His Eternal Flame

by Layla Valentine

  This city never sleeps. Sometimes, I wonder how I manage to sleep at night with all the hustle and bustle. I’ve always craved action, though I prefer said action to be presented in the form of a particularly hard case at the office. I remember working long nights at Stratton and Company, the delight that rushes through my body when I’ve finished a job well done.

  Once again, I think of Dillon and the cushy job I had working as his maid. I can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking of me, too. Doubtful. The billionaire has probably already forgotten my name. I can picture him, flirting with a new maid who doesn’t give him snide looks or try to sabotage his life.

  I don’t know why that thought seems to carry so much weight, placing a burden straight on my chest. Even less obvious are my reasons for thinking about him so much. I try to shake off thoughts of him, freeing my mind as much as I’m able.

  My computer dings again, and as hopeful as I am that it’s another temp agency, I’m once again disappointed to see the terms of my poo profession outlined for me. Sighing, I note where I’m intended to meet for the interview. It’s some distance away, and for a moment, I forget that I couldn’t even get my car to start the last time I tried. The thought strikes me suddenly as I begin making my way downstairs, however.

  Groaning in irritation, I order a cab through the app on my phone. I’m told that I’ll be picked up in around ten minutes, and realizing I have very little to do but wait, I continue to make my way downstairs. Perhaps I’ll feel better once I’m out in the sunlight. I have my doubts, but I can at least pretend to have an ounce of positivity left within me.

  Stepping into the sunny day, I shield my eyes from the sun as I lean against the exterior of my apartment building. As my back touches the concrete, I’m vaguely aware of a slight squishing sensation on the back of my shirt. I jolt upright, lurching away from the building only to see a half-chewed wad of gum stretched between myself and the surface of the building. I struggle to swallow a scream, reaching around to my back with the intent of ridding myself of my sticky passenger.

  “Yuck,” I mutter, feeling vaguely nauseous as the gum squishes between my fingers. Another miserable moan spills from my lips, and I make an attempt to wipe the sticky saliva and gum mixture off my fingers.

  “Miss Law?” a voice inquires abruptly, and I glance towards the street, expecting to see the taxi I’d called for.

  Instead, there is a well-dressed man standing beside a limousine. The windows are blacked out, and while I have a sneaking suspicion of who might be inside the extravagant vehicle, I have no way of truly knowing. Gritting my teeth in irritation, I walk purposefully towards the man, who I can only presume is the limo driver.

  “That’s me,” I answer brusquely, glancing towards the car.

  A familiar guilt begins to boil in my gut, and the nausea I’ve been feeling washes over me even more intensely. I must be getting somewhat pale, as the limo driver reaches out with a gloved hand and removes the gum from my shirt. I manage to mutter my thanks, rummaging in my purse for some hand sanitizer.

  “I can provide you with a napkin as soon as you get in the car. Your former boss would like to speak to you, and I’m under the impression that it’s a rather urgent matter,” he explains.

  I try to ignore the sudden lurch of my heart, torn between irritation and delight at the thought of seeing the man I had attempted to ruin. The fact that he is probably here to rub my nose in my misstep seems almost secondary.

  Admittedly, the measure of pride I still hold is miniscule. In all likelihood, it has been ripped away just as quickly as the wad of gum has been ripped off of my shirt. I draw my lip between my teeth, looking up as a taxi pulls up in front of my apartment. I feel bad for a moment, knowing that the area isn’t on the normal cab route, and for good reason.

  Living in this particular apartment complex isn’t exactly something I should be proud of. There’s a shooting or a stabbing nearly every other week, with the occasional drug bust spattered here and there on weekends. To say I keep my door locked tight would be an understatement. It’s all I can afford, though, and it’s better than sleeping on a park bench.

  In any case, it’s unusual to call a cab here, as most drivers usually give the area a wide berth. It’s not like I can just tell the guy to leave without compensating him for wasting his time. Granted, I haven’t gotten in the taxi yet or greeted the driver…

  Ultimately, it’s a matter of whether I truly want to get in this limousine with Dillon. It could go either very badly, or, it could go great. While I’m erring on the side of this being an awful decision, I can’t bear to leave things on these terms. Swallowing my pride, I glance towards the limousine driver. I manage a half-hearted smile, reaching up to touch my hair.

  “Do I look all right?” I inquire softly, and he hesitates for a moment.

  “You would look much prettier if you were to smile, Miss Law,” he finally says, offering me a smile.

  I narrow my eyes, weighing the option of telling him to shove it. Sure, he has a reason to smile—he works for the richest man in the state. I mean, just because I ruined that chance for myself, doesn’t mean he should go flaunting his happiness around!

  “I’ll take that into consideration,” I mumble, managing a half-smile as the driver opens the door.

  Steeling myself, I duck down so that I can slide inside. While I’m not surprised to see who my company will be, there’s something about his presence that sends mixed feelings through my body. Dillon turns to me with a soft smile, and I feel my heart bang frantically against my ribs.

  Well, it couldn’t get much worse.

  Chapter Eight

  Dillon

  With those intense, verdant eyes fixed upon me, it’s all I can do to manage a smile. Milo, the driver, closes the door behind her. Charlotte manages to shift into a seated position, though she looks terribly uncomfortable. I resist the desire to reach out to her, telling myself that I have to keep some measure of control of the situation.

  “Dillon, it’s…” She pauses, considering her words. “I’m assuming you’re here for some sort of retribution? Maybe you could tie a concrete block around my ankle, throw me off a bridge, and do us both a favor,” she mutters, sounding as if she’s only half-kidding.

  I laugh, though the sound is an admittedly hollow one.

  “I didn’t come to argue. I was just hoping you could join me for a drive while we discuss things,” I explain, tapping my fingers nervously against the leather upholstery of my seat.

  She considers me critically, and I’m somewhat surprised by the lack of scorn in her stare. I can only reason that she’s taking comfort in the effect her words have on me.

  “I actually came to apologize,” I continue, meeting her gaze and holding it.

  Determination sweeps over me, and more than anything, I want to show her how deeply sorry I am. More than anything, I long to take her into my arms. I know that idea is too far gone to ever consider again, but…a man can dream, can’t he?

  She seems troubled by the intensity of my stare, glancing away and picking at her cuticles. Briefly, she makes a disgusted face before knocking on the window between the driver’s seat and the interior of the limo. Milo rolls it down, glancing towards her with a sheepish smile.

  “You said you’d give me a napkin,” she says, and I can’t help but stare with vague amusement.

  I glance towards Milo, trying to get a read on the situation. He says nothing, reaching into the glovebox and tossing a pack of said napkins towards Charlotte. She catches them with a faint smile, ripping the pack open. Milo keeps the window down for a moment longer, looking between the two of us.

  “I would advise wiping off the back of your shirt as well,” he says quietly.

  I raise a brow, but Charlotte simply grumbles, struggling to reach behind herself with one of the napkins. I roll up the window, restoring our privacy before taking one of the wipes into my hand.

  “Turn around. You’re not going to be able to get it,�
�� I insist, giving her shoulder a slight nudge. She groans pathetically, and it’s enough to bring a smile to my face. “Come on. Don’t be so dramatic; let me see,” I assert once more, chuckling as she levels a glare upon me.

  “If you laugh, I’m getting out,” she says very seriously.

  I hold my hands up defensively, offering her a gentle smile. She watches me for a moment before breathing a sigh and turning her back towards me. She continues to wipe her fingers, and I can’t help but make a face at the vaguely pink-tinted stain on the back of her shirt. I swallow my chuckles, reaching out to dab at the mark.

  “What is this mess?” I ask softly, and she sighs as she finishes scrubbing her hands.

  “I got gum on my shirt,” she replies blandly.

  “I thought you fancied yourself more of a gumshoe,” I retort unthinkingly, nearly flinching as soon as the words pass my lips.

  Her shoulders go stiff, and I’m almost certain she’s about to go off on me. However, she begins to snicker softly, and disbelief washes over me. Her snickers soon evolve into laughter, and I find myself chuckling as well. I continue to dab the stain on her shirt, and she turns to face me with a faint smile.

  “I didn’t play a very good detective,” she admits.

  I shrug my shoulders, folding the napkin up and putting it in the cup holder.

  “You’re not the one who needs to apologize, you know,” she says after a thoughtful moment, and I can’t help but laugh, trying to disguise it with a cough.

  “That’s certainly not how you felt at my apartment,” I hedge.

  This time, she shrugs and considers me earnestly.

  “I’ve had time to think. While I still hold that your actions ruined my life, as well as many others, I realize you’re right. It was never personal until I decided to take it a step further, and I suppose that was rather unfair of me,” she mumbles.

  I find my lips curling in a smile as I lean back in the seat and cross my arms over my chest.

  “Well, I should have looked into your past a bit deeper before agreeing to hire you for the maid position. That was a mistake on my part. Also…as much as I shouldn’t say this, I do regret the negative impact my business choice had on your life. I can’t say I haven’t considered the consequences of my actions; I’ve just never been faced with them so directly,” I reply gently.

  She hums softly in acknowledgement, and we fall into a comfortable silence for a bit. She seems lost in thought, and I’m content to piece together my own thoughts before we reach our destination.

  Soon enough, the limo pulls to a stop. Charlotte glances towards the window, somewhat surprised to see a picturesque picnic area laid out before us. There’s a few wooden tables lined up, as well as a swing set near the shallows of the lake I’ve brought her to.

  She looks to me with curiosity in her gaze, a perfectly shaped brow curled inquisitively. I simply smile, remaining silent as Milo opens the door for us. Charlotte carefully shuffles out, and as soon as I step out, I can feel the pleasantly cool breeze wash over me.

  “This place is beautiful,” Charlotte says decisively, sprinting in the direction of the swings.

  Though I’d expected her to choose one of the simple wooden benches, I find myself chasing after her and plopping down in the second swing. She glances towards me with a faint smile, a lock of her hair obscuring her eyes. I reach out to brush it away, meeting her gaze again. Something in the air seems to shift, and she averts her eyes towards the water.

  “I can’t say I understand why you brought me here, but…it’s nice,” she tells me with a smile.

  “My parents brought me here when I was young. Though I have to attribute much of my wealth to them, I don’t have many happy memories of my parents. My father was a rather strict man, and my mother was prone to turning him against me in the worst of situations. This is…they brought me here from time to time, when things were good,” I explain.

  “I suppose even the rich want for something,” she muses quietly, staring out towards the water.

  My heart lurches in my chest, and for a moment, I reconsider my reasons for bringing her here. As much as I wanted to see her and apologize, I do have an ulterior motive. I know it could potentially break this tenuous kindness we’re showing each other, but, I can’t find it in me to let it go. All the same, I take a moment to stare out towards the water as I formulate my thoughts.

  “Have you ever wanted children, Charlotte?” I ask, idly fidgeting with the chains on my swing.

  If she notices my unease, she gives no indication. She simply laughs awkwardly, shrugging her shoulders. I consider pressing her, but before I can make a decision, she answers me.

  “I’ve never really thought about it. I always thought I would be too busy with work, having a career that I could be proud of. Truthfully, I couldn’t imagine bringing a child into my life, as it is. In the future…maybe, though I guess the right man would have to come along. It’s just too much for me to take on, as it stands.” She pauses thoughtfully, turning to face me and tilting her head slightly. “What about you? Have you ever thought about settling down?”

  I give pause for a moment, and though I’ve agonized over and rehearsed this conversation what seems a thousand times, I know it’s going to be awkward to explain. It’s too sudden, it’s too far, and too fast. However, I know what I want, and I’m not willing to let the opportunity slip away. I just have to plead my case properly. I meet the intense stare of those brilliant green eyes, a thrill shooting through my body.

  “More than anything, I’ve always wanted an heir to leave my fortunes to. Someone to share this life with, a child to treat like royalty,” I begin, and she seems amused by the response.

  I hesitate, carefully considering my phrasing and tone before continuing. This request must be asked with perfect delivery.

  “I’m not looking for a relationship, however. Every woman I’ve been with has been limited to a purely physical affair. I want the reward, without all of the baggage,” I tell her.

  Her expression shifts to one of confusion, but she still seems receptive to what I’m saying. At the very least, she seems curious.

  “You’ve really never cared that deeply about someone? Enough to be with them?” Charlotte asks, and though my heart gives a painful throb in response to the question, I shake my head. She shrugs her shoulders, beginning to swing back and forth. “To each his own,” she says quietly.

  Realizing I’m not making myself as obvious as I’d intended, I try again.

  “I would be willing to offer the right woman a very sizable check, in exchange for providing me with an heir. I just never thought I might meet the right woman. Funny, right?” I prompt, glancing towards her with a nervous half-smile.

  Her brow furrows, and about halfway through swinging in the air, she yelps and leaps out of her seat. She hits the ground awkwardly, her legs going askew before she hits the dirt.

  I jump out of my own seat, racing towards her. “Are you okay?” I cry out.

  Slowly rolling over, Charlotte groans and cradles her scraped knee. She seems too caught up in the pain to notice me, or perhaps she’s not heard me. I repeat myself, and she turns towards me with wild eyes. She struggles to lurch to her feet, pointing a finger at my chest almost accusingly.

  Dread creeps up on me as I realize she’s finally understood the extent of my proposition. At least, it seems she’s finally concluded that I’m making a proposition.

  “You’re asking me to give you a child?” she yells, confirming my suspicions.

  I hesitate for a moment, briefly wondering if it’s too late to take it all back. I could play it off as a joke and she may believe me. I’m not quite willing to do that, however—not after coming this far.

  “One child for one million dollars. I would take care of all of the medical expenses, any fertility treatments, and I would see that you received impeccable care,” I offer, laying all my cards out on the table.

  Charlotte continues to stare at me with th
ose eyes I so adore, her pouty lips hanging slightly open.

  “Why me? Why, after all the crap we’ve been through, would you choose me?”

  As much as I’d like to confess my desire to keep a piece of her with me, however small, I realize that it’s not the most conventional or sane answer.

  “Your eyes. I love your eyes,” I answer abruptly, as soon as the answer pops into my mind.

  The eyes in question bulge in disbelief, and she looks as if she may shout at me again. However, after a moment, her shoulders simply sag in a rather defeated sort of way. She turns away from me, taking long strides towards the limousine.

  “Charlotte, wait,” I call out, moving to follow her.

  “You know, I thought you really meant it. I thought you were sincerely sorry for what you’ve done to me, what you’ve done to hundreds of people. I thought you might even want to be friends, or something equally ridiculous,” she blurts out, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Then you pop this strange idea of yours on me, and I guess it’s clear now! You only want people in your life if they can serve a purpose for you. Having a friend isn’t enough. You want me to have your baby because you like my eyes?!” she shouts incredulously.

  As ridiculous as I realize my offer seems, I can’t deny that I had hoped she would accept with little fuss. The fact that she was even considering being my friend doesn’t occur to me until she’s already at my limo. I rush to catch up with her, huffing and sputtering.

  “Charlotte, please,” I implore.

  She stares daggers at me, sitting in the back of the limo and closing the door before I can get in as well. Milo glances towards me in confusion, but realizing how thoroughly I’ve screwed up, I decide to give in to what she obviously wants.