Page 47 of Let Me
Mr. Virani sighs. “Do you want me to call Jack?” He blows out a breath. “Or Caden?”
My eyes meet his at his oldest son’s name. Does he know? Does he know I fawn over him? Does he know how many fights Caden has interrupted between me and Jack? How many he’s put a stop to? That night at the club when Jack was humiliating me in front of his friends and their girls?
“No,” I finally manage to say as Mr. Virani stares at me, waiting for an answer. The word feels heavy on my tongue. I grip the red cup in my hand and stand shakily to my feet.
“Is it okay...if I stay here tonight?” My breathing is coming in shallow gasps. I feel as if I’ve run a marathon. It must be the shock dying off. That exhaustion intensifying.
But then I stumble and throw out a hand to catch myself against the back of the couch. Immediately, Mr. Virani gets to his feet, setting his cup on the coffee table.
He comes to my side and grips my arm, takes my cup out of my hands. “Of course you can stay, Riley.” He keeps one hand on my arm and reaches the other to set my cup on the table. “Here, I’ll help you to the guest bedroom.”
And then he picks me up in his arms.
My heart pounds in my chest, but my eyelids feel heavy. I think I shouldn’t do this. I think something about this is wrong. Mr. Virani shouldn’t be carrying me up the stairs. I shouldn’t be feeling so sluggish. I shouldn’t have to force my eyes to stay open. But I do.
And I can’t talk. I open my mouth to speak but my tongue is a deadweight.
Mr. Virani gently puts me on the bed after pulling back the covers with one hand. This is the guest room, and I feel a strange sense of relief. I’m not sure what I thought would happen, but I’m glad I’m in the guest room, all white walls and a monochrome ceiling fan, white sheets.
But then Mr. Virani’s hand lifts up my shirt. And I can’t move. Not just from fear. Or shock. Or anger. But it literally feels as if I’m paralyzed.
Mr. Virani lets out a low whistle. “I’ve always wanted to see your small tits,” he says, and then he pulls something from his pants pocket.
My gut recoils as I realize it’s a cell phone. But I still can’t move. And my eyes are closing, despite my best efforts to keep them open.
And then I’m pulled under. Into blackness.
TWENTY-ONE
Present
I GET up at five in the morning. Not wake up, because that would imply I slept, which I didn’t. Benji texted me during the night to tell me Riley’s flight was cancelled. Eventually, I’ll have to tell him to stop keeping tabs on her. Tell him it’s strange and quite frankly, it pisses me off. But I don’t tell him now, because the information is useful.
Even if it only serves to put me on edge.
After I got over my initial surge of anger, I realized she wouldn’t be staying at The Villa to meet with my dad. There are far more hotels far closer to Toronto for that, and much nicer, too. And if my dad is fucking her—I try not to think about that—he’d want the best. Not for her, but to show off his wealth.
I slam my fist on the nightstand, get out of bed, and get in the shower.
My cock throbs as I think about her on Saturday night, watching her eyes close against my touch. Feeling her beneath me. And I hate that. I hate that she still has this effect on me. It’s not right. It’s fucking wrong. It’s twisted and fucked up and that only makes me want it more.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Vivian was pissed when I ditched her before our day-date had even truly begun. We met at the hotel, right after Riley got there. I saw Riley speaking to the receptionist. Saw the woman sliding the plastic key to her. And I should have just let her go. I should have carried on with Vivian. But suddenly any warmth I’d felt toward the paralegal had vanished, and shortly after that, I had too.
She stopped blowing up my phone later last night, presumably when she was wrapped up in her boyfriend’s arms. That doesn’t bother me. I almost wish they’d get married and maybe then she’d stop fucking around with me. I could end it myself, but it’s too convenient. The release is too easy. I don’t want more, she can’t have more, and therefore can’t bug me about it. It works out.
Except last night.
It didn’t fucking work out.
When I get into the office, the monstrosity of a building that I own outright, I go straight to the 27thfloor and don’t bother glancing in Vivian’s direction as I head to my office. I press the button to close the blinds and when I’m in darkness—blackout curtains pulled tight behind me—and in my leather chair, I call Benji.
“I need information from you,” I say without a greeting.
“I thought I sent you enough information last night,” he says quietly, and I wonder if he’s in a woman’s bed. I know Benji sleeps around, but he never talks about it. I never ask. He’s not dating, that’s for sure.
“I need more.” I quickly tell him about seeing Riley at The Villa.
