Page 60 of Let Me
I arch a brow, as if reiterating my demand. I’ll fire her is she doesn’t get the fuck out. Hell, I might even if she does.
Finally, she turns away and walks back to my office door. I watch her leave, and exhale only when the door slams closed.
Then I shove my chair into my desk, which is childish and stupid butfuck Riley Larson.As if she didn’t fuck the Virani family up enough, now she wants to be the sleaziest woman she could possibly be and fuck my dad for money.
I wonder how long this has been going on. I can’t believe I didn’t know before this. I can’t believe I had no fucking clue. I thought she was gone, for good. Out of my life.
She was never at those fucking summer parties before, but my dad is rarely home. It would take nothing for them to meet up anywhere else in the city.
Fuck her and fuck him.
WHEN DAY BECOMES NIGHT,I’m ready.
It’s easy enough to find her, of course. She’s still at The Villa, staying there, no doubt, on my father’s money. The fact that he put her here pisses me off to no end. He knew what he was doing. There are so many hotels in Toronto that it’s laughable he actually did this. Or maybe she did it. Maybe they both thought it would be a riot.
I ask the receptionist to bring her down, because even though Benji told me which room she’s staying at, I don’t trust myself to be alone with her. Benji is back at my house, and he has the cameras ready. He’ll be there, in case I need him. Because even after all of this, I can’t face her alone. Even after stabbing a knife through my back and into my heart, I don’t trust myself not to succumb to her.
She comes down in skinny jeans, black sneakers, and a black t-shirt. Her wavy brown hair is curlier than usual, her eyes bright…until she sees me. I’m standing at the end of the long counter, the receptionist at the opposite end.
Her steps are slow, her shirt tucked into her jeans so I can see her tiny waist.
She’s beautiful. Even if I hate her, she’s so damn beautiful. And tonight, I get to see just how beautiful she is underneath those clothes. Again.
“Caden?”
When she whispers my name, a few feet from me, it takes everything in me to keep from shuddering. But then I imagine her with my dad inside of her and my fists clench. She notices, her green eyes darting to my hands.
But I need her to come with me, so I unclench them and clear my throat.
“Hi,” I say. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”
Her brow furrows. “What?” she asks, her voice hoarse, her eyes darting around us. But the lobby is empty, save for the employees. “Why would you—”
“Want to have dinner with you?” I cut her off, forcing myself to lie smoothly. “You’re not here often. Maybe we should talk things over? About Saturday night?” I make myself smile.
Her eyes widen. She knows me. We know each other. Neither of us are the type totalk things over.She’s not good. Neither am I. We don’t do things like that. But still, I hold my breath, waiting.
After a moment, she surprises me, and nods. “Okay,” she says, and bites her bottom lip. I force my eyes away from her mouth, back to her eyes. “Let me change and—”
“No.” It comes out harsher than I mean it too, and it kind of makes me hate myself. Not that the words were harsh, but that I desperately don’t want her to change. I like her like this. In jeans and a t-shirt. Vivian always dresses up. Most women I’ve slept with wear short skirts and high heels. I prefer this. It suits her. Itisher.
She looks surprised. “Where did you want to go?”
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “My house.”
Her eyes widen. She’s never been there. Ever. I moved in afterher.But after a moment, she nods. “Okay.”
She grabs her purse from her room and is down in seconds. I’m happy she didn’t change.
The drive is quick and quiet. I think about that other drive, before the call. The one we took all those years ago in the city. But this time, I don’t try to get her to talk. I don’t want her to talk.
Needless to say, I don’t have dinner ready when we get home.
Instead, I give her a tour of my house, quickly, skipping my bedroom because I don’t trust myself there and because Benji is hiding in there, for that very reason.
She takes everything in, not speaking, only nodding when I point things out. Like the paintings of old book covers hung high on the walls in the living rooms. She wants to be a writer. Or at least, she wanted to be one. Who knows what she wants now, aside from my dad’s money.
We end up in the kitchen, across from one another at the island. Where one usually serves dinner. Except, you know, that’s not what we’re serving here tonight.
