Page 43 of Cruel Fate

She breaks my gaze, and I help her slip on a trench coat that was hanging on the rack in the corner behind her desk.

I’m amused, and I can’t wipe the smile off my face. Everything she does is going to delight me. “And you wanted to see if it was true.”

She catches the glint in my eyes and laughs.

“Did it work?” I jab at the elevator’s call button, and I lean against the wall.

“Yes. I bought a few things, just to try. It was...strange walking out without paying. It was okay, wasn’t it?”

“Of course. There’s a personal yearly limit, but I don’t think you need to worry about that.” I pull her to me and nuzzle her mouth with mine. I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment I saw her sitting at her desk this morning. I have no idea why Ash took a dislike to her, and I add another thing to my list. Besides trying to spend more time with Ash, I’ll work hard to keep him and Stella separated.

That sucks—the four of us are a natural pair—but Stella doesn’t need Ash up her ass. I’ve seen what happens when Ash decides he doesn’t like someone. It never ends well.

The elevator dings, and the doors softly glide open. We’re the only two in the lift, and I take advantage, holding her close and tangling our fingers. In the lobby, the security guard nods and wishes us a terse goodnight, and I let her go for a moment as we push through the revolving door.

Standing on the top step, Stella rests her hand on the rail and bites her lip.

She doesn’t want me to see her place after all. My heart sinks.

My shoulders slump, and I turn to head back. I’ll let her go home alone. We’ve been going pretty fast, and she probably wants space. I can’t blame her. My mind has been a whirlwind since we met. A night by myself would do me good. “It’s okay, Stella.”

She grabs my arm. “What? What are you talking about?”

“You changed your mind. It’s okay.”

Tugging on my hand, she shakes her head. “I want you to come. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

“Then what is it?”

I feel like we’re in a movie, this gorgeous girl standing in front of a towering skyscraper, the delicate scent of flowers in the air, the sun sinking into the horizon. She can have anyone she wants. She doesn’t need some schmuck who can’t sleep through the night without nightmares. She doesn’t need a guy who fucks everything that moves because his parents are dead and he can’t cope.

God.

She reaches onto her toes and kisses my cheek. My stubble grazes her lips, and I’m turned on in five seconds. I want Stella more than anything else.

Besides my parents back.

“I was wondering if you ordered a car, or if we’re riding the train.”

The train. I forgot, and I feel like an idiot. I want to see her apartment, I want to see where she lives, but I’m not prepared for it. She’s poor, living on the salary we pay our newest employees. It’s more than minimum wage, but not by much. If how she lives...I can’t let her see it on my face if I’m uncomfortable, but I will suggest I help her move.

“Let’s take the train.” I haven’t ridden on the train since I was a kid doing it for kicks, but this is Stella’s way of life.

“Don’t look so traumatized.” She laughs, and the wind carries it down the sidewalk. “It’s not that bad.”

To my surprise, it’s not. People crowd the car going home after work the same as we are, and we get our share of looks, but unsurprisingly, lots of people know Stella. It’s obvious she shares the train with the same people every evening.

She chats with a Black woman who has a little girl sitting on her lap. She blinks at me, her eyes tired and solemn. Her mother catches me looking. “Tasha spends long days in daycare. She’s always wiped out about now.”

I don’t know what to say, and I nod. I work, but not the way this woman works. I’m out of my element on the train among King’s Crossing’s lower-class citizens.

The train lets us off at a station fifteen minutes from the penthouse. The neighborhood is quiet, and Stella gestures to a city bus that just pulls up to a corner bus stop.

“Punch me twice, Bill,” Stella says, holding out a card to the bus driver.

The driver sizes me up. He doesn’t know who I am, and I relax.

“He’s not good enough for ya, Stell,” Bill says, waving away her card and not punching anything into it.

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