Page 17 of Sinful Attraction

That’s the crazy part about my family: I can look at what they’re doing and objectively tell it’s irrational and not right. Friends have said the same. But the longer things go on, the more I realize that my parents don’t just ignore that they’re damaging our relationship—damaging me—they’ve convinced themselves that they have the right, and that I deserve it.

So, why am I even thinking about going back? Why do I care about exposing the spy and vindicating myself with my parents?Because they’re family.

But maybe giving up would be smarter. Maybe it would hurt less than this.

I text Michael and tell him I need to turn off my phone for a while. He asks what’s wrong, surprising me. I simply say it’s fallout from the shit he’s pulled on me, and he goes quiet. I turn off my phone, reminding myself to check it in an hour and delete any more poison my mother might leave in my inbox.

At one exactly, I arrive at Michael’s hotel, a not-too-fancy spot near the airport that was probably the best he could do on short notice. Their room service menu, however, is four pages long, which may be why he has picked the place.

It’s early in the afternoon, but I’m already tired. Even though I’ve hydrated enough to avoid more than a token wine headache, I feel like I’ve wasted my time trying to drown my sorrows. It didn’t help anything. It didn’t even help me sleep.

Now, though, it’s about 15 degrees cooler, and all that does is make me want to take a comfortable nap without the air-conditioner roaring. Instead, this meet. Michael had better not be wasting my time, or I will personally kick his ass.

He’s waiting for me in the lobby. I see him before he sees me: lost in thought, pacing restlessly near the coffee bar, his expression uncharacteristically serious. He looks like something is actually wrong. He also looks like he might be worried that I won’t show.

It’s interesting seeing him distracted and without that annoying smirk. He’s a lot easier on the eyes when he’s not being a pain in the ass. He almost looks like a grown man. Though, of course, he’s in jeans, a leather jacket, and a band T-shirt, like a giant teenager.

Nice engineer boots, though. And a nice ass, too.

I push my gaze away from him, steel myself, and walk into the door, clutching my laptop bag close to me. I’m paranoid about losing it after everything, and the crime rate around here is way higher than in most rich neighborhoods.

He notices almost immediately and walks over, putting on a smile. I watch his approach skeptically but keep my expression polite. I’m in a dark purple skirt suit, not really dressed up, but still more than he is. I’m glad I didn’t wear higher heels; the lobby floor is slippery as hell.

“Arya! You actually showed up. This is awesome. I half-thought you wouldn’t.” And there comes the smirk, which seems to pop up even when he’s apparently being sincere.

“You’re lucky I did. Let’s go upstairs. We have a lot to talk about.” I keep my tone all business.

His smile falters, but then, he just nods and leads me over to the elevators. “That’s fine. Hey, how come you had to turn your phone off earlier?”

“I left for the weekend to clear my head, and my mother is losing her shit about it. I almost never do things like that, but we’re fighting, so now, she’s... being like this.”

His smirk fades entirely. “Oh. Shit. I’m sorry.”

“You should be. You’re partly at fault for it.” I follow him into the elevator as the door opens and move aside so he can press the eighth-floor button.

“Look, I know you probably don’t believe me, but... I’m actually really sorry for everything,” he starts.

I feel my blood pressure rise as he speaks. His apology is so inadequate it feels like an insult. “Just shut up about that for now,” I say in a colder tone than I mean to. “Even if you are sincere, words aren’t going to fix this.”

He looks a little taken aback but nods. “Fair enough.” I can see conflict in his eyes, though. He wants to go on, and I’m actually surprised that he’s holding back.

What he says next surprises me even more, though. “That five million I yanked from you, I’m going to put it back. But I need your help to get that done.”

As we walk out of the elevator, I look back at him several times, incredulous. When we get inside his small suite, I turn to him and say, “Okay, explain yourself.”

“Okay.” he sits on the edge of the bed while I take one of the chairs. “Like I said, my father ordered me to intercept that transfer of yours as soon as we got the news you were going to pull off the electronic heist. Once that was done, I didn’t really have a choice. You must know from having a high-ranking dad yourself. Their word is law.”

“Or, they sure fucking think it is,” I quip in an exhausted tone.

“You know what I mean, though.”

“I get that you say you were under orders, and you want to blame your dad for that.” Now, I’m craving another drink. Bad sign. I grab a bottled water out of his mini-fridge instead.

“I was. But I know I also went along with it, and I feel like shit about that.”

“You should.” I take a long swallow, wondering how I can be so damn thirsty now that it’s cooled down. “So, what about it?”

He shifts in his seat, looking uncomfortable, hesitating too long. By the time he finally speaks, I know it’s something that he doesn’t want to admit to. “It turns out we have a spy in our household as well.”

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