Page 26 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

“I’m sorry,” he insists, sliding his arms around her waist. She yields to his touch, crunching the flowers between them as she leans into him. Khalohn presses a kiss against her forehead before he mutters, “It was a big day.”

“Definebig,” Hollie insists.

“Big, as in the CFO calling me into his office today after our all-hands meeting and telling me he intends on making me his protégé.” He watches as his wife’s mouth falls open in shock, causing a small laugh to rumble from his chest. Smirking down at her, he says, “He may not have used those words exactly, but he might as well have. He’s bringing me in on a project no analyst in his first year could even dream of touching.”

Hollie sighs again, exasperated, and then tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. She shakes her head at him and then semi-repeats, “You are so annoying. And now I want the details.” Pushing her way out of his hold, she heads toward the kitchen as she tells him, “Your plate’s in the oven. I’m going to put these in water.”

He follows after her, grabbing his plate of spaghetti and meatballs as he begins to verbally replay the conversation he and Jefferies had behind closed doors earlier that day. He’s so wrapped up in defining what this opportunity means for his career progression, he barely gets more than a bite in by the time Hollie carries her vase full of flowers to the table. They sit together and she props her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hands as she smiles at him. It isn’t until he recognizes the knowing glint in her eyes that he realizes he hasn’t stopped talking in nearly ten minutes.

“Sorry.” He shrugs and repeats, “It was a big day.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone in the finance industry as excited as you are about their job. You fascinate me, Lohnny Morgan.”

Khalohn takes a bite of his dinner and then shoves aside his plate. Stretching his arm out across the table, he holds open his hand in invitation. Hollie looks down at his palm before sliding one of her own over his. Wrapping his fingers around hers, he aligns his gaze with her gray one as he assures her, “You know everything I’m doing I’m doing it for us.”

“I know,” she replies with a subtle nod.

“I mean it,” he insists, gripping her hand tighter. “The late nights, the long hours, it’s not because I don’t want to be here with you. I promised myself a long time ago I would make something of myself. Then I met you.”

“The best thing to ever happen to you,” she teases softly.

He pauses, the silence meant to remind her what she’s said isn’t a joke but the truth—a truth he never intends on forgetting. He then lifts her hand, turning it so as to press a kiss against the back of her palm. “We’re in this together. Everything I’m working to build, it’s for us. For our future.”

Her playful expression fades, and she reaches out her other hand to sandwich his. “I know, baby.” Extracting her fingers, she points at his plate and instructs, “Finish your dinner and then take your wife to bed.”

“As you wish, Mrs. Morgan.”

Khalohn stares outthe floor-to-ceiling window in front of which he stands, his gaze focused over the tops of city buildings and out at the calm East River. His mind is quiet, as is the office he has chosen to inhabit for the last several hours. He doesn’t think about the financial reports he scrutinized while at home over his morning coffee. He doesn’t bother to worry about the contracts he read and signed following an invigorating hour of exercise. Neither is he concerned with the truth that he left home and came to his office soon after lunch on a Saturday afternoon in order to clear his mind.

There’s something sacred about his piece of Wall Street. Fifty stories into the sky is where he knows he can always be himself. Within the confines of his offices, he is expected to be only one person. His success depends on it, and that truth provides a comfort he hasn’t been able to find anywhere else. For Khalohn,homehas always come with obligations, false hopes, broken promises, and shattered vows. Even a decade after a dissolved marriage and countless nights in the penthouse he’s never once shared with another, it isn’t so much comfortable as it is familiar. It upholds his status more than it showcases who he is.

When his phone rings from inside of his pocket, he doesn’t immediately move to answer it. As if slowly trudging his way through the abyss of nowhere he’s been occupying in his mind, he blinks until he recognizes his reflection staring back at him by way of the spotless glass. Finally unfolding his arms, he reaches into his slacks and draws out his still ringing device. Curious to seeClandestine’sis trying to reach him, he swipes his thumb across the screen and brings the phone to his ear.

“Khalohn Morgan,” he answers routinely.

“Yes, hello, Mr. Morgan. This is Stefano. I’m calling as Clandestine’s would like to offer you an exclusive special, of sorts.”

“I’m listening,” he assures his caller, looking beyond his reflection now.

His gaze drifts toward the Brooklyn Bridge as Stefano goes on to inform him, “As a way of showing our appreciation for your continued business, and in hopes of expressing our sincerest apologies for our most recent mix-up, we would like to offer you the pleasure of an evening with the newest woman in Clandestine’s collection.”

Khalohn’s brow dips in a slight frown as the words take shape and form meaning in his mind. He then turns away from the window entirely as he asks, “She’s not been touched?”

“It will be her first night,” Stefano answers smoothly.

His frown deepens even as a spark of excitement ignites within his chest. The thought of spending the evening with a woman he’s never had before awakens his carnal desire, which has been dormant—buried under a week’s worth of days so busy the hours seemed to have gotten lost in a blur of activity.

But held in his silence is a caution he simply cannot ignore, regardless of the need which has been aroused.

“Is she a virgin?”

“No, sir. Beatrice does not accept—”

He nods, shifting his body back toward the window as he interrupts, “How much?”

“Right, well, she’ll be an additional five thousand on top of your usual fee. This will apply to both nights, should you wish a repeat encounter.”

Khalohn barely considers it, the thought of being with a woman who has yet to be purchased exciting him in a way he hasn’t felt since he first discovered the underground establishment.

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