The Man Who Has No Love (Soulless Book 3)

by Victoria Quinn

  I shook my head as I pulled out the paper towels and dried my hands. “Not as well as I wanted.”

  “When do you return to patient care?”

  “Next week.”

  “Maybe you’ll have better results next time.”

  Some of my patients responded well to my treatment, while others didn’t—and I couldn’t figure out why.

  “Neil and Scarlett told me there’s a charity dinner this Saturday.”

  “Yeah, I had Theresa email you the details. I know it’s last minute, but I hope you can make it.”

  “It’s for a great cause. I’ll definitely be there.” She came to my side, pens sticking out of her front pocket. Her hair was in her usual tight ponytail, keeping the strands from her face. She’d been there for a week, and she already fit in. She made great contributions to the other projects, and she didn’t hesitate to ask one of us for input.

  “You can bring a guest if you’d like.”

  “Oh, I’m not seeing anybody,” she said quickly. “I actually just got out of a relationship right before I left London. But it was one of those relationships that should have ended far sooner than it did…”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  She shrugged. “I’m happier now. Anyway, I’ll be going alone.”

  My phone started to buzz in my pocket because it was never still long. Sometimes I considered leaving it in my office so it wouldn’t bother me, but now that Derek was here, I wanted to be accessible if he ever needed me.

  “Will your son be there?”

  It took me a second to respond. “I didn’t realize I’d mentioned Derek to you.”

  “Oh, you didn’t,” she said. “I read that online. That you share a child with your ex-wife. Sorry about that, by the way. Breakups are hard, whether you’re married or not.”

  “It’s okay.” I gave her the same response she’d given me. “I’m happier now.”

  A lot happier.

  Eight

  Cleo

  I entered his apartment, wearing a red cocktail dress with a single strap over the shoulder along with a pair of black heels. My clutch was with me, black and covered with just a hint of glitter. I wore my mother’s diamond earrings and her bracelet. I wished I could wear my father’s watch, but it simply wouldn’t look right. I’d thought about taking it apart and turning it into something else, but I couldn’t bring myself to dismantle it. “I’m here.”

  Deacon’s footsteps sounded as he came down the hallway. Dressed in a charcoal gray suit with a cleanly shaved jaw, he looked like a hot piece of man. His expensive watch was on his wrist, his shoes were Armani, and his sexy body filled out that suit better than any mannequin ever could. “Hey, baby.” His eyes lit up as he looked at me, like he was suddenly in a good mood because I was there.

  I lived for moments like these, when he made me feel special with no effort at all. “You look handsome.”

  His arms wrapped around my waist, and he pulled me in for a kiss, getting my lipstick on his mouth without caring. His hands slid to my ass and squeezed it before he rubbed his nose against mine. “You’re the one who looks like fire.” He moved to the door and walked out. I handed him a tissue to wipe off my lipstick.

  Once we were on the other side of the door, the affection was gone, and we walked a few feet apart.

  But it felt like a mile.

  We reached the lobby and got into the back seat of the car.

  Ironically, the dinner was being held in the ballroom of the hotel where Tucker worked.

  “Don’t put your hands on the wall,” Deacon said from his side of the car.

  “Why?” I asked, both eyebrows raised.

  “Because Tucker told me he and Pria sneak into the ballroom on their breaks…”

  I laughed. “That’s not surprising.”

  “I guess they do it up against the wall.”

  “Well, that’s a nice way to spend fifteen minutes.”

  The car arrived at the hotel, and we walked inside.

  “Anything I should know about your colleagues?”

  He shook his head. “I like them all. They’re easy to talk to.”

  “Then why did you bring me?”

  He stopped in the entryway and looked down at me, like he genuinely didn’t understand the question. “I brought you because everyone is bringing their significant other…and you’re my very significant other.” He seemed a bit annoyed by the question, outright offended.

  “Deacon, that’s not what I meant.”

  “It seemed like it.”

  “I just mean, you usually ask me to these things to help you with people. That’s all I meant.”

  He sheathed his anger, but a little bit of hostility lingered.

  A waiter arrived and brought us champagne in flutes.

  Deacon declined a glass but gave one to me.

  “You don’t like champagne?”

  He shook his head. “Too bubbly.” He stepped farther into the room, keeping his hands in his pockets while I walked by his side, like he was doing it on purpose so he wouldn’t touch me. Soon, two men walked up, several decades older.

  “Dr. Hamilton.” One shook his hand. “How are you?”

  “Well.” Deacon shook his hand. “This is Cleo.” He hesitated before he introduced me, like he didn’t know what to say. “My friend…”

  I stepped in and shook his hand. “I’m his personal assistant. It’s lovely to meet you.”

  Deacon recovered. “This is my colleague, Dr. Watson. He specializes in antiviral drugs.”

  “How interesting,” I said, even though I didn’t know what that was.

  Another man shook his hand. “Quite an event you put on, Dr. Hamilton. My wife loves the centerpieces.”

  “Thank you,” Deacon responded. “But I can’t take the credit. Theresa did it all.” He turned to me. “Dr. Thompson, this is my assistant, Cleo.” He introduced me the way I introduced myself.

  He shook my hand. “Lovely to meet you.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’m glad you’re having a good time.”

  Since Deacon knew everyone there, he spent a lot of time mingling when he would normally dodge people and rush to his table. He was definitely more relaxed with his colleagues, and there were a lot of long-winded conversations about the stuff they were working on, which left me clueless.

  I grabbed his empty glass. “Another beer?”

  He was in the middle of a conversation, so he just gave me a nod and kept talking.

  I walked to the bar and ordered him another and got a beer for myself. A lot of the people were already at the tables, talking to one another or their spouses. The centerpieces were tall and beautiful, the chandeliers gorgeous, and people walked down the line and bid on the items at the silent auction.

  It was a really nice event, and that was saying something coming from me, because I did this stuff all the time. I ran into Theresa, and we talked for a bit since she often saw me stop by his office. It didn’t seem like she knew about the times Deacon had fucked me on the desk because she didn’t behave differently toward me.

  When I turned to walk back to him, I saw him talking with a beautiful blonde, a tall woman in a skintight black dress, her long hair in pretty curls. She was tall, taller than me, just a few inches shorter than him in her heels. With fair skin, light-colored eyes, and thick lashes, she was gorgeous.

  Deacon spoke to her, his hands in his pockets, and he looked comfortable, like he knew her well.

  I had no idea who she was.

  I had no reason to be jealous, to be insecure, but seeing this blonde bombshell with a great rack and an awesome ass talk to my man…was a little terrifying. Maybe someone had brought her, and she was making a pass at him, like most women usually did, but the conversation went on too long for that.

  I walked back to them, suddenly insecure, suddenly warm and cold at the same time. When I reached them, I heard her speak in a language I couldn’t understand.

  “The coefficient i
s off. I think I may be looking for the right thing but with the wrong approach. When I took my samples out of the incubator, I was expecting to see a higher number…” She trailed off when she looked at me, and she flashed a bright smile, like she was friendly. “Hello, I’m Dr. Hawthorne.”

  This was Dr. Hawthorne?

  I held the beer out to Deacon, pausing for a second because I didn’t know what to do. “Uh, hi.”

  Deacon watched me for a second before he took the beer out of my grasp.

  She extended her hand, her smile fading as she waited for me to greet her in return.

  Deacon cocked an eyebrow, having no idea why my behavior was peculiar.

  The new researcher he hired was a six-foot blond Sports Illustrated model? She was drop-dead gorgeous and brilliant? Was he fucking kidding me?

  Deacon stepped in when I stayed quiet. “This is my assistant, Cleo.”

  I felt my heart plummet into my stomach, hearing my title as it paled in comparison to hers. “It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Hawthorne.” I finally recovered myself and shook her hand.

  She had a firm grip. “You as well.” Then she turned back to Deacon, talking to him as if I didn’t exist.

  She sat beside him at dinner—which annoyed me.

  All his other colleagues had brought their spouses. She was the only one without a date.

  That worried me. Because easily she could have brought someone, with looks like that.

  She talked his ear off, fascinating him with her science lingo, talking to him about her work as well as his own—even making him laugh.

  I felt sick to my stomach.

  I just sat there in silence for thirty minutes—suffering. I hardly ate my food, didn’t touch my wine, barely paid attention to the silent auction as the winners were read off.

  Deacon hardly said two words to me.

  Maybe she was just a friendly person, but none of Deacon’s other colleagues talked to him so much. Maybe since she was a new employee, he was the only person she knew. But she was far too invested in him for it to be purely professional.

  When dinner concluded and the auction was over, the British bitch excused herself to the restroom.

  Deacon turned back to me, finally, and acted like nothing was wrong. “We raised more money than we did last year.”

  “That’s great…” I couldn’t even pretend to be normal, pretend I was fine. It was the first time I’d ever felt insecure in our relationship, felt threatened by someone else. I was a simple woman of average intelligence. I wasn’t even that beautiful. She had it all—the whole fucking package. And I knew she wanted Deacon. How could she not? How could any woman not want him? They were the same intellectual level, the same age, the same level of attractiveness…

  Deacon watched me for a bit, like he could see the stress all over my face. “Something wrong?”

  “I’m fine.” I blurted out the sentence, not wanting to talk about it, not address it in public.

  He didn’t pull his eyes from my face. “Why are you lying to me?” He asked it matter-of-factly, like he was genuinely confused rather than annoyed.

  I sighed. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  “Are you ill?”

  “No.”

  His eyes stayed on my face, examining me like I was something he was studying. His hand went to mine under the table.

  I pulled it away even though I had no idea why. I was behaving emotionally and irrationally, which wasn’t like me at all. It was embarrassing, and my unreasonable behavior just made me more upset. It was like digging my own grave, bringing me closer to death.

  He didn’t try again, and this time, his eyes narrowed farther—like he didn’t recognize me. “I don’t understand what’s happening here.” He was confused, completely oblivious to the situation, and it wasn’t his fault. He was totally innocent, probably having no idea what the problem was because he didn’t see her that way.

  But I was still upset. I couldn’t shake it. I was around billionaires and celebrities all the time, and I was never intimidated—not once. But now, I was an emotional wreck. I was so upset, I wanted to cry…which was ridiculous.

  Dr. Hawthorne returned to the table, another glass of wine in her hand. “I feel like all I ever talk about is work, but it’s nice to be surrounded by the brightest minds in the field. It’s really an honor. But what do you do for fun?”

  Deacon looked at her, stared at her for several heartbeats, not saying anything.

  She was patient, like his prolonged silence was normal, like she understood it as well as I did.

  Then he turned back to me and did the same thing, staring at me for several seconds, like he was piecing the puzzle together. Significance moved in his gaze, almost an audible click, like the last twist of a Rubik’s Cube that finally completed the puzzle. He turned back to her. “I have a cabin in Connecticut. I spend a lot of time there with my son…and my girlfriend.”

  I stilled at his words, touched that he could figure out my feelings without having to ask, and once he did, he did something about it. He didn’t turn to me and indicate I was the woman he referred to because I didn’t want to put that information out to the public, but he still acknowledged I existed…as a fictitious person.

  “Oh,” she responded, genuinely surprised, noticeably disappointed. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend…”

  “Yes,” Deacon answered. “And I’m in love with her.”

  Deacon didn’t say a word to me for the rest of the evening.

  Inside of me, a volcano of emotions had erupted, a mixture of embarrassment, relief, and…the greatest happiness I’d ever felt in my entire life. It made my eyes wet, but I had to force the emotion back, to pretend what he said meant nothing to me…that it didn’t mean the world to me.

  I kept replaying the words in my head, and they sounded more beautiful every time.

  It made my heart explode.

  We were among the last few people to leave because Deacon continued to talk to people, thanking them for bidding on the auction, and wishing them a good night. Dr. Hawthorne didn’t stick around much longer after Deacon confessed his feelings.

  So, my suspicion about her had been right.

  After he’d finished his final conversation with his colleague, he stood alone with me, standing in the ballroom that didn’t look as beautiful as it had when the night started. The tables were full of empty glass and plates, and glitter and napkins were on the floor. A lot of centerpieces were missing because people took them home so they wouldn’t end up in the trash.

  No one else was around, but Deacon stood there with his hands in his pockets, as if I weren’t there at all.

  I knew he was upset with me. I could feel it. “Deacon—”

  “You are the one who wanted me to lie.” He turned to me, his dark eyes hostile like simmering coals. “You are the one who wanted me to introduce you as my assistant. If it were up to me, I would grab your fucking ass in front of these people and not give a shit. I would tell them about our trips to the lake, the way you love my son, the shit we do together.” He didn’t raise his voice, but he was just as loud when he kept his voice quiet. “That was not how I wanted to tell you how I felt, Cleo.”

  I gripped my clutch, my eyes slightly wet, not from his anger, but because he really did feel that way. “How long have you felt that way?”

  His eyes were still cold. “I don’t fucking know. Since tonight. Since the night I went to your apartment and asked you to be with me. Since the moment you brought Derek to me. Since the moment my son told you he loved you. I don’t have a romantic answer, like there was some specific thing you did or said or some grand moment. I just do…and I know I do.”

  I couldn’t keep the tears back anymore. They welled up in my eyes until they streaked down my cheeks. “I’m so fucking in love with you, Deacon.” It was a moment of catharsis, to finally get those words out. “And it was romantic, the perfect grand moment that I would never change.”

  His eyes becam
e less harsh, slowly softening as he watched more tears drip down my cheeks. It was the first time he’d heard me say those words, but he didn’t seem surprised, like he already knew how I felt.

  “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to have your babies. I want…everything with you.” I laid everything on the table since I had already made such a fool of myself. Now, I had nothing to lose, nothing to hide. And it was such a relief to look in his eyes and just be honest, to wear my heart on my sleeve, give him every single piece of me.

  With emotion in his eyes, he stared at me, quiet and still, like he needed time to process this monumental moment, to compartmentalize everything I’d just thrown at him. As I continued to cry in front of him, he watched me, his hands still in his pockets. Then he stepped closer to me, moving his hands to my cheeks, his thumbs wiping away my tears. “I want all those things too, baby.”

  My hands gripped his wrists. “You do?”

  “Not right now. But someday.”

  I closed my eyes, making more tears fall.

  He pulled me close and kissed the fallen tears, his lips soft and gentle. “You want kids? I’ll give you kids. You want forever in my condo or at the cabin on the lake, I’ll do too. I just want to be with you.”

  “Deacon…” More tears came.

  He wiped them away, ignoring the room we stood in, the people who lingered behind. “I just don’t understand why you felt that way with her. She’s my colleague, someone I respect and admire. How could you think I was making a move on her? Let alone, right in front of you.”

  “That’s not what I thought.”

  “Then explain it to me. Because I’m still pretty ticked that you don’t trust me.”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you…”

  He dropped his hands and stepped back. “Then what, Cleo?”

  “It’s just… It’s obvious she’s interested in you.”

  “I don’t think she is, but what does that matter?” he snapped. “You dated my brother, and I’m not jealous.”