Page 51 of Red Velvet

"So you're really not that different to your brother, then, and to Elene's husband," Lila concludes, twisting the knife in the wound.

"I'm not like them," I insist.

"But you said—"

"It's not that simple!" I sound like a stubborn child. How typical.

She flinches, offering me a reproachful look. "Sorry. Again, I didn't mean to offend you."

"I'm considering working with them," I clarify.

"What's stopping you?"

She's asking an intriguing question. What is stopping me? What Greg and Damon suggested actually sounded good to me. They weren't just after my idea. Unlike other times before, my brother didn't just want to stop me from selling one of my ideas before he could get his hands on it. He wanted us to grow it together, building our very own branch away from my father's business. Who would've thought he'd ever grow tired of simply being my father's successor, which comes close to being his henchman.

"It's a big decision," I try to explain. "I don't want to jump the gun on this."

She gives me a knowing smile. "I can tell you want to do it. Maybe you're just hesitant because it would make you just like them—no matter if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

I hate how right she is about this. She's seeing right through me.

"Didn't think that collar would turn you into such a sage, little girl."

A blush colors her cheeks, and she lifts her hand to touch the collar, gently stroking the cool metal while she lowers her gaze.

"Do you like wearing it?"

She nods right away. "Yes, a lot." She smiles cheekily before adding, "It almost feels as good around my throat as your hand does."

Chapter 27

Lila

I was surprised—and a little disappointed, if I’m being honest—when Kade informed me that he intended to take me straight back home after dinner. He never said we'd go to The Velvet Rooms tonight, but still, it felt weird.

It's not so much that I don't enjoy spending time with him without sex and play, without being whipped until I bleed and fucked until I almost pass out. On the contrary. We spent almost four hours at the restaurant, indulging in high-end food and drinks while talking, teasing, sharing things like the closest of friends. Or like boyfriend and girlfriend.

So what do I make of it?

Having dinner together, talking all evening, sharing intimate details about each other's lives—isn't that what people in a real relationship do? Is that what we are now? More than sex? More than playing and pushing boundaries? Did something change?

And how long does he want me to wear the collar? Will he give me the key back once we're at my door, or will he take it with him? How would I feel about that? How would I feel about being asked to wear it at work, where everyone could see? Oh, the looks and questions I would get, especially from Sybil.

I intend to ask him about all of this, but I’m weirdly mute during our drive back to my place. Does he plan to come with me upstairs? Should I invite him? Or would that just achieve the opposite and chase him away for good, because I read the signs wrong?

We spend most of the drive in calm company, and I’m still overflowing with insecurity and questions I don’t dare ask by the time we reach my apartment. I take a deep breath, just about to voice at least one of the many questions bugging me, when my eyes catch on something right at my doorstep.

No, not something. Someone.

“Jim?” I exclaim, aghast horror replacing everything else on my mind.

Kade shifts next to me, leaning over to see out the window on my side of the car.

“Your ex?” he asks. “Is that him?”

He juts his chin forward, directed at the dark figure standing on top of the stairs at my front door. Jim is wearing the gray polo I bought for him on his last birthday, his hands shoved into his pants pockets and his head lowered as he stands with his shoulders stiff and raised to his ears, as if he’s freezing cold.

Or angry.

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