Page 25 of Entwined
He took a few steps closer, his presence filling the room with a menacing energy. “There will be no repeat of this morning, Joey. You’re going to give up your position and find something else—anything else. Maybe you should transfer to the LA office.”
I felt my stomach clench, but I kept my voice steady. “That’s not going to happen, Vaughn. You don’t have the power to remove me.”
In an instant, he was on me, yanking me out of my chair with a force that made my head spin. His hand tangled in my hair, wrenching my head back as he slammed his mouth onto mine. I was too stunned to react at first, but when I felt his tongue forcing its way between my lips, I instinctively drove my fist into his ribs.
He pulled back, but his grip on my hair remained tight. His voice dropped to a whisper, soft but dangerous. “I need this, Joey. I need you not to be here.”
Vaughn’s eyes were wild, the brilliant blue almost completely consumed by his dilated pupils. I could see the desperation in him, the raw, unfiltered need that both terrified and repulsed me. I knew I had to tread carefully. There was no one here to help me if this went too far.
“Why?” I asked, my voice trembling despite my efforts to stay calm. “Why must you fight me?”
He leaned in close, his lips brushing against my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine. “Because as much as I want to hate you, I can’t. You hurt me by leaving the mansion,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.
“Vaughn,” I said, trying to inject some reason into the conversation, “you could never hate me. You’re just angry you can’t have me.”
He stepped away, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. He walked over to the small bar in the corner of my office, grabbing a bottle of scotch and pouring himself a generous amount. He took a long, slow drink, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I am angry,” he admitted, his voice tinged with bitterness. “You should’ve been mine. I should’ve had all your firsts. He did it on purpose, Joey. He knew how I felt about you, and I resent him for it.”
I sank back into my chair, exhaustion washing over me. “You had your chance for years, Vaughn. But you treated me like I was beneath you.”
He took another sip of scotch, his eyes distant. “I didn’t think he would fixate on you. I never thought he’d remarry.”
I closed my eyes, hoping to block out the pain of his words. I heard him move closer, and when I opened my eyes, he was kneeling in front of me, his head resting in my lap. I froze, unsure of how to react. Slowly, I reached out and stroked his hair, trying to soothe the raging storm inside him. He wrapped his arms around my calves, holding onto me as if I were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
“Will there ever be a chance?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
I hesitated, wanting to be honest with him. Losing Colson had shattered something inside me, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ableto piece it back together. My heart was too wounded, and it had only been four months since I lost my husband.
“Vaughn,” I began, choosing my words carefully, “I don’t think I’ll ever date or marry again.”
His head snapped up, and I flinched at the sudden movement. “What will you do, then?”
“I’ll work,” I said, more to convince myself than him. “I’ll donate to worthy causes, maybe even start a charity in Colson’s name. My life can be fulfilled without a companion.”
He shook his head, disbelief written all over his face. “So, you’re giving up at twenty-four?”
“I’m giving up on love,” I replied softly. “I think I’ve had enough to last a lifetime.”
Vaughn rose slowly, downing the rest of his drink. “And what am I supposed to do?”
“Move on,” I said, my voice firm. “Serena wasn’t right for you because you didn’t choose her. Find someone you’re truly attracted to, someone who excites you.”
He stared into his empty glass, a sad smile playing on his lips. “There is someone like that, but she won’t have me.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I shifted the conversation back to safer ground. “Vaughn, we need to talk about this morning. We can’t keep being at odds. We’re supposed to be a united front.”
His shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him. “Can we go out to dinner?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost pleading.
I narrowed my eyes, suspicious of his sudden change in tone. “Why?”
“To eat,” he said, as if the answer were obvious. “To talk. Don’t always be so suspicious.”
I hesitated, weighing my options. Part of me wanted to refuse, to keep him at arm’s length. But another part of me wanted to reach out to him.
“My building has a restaurant with a Michelin-star chef,” I found myself saying. “We could eat there. I’d like to show you my apartment.”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “Really?”
