53. Lorelei

53

LORELEI

K ian has been quiet all day. I know why, and I get it.

In just over ten minutes, we're going to land back in Chicago, and everything that's happened in Charleston is going to be behind us.

We agreed we'd enjoy each other on the trip, and then once we're back, it's life as usual with him as my boss, and me as his assistant.

I stand by the decision. It's the right thing to do. That doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt, though.

These past two days have been…enlightening, to say the least.

But it can't continue. I also can't risk agreeing to this fake dating thing.

He's going to reel me in—more than he already has—and then ultimately, he's going to drop me the second someone else—someone more suitable—comes along.

My stomach knots and my heart aches just thinking about it.

The pilot announces our final descent into O'Hare International, and my anxiety about what life looks like outside of this plane only gets worse.

At least it's Friday.

We've got the weekend to cool off. Maybe things will be easier on Monday.

It's wishful thinking, I know that. But it's all I've got right now.

Barely a word is said between us as we make our way through arrivals and then out to where Jamie is waiting for us.

I've never felt on edge when I've been in Kian's company before. I don't like it.

In fact, I hate it.

We're only a few hours into this "new" us and I already miss his heated glances, his burning touches. His kisses, his dirty words.

Fuck. This is going to be harder than I thought.

"Good evening," Jamie greets with a wide smile. "I trust you had a pleasant trip."

"Yes, thank you," Kian says curtly. His tone does nothing to ease the tight knot inside me.

Jamie takes our suitcases after opening the backdoor for me.

"Thank you," I mutter absently before climbing in.

Kian follows, but again, without a word or even a glance in my direction.

Instead, he pulls his cell from his pocket and begins tapping at the screen.

Both of mine, however, sit ignored in my purse.

I know it's a workday and that I have emails sitting in my inbox that I need to deal with. I also know that I have messages from Tate and Cory that need to be responded to.

I've spoken to Tate, told her where I was and who I was with, but other than that, I've been pretty vague. She has questions—lots of freaking questions. Questions I really don't want to deal with.

I let out a heavy sigh and rest my head against the window.

I'm exhausted, both physically and mentally. All I want to do is put some comfy clothes on and curl up in my bed.

My muscles ache for it, and my eyes immediately get heavy at the prospect of shutting the world out and getting some decent sleep.

I sense Kian glance over at me. My skin burns with his attention, but I don't look back. I can't.I'm afraid that if look him in the eye, something I really don't want or need to say is going to come spilling out of my mouth.

So instead, I focus on the outside and the passing city until my surroundings become more familiar and I spot my building in the distance.

I thought I'd feel excited to finally get some real space from him, but as Jamie brings the car to a stop beside my entrance, all I feel is the dread and confusion multiplying.

I shift to the edge of my seat, ready to climb out the second Jamie allows it. I'd let myself out if I didn't know it would put that sad, puppy dog look on his face. My heart can't handle that right now.

With my eyes locked on the door, I shoot a quick, "Thank you for the trip," over my shoulder.

I move farther forward, desperate to exit before he can respond, but Jamie isn't fast enough.

"Come home with me," Kian says, his voice deep, maybe even a little sad.

"I can't, Kian. We agreed."

The door opens and I finally make my escape.

"Message me when you're inside," he says.

"Okay," I agree quietly, so quietly I'm not sure if he actually hears me.

Jamie carries my suitcase to the elevator, but I refuse to let him escort me all the way to my apartment.

I'm a grown-ass woman; I don't need any man to stand in an elevator with me.

That night was a freak accident. It won't happen again.

I recite those exact words to myself long after I've said goodbye to Jamie, and I don't stop until I spill out into my hallway. It's also the first time in long minutes that I suck in a real breath.

"Get a fucking grip, Lorelei," I mutter to myself as I tug my small suitcase toward my apartment.

But just when I think everything is about to get easier, my eyes land on the busted lock of my front door.

My heart drops into my feet as dread seeps like poison through my veins.

"What the?—"

Hesitantly, I push the door open.

I breathe a sigh of relief when everything looks as it should. I mean, honestly, I have nothing worth stealing. Now that Tate has moved out with her designer handbags and shoes, there is nothing worthy of the effort of breaking in.

Abandoning my suitcase, I forge on. The living room is fine, untouched, and I begin to wonder if whoever broke in got spooked and ran before they could do anything.

But then I get to my bedroom.

I freeze in the doorway and stare at the devastation before me.

Everything is trashed. Furniture has been upended. My clothes and accessories are everywhere. My sheets have been torn from the bed and ripped to shreds.

But none of that is what makes acid swim in the pit of my stomach.

It's the massive, spray-painted word above my headboard that makes my entire body tremble with anger.

Whore.

Disbelief and fury rush through me as I stand there staring.

Only one person pops into my head as the culprit. But…surely not.

Surely, he wouldn't stoop so low?

"Lorelei?" I barely register the deep rasp as I continue staring at the destruction of my bedroom.

But the second he steps up behind me and the heat of his body burns down the length of mine, I jump forward.

Only, I don't get anywhere, because his arm bands around my waist, holding me tightly to him.

I might still be shaking, but as he holds me, it's impossible to miss the way his own body trembles violently.

"You need to come with me," he states, his voice at odds with his body's visceral reaction.

He moves us both backward, and for a few seconds, I allow it. But then reality hits and I anchor my feet to the ground.

"No," I argue, ripping free from his grasp.

A bitter, dangerous-sounding laugh spills from his lips.

"This isn't up for discussion, Lorelei," he states. "You're not staying here."

"Then I'll go to Tate's. I'm not going with you."

His brows furrow, before he firmly refuses to accept my suggestion.

"Is there anything else you need before we leave?"

I watch as he picks up my suitcase. My lips part to refuse again, but it would be pointless, and I quickly give up.

Glancing back at my bedroom, a lump of emotion that was absent the first time I saw it crawls up my throat.

The anger has subsided a little and the cold, harsh reality that someone has been inside my personal space, been through all my things and done this is starting to hit home.

Without a word, I hop between the piles of clothes and my other possessions that litter my bedroom floor until I get to the bathroom.

My eyes widen in shock.

I stupidly expected it to be as untouched as the living room.

"Noooo," I cry, assessing the mess.

All of my hair products have been squirted all around the room. Hundreds and hundreds of dollars' worth of purchases in my quest for curl perfection are seconds away from literally going down the drain.

"What's wrong?" Kian asks, rushing in behind me.

When I glance back, his expression isn't as devastated as it should be.

He doesn't get it.

Not that I expected him to.

"My hair products," I explain absently, desperately trying to keep my sobs in.

But despite not making a sound, he knows.

Reaching out, he pulls me into him.

Pressing my face against his chest, I squeeze my eyes closed and breathe in his manly scent.

"We'll buy more, Lorelei," he promises, his lips pressed against the top of my head.

Unable to do anything but agree, I nod.

"Come on. Let's get out of here."

With all my fight gone, I allow him to lead me out of my apartment.

After fiddling with the busted lock, he assures me that he'll call someone to get it fixed.

"What's wrong?" Jamie asks the second we emerge from the building. I'm still tucked safely under Kian's arm. I can only imagine how I look.

"Someone broke into Lorelei's place."

"What?" he gasps.

"Can you call Thomas? Get him out here to secure it."

"Yes. Both of you get in. I'll get it sorted."

Kian pulls the door open as Jamie gets straight on the phone.

"Who is Thomas?" I whisper once we're safely inside.

"King's security guard."

I nod, accepting his answer.

"What happens now?"

"Now, we get you somewhere safe. You don't need to worry about anything else. Thomas can deal with it all."

"The police?"

"He'll sort everything."

Confident he's telling the truth, I allow myself to curl up against him. I shut my eyes, but the only thing I can see is the word "whore" spray-painted across my wall.

Kian pulls his cell out and begins tapping, but I don't bother looking. He's probably just canceling his Friday night plans.

B y the time we pull up outside his building, I'm too numb and exhausted to really see it.

Sure, it's fancy and luxurious, but it mostly passes me by. As does the ride to the very top floor of the building.

He lives in the penthouse. Of course he does.

But as numb as I might be, the second we step into his space, everything changes.

I'm instantly hyper-aware of everything. Of his presence, his touch, his space.

I don't belong here, and I kick myself for not fighting harder for him to take me to Tate's.

She would have looked after me. Ordered my favorite takeout, made me margaritas, and ensured I had all new hair products by first thing tomorrow. That's just the kind of friend she is.

"What do you need?" Kian asks once we're standing in the middle of the colossal space he calls a living room.

I look around. Everything is white, black, and chrome. There's barely any color. It doesn't look like a home. It looks…fake.

"Shower? Nap? Movie?" he prompts.

I look down at myself. I'm still wearing the dress I put on for our morning meetings.

"I— I want to change and?—"

He takes my hand and begins leading me through the apartment until we emerge into his bedroom.

His bed is massive, and my eyes lock on it for a little too long.

"You want to curl up in the middle of it?" he asks.

I shake my head, although I think I might be lying.

Pulling that soft-looking comforter over my head and shutting the world out seems like a really good option right now.

"Wait there," he says before disappearing through a door to my right.

He rummages around and returns a few seconds later with a pile of clothes in his hand.

"They'll be too big, but it's all I can offer right now."

I look down as he throws a pair of man's sweats and a hoodie onto the end of the bed and my eyes sting with tears.

"Thank you," I whisper brokenly.

"Do you need help or…"

"I'll be fine," I say. It's true, I will be okay alone. It's not what I want, but it's what I need. "I'll come back out in a bit," I mutter before shrugging my jacket off and turning my back on him.

"Would you like a drink?"

"Yes, please. Whatever you're having," I add before he has a chance to ask.

He hesitates behind me for a few seconds, but he eventually convinces himself to leave, and the second the door closes, I deflate.