Page 16 of Hunted By Valentine

“Umm, hi. Are you Willow?”

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. I guess it depends what you want with Willow,” she quipped, laughter dancing in her eyes.

As I stepped further into the small room that was completely decked out with Christmas ornaments, I couldn’t help fingering some of them. “You missed a spot,” I observed dryly while pointing at the wall.

She giggled and held up one of the hearts. “No I didn’t. I just wasn’t ready to fill it yet. Do you mind helping me?”

The look she shot me was pure bliss, like she didn’t even mind having to ask a stranger for help. I don’t know why it humbled me, but it did. And when she afterward asked if I wanted to have some hot chocolate with her, I immediately agreed.

Willow refused my help as she used the wheelchair to move around her room. “What’s your name?” she asked, pulling out a bag of marshmallows.

“Ruby,” I answered.

She giggled. “Sucks to be you right now, Ruby.”

“Why’s that?” I asked with a frown.

“My rule is that you get as many marshmallows as there are letters in your first name. So you can only have four.”

That was the moment I knew I wanted to be her friend. Willow wasn’t looking at my fancy clothes or working legs with envy, she schooled me. Put me in my place with something as simple and insignificant as marshmallows.

She won my respect and, well, I wanted to get to know her better. Learn more about the woman who had every reason never to smile, yet did it all the time.

I’m startled out of my thoughts as Valentine’s hand brushes mine, a touch so light it might be accidental. Or not. My skin tingles where his fingers fleetingly meet mine, sending a current up my arm. I glance down, watching our hands almost hesitantly hover.

“Valentine,” I begin, then hesitate.

Why does he affect me like this? What is it about Valentine that strips away my defenses and leaves me bare? Each encounter with him is a thread, pulling me closer into his web, and I’m not sure I want to escape.

When he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even show a hint of knowing our hands just touched, I shake my head at my own stupidity. It was obviously an accident. “I’m going to head back inside,” I say, taking first one step backward, then another.

The cold New York air bites at my exposed skin, a stark contrast to the heat that radiated from his nearness. I wrap my arms around myself, seeking a warmth that’s no longer there, and turn back to the sleek glass doors of the building. My reflection stares back at me, a girl who looks like she has it all together, but inside is a tumult of confusion.

I let out a shaky breath and push the door open, stepping back into the world of light and noise. The buzz of conversation washes over me, but it’s muted, distant. My mind replays our brief exchange, dissecting each word, each glance, searching for meaning in the spaces between.

“Are you okay, Ruby?” Nick’s voice cuts through the fog in my brain.

I force a smile and nod, trying to anchor myself. “Just needed some air,” I lie smoothly, slipping back into the role I’ve been cast in before I was even born.

“We’re done now. Did you want to have dinner with us?” Carolina asks, and I’m surprised by the softness of her tone.

Looking up, I meet her blue gaze. “Yeah, sure,” I reply.

As we head back outside together, Nick quickly spots Valentine, who hasn’t left yet. “Hey, Valentine,” my brother calls out. He waits for my professor to turn around before he continues. “We’re about to go for dinner. Would you like to join us?”

Before he can answer, Carolina speaks up. “Yes, please. It would be great if you had time. I have so many questions.”

I hold my breath as I wait for Valentine to answer, and when he finally does, he looks straight at me. “I’d be honored. Where should I meet you?”

Chapter 7

The Hunter

Iglide into the restaurant, a cathedral draped in velvet and decadence, the perfect stage for a night of carefully orchestrated moves. The chandeliers cast halos of light, but it’s the shadows that speak to me—those empty spaces where lies are born and truth festers. I move through it like a predator in silk, ready for the hunt.

After handing my coat off to the coat-check woman, I ask for what I assume to be a reservation under Knight.

“Are you Mr. Grant?” the hostess asks, batting her eyelashes at me as she not-so subtly lets her eyes wander from mine and down my chest.

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