by Anne Malcom
I gaped at him, usually I kept my emotions and mask locked down tight. “How do you even know that?”
He smirked at me. “I have a life outside of here, you know.”
How, I had no idea. He was here as much as I was and helped run my companies. You would think he wouldn’t have time for weekly manicures, let alone a life. But he did. I heard about the parties, the boyfriends, the dates, the art gallery openings. I was invited to them all—minus the dates. Invites, I, of course, declined. I went to necessary company events, and when I did, I took one of the men in my book. Men who owned good suits knew their way around a bedroom and knew what I wanted from them.
Nothing but a plus one and an orgasm.
No sleepovers.
I knew what I wanted and how I wanted to live my life and I wasn’t ashamed of how I went about it. I would never be the woman who dated and gabbed with her girlfriends over cocktails about the latest asshole that screwed her over. Mostly because I didn’t have girlfriends. I had Vaughn and Molly—my twin sister who I didn’t see enough. I had an empire I built from the ground up that I was determined to continue building. I didn’t have time for things like dating and friendships. I had goals.
The problem with goals was that once you achieved them, you were satisfied for a minute before the next one came along. Which meant, of course, you were never satisfied, always hungry, never...complete.
I bit my lip while I chewed over Vaughn’s words, staring at the purplish tint on the inside of my wrist.
Though I wanted to scoff at Vaughn’s words and tell him he’d been watching too many spy movies, it made sense. Was vaguely logical. I worked on sense and logic. Made billions on it. And Wolf Eyes was not someone to be caged in a corner by people asking questions, especially if they were in uniform. I didn’t know how I knew that from the handful of seconds I’d been in his presence, but I was certain of it. He utilized the same skills that had him quickly and efficiently kill a man to quickly and efficiently knock me out. And he did it in such a way that I didn’t even know it happened. No pain from a punch in the face or concussion from being slammed onto the ground. No, he knocked me out like a gentleman.
“Why do you think he did it?” I nodded to my wrist.
“Well, it could be because he just killed a guy and was a spy who couldn’t be recognized by anyone. Could be that he was on a mission that didn’t need complications. Could be that he didn’t want to get arrested for murder. Could be he’s just an asshole.” Vaughn shrugged. “We’ll never know.”
That wasn’t good enough. The attack was on repeat in my mind, tearing the edges of a consciousness I’d long since tamed. Wolf Eyes appeared every time I closed my eyes, even for the milliseconds it took to blink. It wouldn’t let up, this harassment. I knew it with a cold certainty that took me through most of my life. And it would be a problem. I dealt with problems. Not uncertainty.
Which was why I had to know. I’d find him. And I’d find out why.
Maybe I wouldn’t like what I found. Maybe it would cost me a lot more than I bargained for. In fact, a chilly premonition told me it would.
But that didn’t mean I didn’t want to find him.
I was a woman who got what she wanted.
2
HIM
He paced the warehouse, the sound of his boots echoing through the open space as he did so.
He glanced down at the faded, tan leather. One of the toes was peeling at the top layer, like skin after being sliced with a serrated knife. All comparisons these days were to do with pain. Suffering. Torture. Death.
But for once, bloodstained memories didn’t linger in the forefront of his mind. They retreated back to that shadowed corner that he reserved for them. And for once, it didn’t take concentrated and supreme effort to put them there.
No, it was his god damned shoes and that memory that pushed them back.
“Nice boots.”
Her voice filtered through the air as if she were right there with him. Husky and even, shaking only slightly. The eyes, emerald, almost glowing. With terror. Shock. But something else. Strength. They saw too much, those eyes. Penetrated too deep.
They saw too much in him, but they’d seen too much of the world. People who’d witnessed the horror and depravity of humanity had a difference about them, a hardness that only someone of the same kind could recognize.
He saw that in her.
His own people he supposed—the hardened, damaged—if he could have people. But he couldn’t. Even amongst the scarred and fucked up outcasts, he was too broken. So he distanced himself from even the most depraved and damaged. And when he did encounter those people, he made a concerted effort to avoid them, didn’t even pretend to care about their suffering.
That was the way of this hunk of fucking rock in this fucked up stretch of time people called a life. Suffering was the constant. Not love or happiness or any of that bullshit.
That’s the way it was and there were people that could deal and people that could not. He didn’t trouble himself with either kind of people, but most especially not the latter.
Sympathy was for the Devil.
But he had it for her. Inexplicably, he felt a prickling in his gut at the thought of whatever put that hardness in those emerald eyes and what the events of that night would do to solidify those gemstones.
He shook his head as if such a brutal motion could shake her from his mind.
It couldn’t.
He worried about this. His lack of power over the one thing he had left to control.
His mind.
Then again, he never really had control of it anyway. Wasn’t that the illusion that shattered the moment the warm blood spilled over his hands and he watched the life drain out of that violent lowlife?
He was a killer.
He was little more than an animal, prowling around the streets of the city, scratching at the caged bars of his mind.
The roar came back when he spilled that blood. The animal reared up to take control and he relished it.
But then he met those emerald eyes and it went quiet.
The roar.
The animal.
Everything.
The world—his world—that had been so isolated had a visitor.
Only for a split second. Because once he saw past those warrior eyes and to the expensive skirt suit that encased a womanly figure that made his cock pulse even now, he knew. She was not a world away from him.
He’d picked up the watch, glittering with diamonds and wealth and reminders of what separated them.
She was in another universe.
So when he fastened it onto her smooth, milky white skin that smelled of vanilla and taunted him with possibility, he made sure to close off that universe. Go back to his.
That didn’t mean he didn’t imprint that gaze onto his soul. That he didn’t stay cloaked in the shadows while a man in an expensive but not flashy black suit—former Marine by the looks of him—came rushing to her side. He was older. But the way he’d not even blinked at the blood, unearthed his piece with a cold calculated glare that told him he wouldn’t hesitate to use it told him that he was good. Still sharp. Because he’d peered into those shadows like he’d seen him.
But then his attention focused back on the woman, clad in white and wealth, slumped in the dirty alley, whisky hair cloaking the face that had yet to leave his mind.
The woman he’d followed to the hospital.
Then home.
Then he’d watched from the shadows below the glittering tower above him until the sun came up and the shadows were gone and so was he.
Charlotte
The entire rest of the day after I’d kicked Vaughn out after my coffee was a day of meetings, my mind was only half there.
Which was bad, considering we were on the cusp of one of the biggest mergers my company had ever seen. One that would build my empire to dizzying heights and not only put me at the top of the security tech industry, but the industry in general.
My ivory tower was surpassing the clouds, further isolating me from that world I so despised.
Me, a self-made woman, who started with cosmetics and worked her way up to a billion-dollar empire would finally climb over the Armani clad assholes who, at every turn, had tried to belittle, sabotage and sexualize me.
So why didn’t it feel better?
Sure, I was shaken from the incident last night, who wouldn’t be? But it was something else. Something at the back of my mind that had my instincts telling me to run a mile from the merger with RuberCorp. They were the biggest company in the IT sector, holding the patents on at least ten groundbreaking technologies, frontrunners in the artificial intelligence game and had data banks big enough to sustain our new security technology.
But something wasn’t right.
I’d been feeling it since before last night and waved it off as lack of sleep and overworking myself. I’d promised myself a vacation, which I’d treat Molly to after this was over.
I trusted my instincts. They were what got me to invest every single cent of my money earned from a modest and growing cosmetics company to an IT startup which had revolutionary ideas about smartphones and security.
The return on my investment happened within the year.
We expanded and had multibillion-dollar contracts internationally within two.
My cosmetics company had all but become a household name and I’d ventured into two more brand expansions.
My instincts hadn’t let me down yet.
Until now.
Staring at the contracts, I was fighting against the urge to put them in the shredder. Until Vaughn interrupted me, insisting I go home and he come too, and we order Chinese food and watch Julia Roberts movies.
I glanced up from my computer. “Boundaries. Ever heard of them?” I asked curtly.
He put his thumb and forefinger to his chin, pretending to look at the ceiling in thought. “Nope. They sound utterly dull, though.”
“I don’t like Chinese food, or Julia Roberts movies and I have contracts to go over,” I informed him, though he already knew this since he’d put the contracts on my desk in the first place.
His gasp permeated the room and I was actually alarmed for a second, thinking another armed attacker had somehow made it through two lots of security and a swipe card elevator.
Only for a second.
“Who doesn’t like Chinese food and Julia Roberts?” he asked. “She’s America’s sweetheart. I can get right with the whole no smiling thing and the fact you may actually melt if you get caught in the rain without an umbrella, but not liking Julia?” He shook his head. “I’m going to have to rethink working for a cyborg with no soul.”
The corner of my mouth quirked. “This cyborg with no soul is the only reason you’re kept in limited edition Gucci handbags, I think you’ll find a way to get right with it,” I remarked dryly.
I paid Vaughn a lot. But that was because he did a lot. He wasn’t an assistant who did my calendar, got coffees and dry-cleaning. He was in charge of the day to day of Charlotte Cosmetics, as well as overseeing all tech developments. He had a degree from MIT, which meant he could run any of our companies but his passion was cosmetics and his unique look meant that he would not run his own security company—the world was a shitty place.
I was a firm believer in getting what I paid for. I may have been known as a bitch around the office, but I always made sure that I paid people what they were owed.
Plus fifty percent.
I did that even when I was existing on Ramen noodles and my CFO was dining at the best steakhouses in New York.
“For Gucci, I will let it slide,” Vaughn decided, leaning against my door.
He paused for less than a second, in which I didn’t even entertain the thought that he’d given up. And, like always, I was right.
“How about Greek?”
“Vaughn, I need to get these done”—I nodded to the contracts I was scribbling on—“then I’ll go for a run, then I’m sleeping. I don’t need to be babysat.”
“It’s not babysitting, it’s looking out for my friend who was attacked last night,” he said quietly.
Somehow, by miracle of all miracles, the incident stayed out of the press. Mostly because my lawyers paid a lot of people a lot of money to keep their mouths shut. No one at the office had caught on since my scarves had stayed on all day.
They didn’t need to know.
No one needed to know.
Weakness was not something that needed to be broadcast.
I straightened my spine and gave Vaughn a level gaze. “I’m fine.” It was so close to being the truth because I’d tricked even myself into believing the lie.
He sighed. “It’s okay, you know,” he murmured. “Not to be. Okay. Anyone would be shaken. On the edge of a mental breakdown. It’s normal.”
“I’m not anyone, Vaughn,” I replied tersely. “I’m the CEO of three companies and have two lots of cybersecurity contracts for an entire nation in my hands right now. Theoretically hundreds of millions of lives. I’ve got my shit together. I’ve got to have my shit together. Otherwise”—I nodded downward—“these people would be in a lot of trouble.” I paused, my mind venturing a little too close to the rattling locked door at the corners of my head. “And there’s no such thing as normal. It’s a construct made to make us strive for something that will turn us insane.”
Vaughn’s gaze was shrewd, even beneath his lashes. “You’re not like her. Having feelings isn’t being like her, you know. Losing control for a split second after you almost died isn’t the same as what she did. You know that.” His voice was soft, but the words were sharp enough and the memories that followed were little more than fatal.
“I know,” I snapped. “Though I think you have well and truly overstepped whatever boundaries we have left. I’d appreciate you not doing so again.”
Vaughn flinched at my harsh tone and that would have affected me had I not been in my shell that protected me from such feelings of guilt, remorse, vulnerability.
I read somewhere that an incredibly large percentage of successful people were high functioning psychopaths, and not for the first time, I wondered which percentage I belonged to.
I had the genetics for it.
He nodded once. “Yes, Ms. Crofton.” His eyes met mine. “I’ll be here. Day or night. Just a phone call away.”
He turned to leave.
“Vaughn,” I called to his well-tailored suit-clad back. “You tell Molly any of this, I will fire you,” I promised.
His eyes flickered before he nodded.
Then he was gone.
And I was alone.
Not truly alone. No one ever was, not when ghosts of the past were always there. Those constant companions we all tried our best to ignore.
Even with those ghosts, the utter loneliness was stifling.
Despite the fact I knew that Ralph was sitting in the lobby, waiting for me. He’d wait all night, even though I told him I’d be working late and could call a car service. Even though he had a wife waiting for him. Cold beers. Some sort of football game.
Some sort of life, presumably.
Yet he remained.
I didn’t let myself puzzle on such a gesture. Instead, I pushed any thoughts or feelings connected with it aside and focused on my contracts and tried to breathe around the stifling feeling of loneliness and blink away the wolf eyes staring at me from the shadows of the room.
“You didn’t need to walk me up,” I said to Ralph as we rode up to my apartment. The floors ticked past as the P button stayed illuminated in the starkly bright elevator.
His gaze was flat, yet the grayish eyes surrounded by shallow wrinkles and weathered skin twinkled with something. “Yes, I did, Ms. Crofton.”
I pursed my lips. “It was a one-time thing and could have happened to anyone. This is New York, after all.”
He eyed me. “You’re not anyone, Ms. Crofton.”
I could have argue
d. I was good at that, my job relied on me to be able to talk my way out of anything, much like a defense lawyer. But better.
Always better.
I stayed silent instead.
The emptiness in the air was usual for me and Ralph, since I hated small talk and he knew me well enough not to try to engage.
So he waited.
And for once, I was the one to proverbially blink first, the silence much too loud for my liking.
“You’ll apologize to Jilly for me, for making you miss dinner,” I said as the doors opened to the foyer of my penthouse, the glittering lights of the city illuminating the room.
He laughed, deep and throaty that somehow cut a cord within in me. Completely different than the deeper and rougher one from my childhood, yet it reminded me of my father.
The sound breathed life into one of the silent ghosts trailing behind me. Until I shut my shields.
“She wouldn’t likely accept that apology, Ms. Crofton,” he replied. “She’d be angry if I made it to dinner and heard I’d left you working to find your own way home.”
I set my white Prada bag on my vintage side table, regarding my tired face in the ornate Victorian mirror before settling my attention on Ralph, who was staring at me while holding the elevator door open. “I’m a thirty-two-year-old woman, Ralph. I’ve found my own way for decades. I would have been able to handle myself.”
He nodded once. “Yes. You would,” he agreed.
There was a loaded pause before he stepped back into the elevator.
“Goodnight, Ms. Crofton. Try and get some sleep tonight. I’ll see you at six.”
“Six, Ralph,” I agreed, as if it wasn’t the same time he’d been picking me up for six years. “And pass those apologies to Jilly,” I added as the doors closed.
I caught a glimpse of his weathered smile before the doors took him back down to earth and I remained in my penthouse.
Alone once more.
How I used to like it.
Until exactly twenty hours ago.