Page 44 of Ready or Knot

The last is just another picture of her in a racy set of lingerie, posing for the camera. Bile makes my throat burn, and I curse before deleting it.

I text her again.

Don’t miss you.

The only woman I miss anymore is the one I just left on the counter of my condo.

Seventeen

FAEDRA

“Oh shit,” I mutter, dropping the hexagons I’m working on and pressing my thumb against my lips. The salty taste of my blood makes me grimace, but I don’t risk moving and getting blood on the fabric. Part of me wants to toss the whole project off the balcony, but I manage to breathe through the urge. It’s not the quilt’s fault my attention is nearly as shot now as it was when I was trying to fumble through my finals a month ago.

My phone vibrates, and I grab it, my thumb temporarily forgotten as my heart lodges in my throat. The notification sticks out against my wallpaper, the calm notice that the package from the university has been delivered. I wipe my thumb on my skirt, twisting it into the hem until the last of the bleeding stops, and then collect the flowers I was working on, tucking them into the project bag and stashing it on the end table beside the sofa. I catch my reflection in the mirror above the entry table, and I adjust my hair, pulling back the top half and securing it with a small clip, a few pieces falling and framing my face. The elevator seems to take forever, and my heart rate picks up with each minute that passes until my head is light and I have to close my eyes in the mail room to keep from passing out.

My hands tremble as I open the mailbox, and my anxiety triples when I realize there’s more than one information packet waiting for me. Nerves double in my belly as I flip through them, all three of my top choices in the pile. My hands shake, and I lean against the mailboxes, letting the cool metal calm me enough so that I can think.

My first instinct is to call Logan, but when I grab my phone, I realize he’s in the middle of one of his weekly training sessions with an athlete. I pull up the addresses of both of the other guys’ offices. Jude’s is across the city, nestled between the event center and the amusement park. But Carter’s is just down the street in a building that borders the river and the highway—a manageable walk.

I put the rest of the mail back in the box with the promise that I’ll take it up to the condo when I get back before shoving the college packets into my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. My phone is a bit confused about my location as I leave the condo through the lobby instead of the garage, so it takes a couple minutes to figure out which direction I need to go. The sun is bright, reflecting off the nearly all-glass buildings I walk towards, and I cover my eyes until I can get my sunglasses on to cut down the worst of it.

The city is bustling around me, people walking in every direction. Several pass me as I cross one of the main public transport stations, heading across the tracks in the opposite direction of where the train goes. The cloudless sky helps clear my head, my nerves easing, and I manage to smile as I take in the architecture of this part of the city, the high rises giving way to much smaller buildings and then a large greenway that runs the length of the river.

My phone guides me across a small pedestrian bridge and then down a much quieter street, the trees here taller and the buildings only a couple stories high. The building it stops me in front of is all glass and wedged right up against the highway. Its lobby is open and modern in the extreme, low profile, metal desks situated in front of a few large glass doors and groups of black leather chairs situated across the main space of the floor. The suite number on the address Carter gave me indicates the sixth floor—which I’m almost positive is the uppermost. The elevator confirms it only a moment later as I step inside it and select the proper floor. My skin grows tight in the small space, and I breathe through my nose to help alleviate it.

The elevator opens into a single wide foyer, a woman sitting behind a sleek black desk about ten feet away, her voice carrying across the room despite the unobtrusive placement of sound dampeners along the walls. I glance around, taking in the warm tones of the space before walking up to the woman.

“How can I help you, ma’am?” the woman asks, turning from her computer and smiling at me.

“I’m here to see Carter Bennett,” I say, keeping my posture relaxed and my voice light.

She raises an eyebrow but points to the hallway to my left.

“All the way at the end. His assistant will be able to get you checked in.”

I murmur a thanks and walk down the hall, noting the amount of offices between the receptionist and his office in the corner. Aren’t start-ups typically small ventures?

The door at the end of the hallway is open, so I step inside, adjusting my bag and dropping my phone into the side pocket. A woman about Aiden’s age sits behind a desk made nearly entirely of glass. Her dark hair is pulled back into a no-nonsense chignon, and she is wearing a deep plum pencil skirt that contrasts with her pale pink sleeveless blouse. I pause just inside the door, watching as her hands fly over the keyboard as she responds to something, muttering under her breath. A small nameplate rests on the edge of the desk just in front of her computer monitor, announcing her as Amanda.

“May I help you?” she asks, clicking through something before glancing up. Her apology is immediate as she gets up and rounds the desk. “Sorry, I didn’t realize. Faedra, right?”

I smile, trying to allay her worries without speaking too much. My skin still feels tight, and my attention is fried, the calming walk already giving way to the fuzzy feeling I felt when I was quilting.

“Is Carter available?” I manage to ask, my voice only a bit breathless. “I didn’t give him any warning I was on my way.”

Amanda smiles and glances back at the computer, clicking on something before nodding.

“He typically works with the door closed even when he doesn’t have an appointment,” she explains, tucking her bangs behind her ear. “Feel free to walk on in. I’ve blocked out his schedule and phone until his meeting this afternoon so you don’t get interrupted.”

My cheeks heat, but I ignore them, offering a smile. “Thank you, Amanda.”

She waves me off, a quiet “No problem” following me as I head towards the door behind her desk.

The restlessness in my body seems to double, which is both impressive and infuriating. It feels as if all I’ve done the last several days since nearly weaning off the suppressors is get more hot and bothered than any other time of my life combined. Memories of Jude fingering me on the kitchen counter pass through my mind, and my body flushes, a shock of lightning shooting down my spine. Sharing Logan’s bed nearly every night certainly hasn’t helped, either, but I refuse to regret it. The way these men make me feel, the sensations they’ve pulled from my body without even knotting with me, is worth every moment away from them feeling like this.

Blowing out a breath, I adjust my bag, switching it to my other shoulder, and then gently push the door open.

Carter’s office sits on the side of the building overlooking the highway. I take a careful step into the space, my breath catching when I take in the view. The mountains stand tall behind the row of mid-rise apartments, the highest peaks still covered in snow despite it practically being the middle of June. The windows must be top tier because I can’t hear any of the cars racing by on the road below.

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