Page 19 of Whispered Desire

“Over a year.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” A rumble of anger vibrates from his chest. Ever the primal lion in his analogy. “You've been paying for everything this entire time?”

I simply nod, knowing how terrible it sounds.

Bailey and I have been friends since freshman year of college. We've always said we're bonded for life. But after she got laid off, she just gave up. Started spouting off rants about end-stage capitalism and how she refused to contribute to the system.

Which, to each her own, but it seemed insensitive when I was still expected to workinthe systemif we wanted a roof over our heads and food for us and her pets.

Every time she ‘lowered’ herself to start a new job to bring in some cash, whether it was as a waitress or cashier, Bailey inevitably quit within a week, citing a myriad of reasons for the decision.

Toxic work environment.

Not enough money.

Mathias drags a hand through his hair, irritation flashing in his steely eyes. “Putain de merde! Yet you still left the money untouched.De toutes les bêtises… You require a firm hand to make decisions for your benefit, don't you?”

I don’t answer. Too distracted by him speaking French. It rolls off the tongue and sounds sexy as hell in his gravelly tone.

I shouldn’t find anything about him sexy. He’s still a stranger. A potentially dangerous one.

And he's the man I'm giving myself to.

Bailey won’t be happy to hear I’m moving out, even if I plan on leaving her with enough money to stay in the apartment until the lease ends. Maybe it makes me a bitch using Mathias as an excuse, but a weight lifts at being able to blame him for whatever fallout there is.

Like I’m not the one making the decision, so she can’t blame me.

Even though he’s doing what I would do if I wasn’t too overwhelmed, scared, and too damn numb.

Always numb.

Always alone.

I should probably talk to my doctor about upping my medication, but again, that’s one more task that seems impossible to accomplish.

“Pack a bag. This is the last time you’ll see this apartment,” Mathias says as he pulls out his phone and starts rapidly typing on the screen.

“I can’t just disappear. I need to talk to Bailey and pack more than a bag. I can’t leave yet.”

“Yes, you can, and you are. Professionals will handle everything from here on out. And if they fuck up your stuff, they’ll regret it.” He spares a glance at me before returning tohis phone. “You’ve got ten minutes to gather whatever is coming with you today. The rest will come later.”

I debate disagreeing with him, but when have I ever chosen to argue?

Never.

Besides, Mathias bulldozes his way through conversations until he gets what he wants, which should irk the hell out of me, but instead, it provides a sense of peace.

Maybe I’ll feel differently if we ever truly disagree on a subject, but so far, he’s only pushing me to accept what I desperately want but refuse out of fear.

The money for a fresh start in life.

Cutting ties with Bailey.

Hurrying to the closet, I drag my suitcase out and dump it on the bed since it’s still full from the trip to Paris. I’ve been meaning to empty it and wash the worn clothes, but I never got around to it.

As I mentally check off the necessities—shampoo, conditioner, toothbrush, underwear, socks, phone charger—a frenzy begins behind the door to Bailey’s room, alerting us to her arrival before she stomps through the front door.

“Where the hell are Roscoe and Palmer?” She drops her purse on the overflowing bench we have in the entry and kicks off her shoes.

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