Page 59 of Sweet Revenge
Then there was DiMarco. Brogan still hadn’t found him an angle to work, a button to press, a weakness to exploit. Andrea DiMarco kept his life as buttoned up as Declan did.
He’d shifted his patterns too. It had been gradual but deliberate. They’d watched him long enough to notice the subtle change in routine. Declan wanted to know what the fuck this guy was up to. He didn’t like being in the dark about what was going on in his own city.
He looked up at the knock on the door, motioning Helen forward when she poked her head in. She set a covered tray down on his desk and moved to the decanter on the cart by the window to pour him a glass of whiskey, setting it next to the tray.
“I haven’t seen you working this late in a while. It’s nice to have you back in the office.”
Declan paused with the glass halfway to his mouth and set it back on the desk with a thunk, amber liquid sloshing up to the rim. He’d heard enough grumbling from Aidan about his seemingly declining work ethic, enough reminding from Sean not to let himself get distracted. He wasn’t about to take shit from his assistant about it too.
“We’re not behind on any deadlines that I’m aware of.”
She caught the iciness in his tone, and her fingers jerked on the mail she was arranging into stacks on the edge of his desk.
“No. Everything is in order. I only meant that you don’t normally work from home. I imagine it must be hard to concentrate there.”
“Why would it be hard to concentrate?”
He could tell that she debated whether she should answer him or not. In the end, she decided not to evade a direct question.
“With your house guest.”
“Helen, you’re aware that who does and doesn’t stay in my house is none of your business, correct?”
She carefully straightened the last stack of mail before placing her hands in her lap. “I’m aware.”
“Presumably you’re also aware that where I work is none of your business.” He waited for her curt nod. “Good. Now that we’ve established that, I want to be very clear. If you no longer enjoy your job or the way I do mine, then I am no longer in need of your services. And I’d be happy to help you find a job elsewhere.”
He watched her head dip, fingers clenched in her lap. “Well?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Wonderful.” He pushed to his feet and reached for his jacket, sliding it on. “We’ve worked together for a long time, Helen, known each other for even longer. Don’t confuse history with familiarity.”
“You’re not going to eat?” she asked when he crossed to the door.
“Suddenly I’m not hungry.”
He slammed his office door behind him because it made him feel better and took the two flights of stairs down to the kitchen instead of the elevator. He wanted to go home and distract himself with Evie underneath him, naked and begging, so he drove to the club instead.
It was busy for a weeknight, but then it never mattered what day of the week it was. Reign was always busy. Even with the crowd, the bartender had a glass of whiskey waiting for him at the end of the bar as soon as she spotted him.
Climbing the stairs to the VIP lounge, he let himself get lost in the thumping bass and the neon lights. Nodding at the bouncer who let him in without hesitating, he wound his way around to the booth he always kept reserved for himself in the back corner.
The dance floor below teemed with scantily clad women and men who reeked of booze and too much cologne, hoping to get lucky. In the past, when he’d needed to work out his frustrations, he’d choose someone—maybe the blonde in the too-tight sequined dress that showed off the rounded curve of her breasts or the voluptuous brunette with her siren-red lips—and take them back to the apartment he kept in the city.
Not to the house, never to the house as Aidan often did. His father had taught him that mistresses and one-night stands never crossed the threshold of Glenmore House. So he’d take them to his penthouse apartment, fuck them until they were both sated, and send them on their way.
But that was before Evie O’Brian reappeared in this life with her gold-flecked eyes and wild curls. Before he was reminded of everything he’d been missing all these years.
Since he was sixteen, it had only ever been Evie for him. No one had ever come close to matching her, not that he’d let anyone try. The longer Evie stayed, the more he let himself believe in a future he’d closed the door on a long time ago.
He knew it was probably smarter to let her go, to leave the door closed and let whatever they had between them now be enough. But he wanted more with her. He’d always wanted more with Evie.
Annoyed with himself, Declan tossed the rest of his whiskey back and set the empty glass on a nearby table. Turning from the balcony, he saw Aidan sitting in one of the circular booths, two women draped all over him in dresses so low cut they were one deep breath from being topless.
Declan cast his eyes to the ceiling. There was the asshole who’d been lecturing him about work ethic, drunk at—he checked the time on his watch—ten o’clock and dry humping two women whose names Declan would bet money he didn’t even know.
“Declan!” Aidan shouted over the music when he spotted his brother, a stupid half-drunk grin plastered on his face. “Come join us!”
