two bedroom, two bath and very spacious. I’d heard rumors about New York apartments, so I was pleasantly surprised the first time I’d walked in here a few months ago. This was way more than I would have ever been able to afford, despite my generous salary.

Tucking my gun into my holster, I headed up to the penthouse and knocked on the door. Auburn Bouvier answered in his shirtsleeves and gave me a tentative smile, something you didn’t see from the man very often.

“Come on in, Cruz. If you don’t mind, I thought we could have breakfast together.”

“I, uh, of course, sir.”

His smile turned wistful, and I got the feeling he was… sad, maybe? “When it’s just us, you can call me Auburn, if you want.” He sounded hopeful, and his smile turned genuine when I nodded.

“All right, Auburn. Do I need to go pick up some food?”

“No, I cooked.” I guessed my face registered my surprise because he chuckled and said, “Don’t look like I just told you I’m the pope. I can cook.”

My sharp eyes took in everything as we walked through his expansive living room. If my apartment was big, his was absolutely fucking enormous. The well-appointed kitchen looked like it had every high-end appliance known to man, and Auburn gestured for me to take a seat at the breakfast bar.

“I grew up with a full staff in our house. Chefs and housekeepers, all that,” he explained, “but I always found it annoying to never have any privacy. So I taught myself to cook and clean.” He lifted his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. “I don’t really like people in my personal space.”

“Understandable,” I said, wondering why I was here as he dished up the food and placed a plate in front of me.

“It’s just eggs and bacon.”

“My favorite breakfast,” I said. “It looks good.”

He visibly relaxed and took the seat next to me.

I’ll be damned. I think Auburn Bouvier is lonely.

I waited out front of theBouvieroffice building a little before noon. Auburn had a lunch meeting across town. A flash of green caught my eye, and I inhaled a deep breath when Lehra exited the building and walked swiftly toward the Bentley.

She looked like a million bucks in a grass-green dress and heels, her hair pulled back on one side, and she was carrying a small pink box. I rolled down the window, and she filled the December air with her summery scent when she leaned through.

“Hey, I made you some cookies as a thank you for the ride yesterday. You’re not allergic to almonds, are you?”

“Not at all,” I said, unable to control the upward curve of my lips.

Opening the box, I found a stack of misshapen beige blobs with some kind of red filling on top of each. Popping one into my mouth, I chewed. It was awful.

“Mmmm,” I feigned, grabbing my water bottle and taking a long pull to try and moisten the sawdust forming in my mouth.

“They’re almond-cherry,” she announced proudly, and I nodded, the sawdust now a wet paste that I valiantly managed to swallow.

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