59. Lorelei

59

LORELEI

M y hand trembles as I push my new key into my new lock and let myself into my apartment for the first time since I found it vandalized on Friday night. The second the door is open, the scent of fresh paint hits my nose.

It takes everything I have to keep my unease and fear hidden.

Kian is watching me closely. He's made it more than clear that he doesn't want me staying here, but what's the other option? Move in with him until we get answers? And so far, there doesn't seem to be anything in the way of those.

When I asked about progress, Kian told me his guys are taking care of it, and I had no choice but to believe him. It's either that or demand to know why I haven't been interviewed by the police and have it confirmed that they're not necessarily going about this the way I would.

"Everything's fine. See?" I say, hoping my voice sounds stronger than I feel as I gesture to my peaceful apartment.

There's a small part of me that's happy to be home, but that's being easily engulfed by the bigger part that wants to run into Kian's arms and demand he takes me with him.

You are a strong, independent woman, Lorelei. You do not need a man to protect you.

But right now, I really want one.

Unwilling to take my word for it, Kian surges forward and sets about searching every inch of my apartment.

"Okay?" I ask when he finally returns.

"Do I have a choice?" he mutters.

Standing a little taller, I hold his eyes firm and say, "No, you don't. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've things I need to do tonight."

I smile at him. It's forced at best, but if he can see it, he doesn't say anything.

I spin around, directing him toward the door, and he hesitantly complies.

"Lorelei," he breathes. The rasp in his voice sends a shiver skating down my spine.

Fuck. Please, don't do that.

I stare up at him, hoping that he can read the plea in my eyes.

Remember what he said in the car about never meeting a woman to make him consider a future with one.

Remember who he is.

Forget about how good it is to be in his arms, to feel his kiss…

"Kian," I say firmly. "The last few days have been fun. Really fun," I add when his lips part to speak. "But what I said in the car was true. I want more than to be someone's fake relationship or fuck buddy. I want something real, and this…" I say, pointing between us. "Nothing about this is real."

He swallows thickly, and I frown in confusion.

Surely he isn't seeing this as more than it is, is he?

He's my boss. He's Kian freaking Callahan. There is nowhere for this…this fling between us to go.

My heart aches as the harsh reality of the situation becomes known again.

"Thank you for everything. I'll see you in the morning."

Before I can talk myself out of it, I close the door.

"Shit," I hiss, collapsing against it.

My eyes burn, and a messy lump of emotion crawls up my throat.

Before I know what's happening, a single tear slips free, and I hang my head in shame.

You did the right thing.

Kian isn't your King.

He's your boss.

And a super-hot lay, but that's by the by.

I rest there way longer than I should, trying to decide if he just walked away like everything between us meant nothing, or if he's even a little bit affected by it all.

When I eventually stand up straight, the peephole taunts me.

Just look. See if he's still there…

But despite the little nagging voice in my head, I turn my back on the peephole. I already feel empty enough right now; I don't need evidence of the obvious to make it worse.

Kian doesn't care. Okay sure, he cares. He wants me to be safe in my own home. He cares that I enjoy myself when we're together. But he doesn't care care. Not in the way I crave a man to care for me.

Ignoring the living room, I walk into my bedroom and immediately stop in the doorway.

"Wow," I breathe.

Not only has any evidence of the damage been eradicated, but the entire room has had a facelift.

The wall behind my bed is now a deep, gorgeous emerald green that…

"Fuck," I bark.

It's the same color as his eyes.

Unable to look at it without falling apart again, I focus on my suitcase that he abandoned in the middle of the bed and set about unpacking.

Anything to keep my mind off my reality.

I didn't stop all night. After finding homes for all my new hair products, I pulled on a pair of sweats and a tank and set about cleaning every inch of the apartment. Anything to stop my mind from wandering. And not just to Kian and our hot few days, but also to what happened here not so long ago.

If I so much as think about someone invading my privacy and doing what they did, I get a little closer to running out of the door and never looking back.

Once everything was sparkling, I found my cell and called both of my brothers. Wilder kept his conversation short. He was heading out to hang with friends, but Hendrix was happy to keep me entertained for a while. We switched to a video call, and he allowed me to help him with an assignment, which is something he only ever does when he knows I need a connection to home.

He never asked what was wrong, and I never offered up any information. But I was more than grateful for the distraction.

By the time the sun set, I was emotionally and physically exhausted. But neither was enough to put me into a deep, restful sleep.

Instead, when my alarm went off this morning, I barely felt like I'd gotten an hour.

"Good morning," Melissa greets me with her usual cheer as I walk into the office ten minutes before I'm meant to start with two coffees in hand.

Things will probably be weird as hell between the two of us today, so I figured I should at least come armed.

"Morning," I say, attempting and failing to sound as enthusiastic.

She eyes me suspiciously. "Weekend that good, huh?"

"You've no idea," I mutter before taking a sip of my cappuccino with a double shot of hope.

"He's not in," Melissa says, changing the subject suddenly.

"Huh?"

Her eyes drop to the second coffee in my hand. "Kian. He's not here."

"Oh. Is he due in or…"

"I've no idea. He didn't say anything to you?"

I shake my head, not liking the feeling that bubbles up inside me.

He usually keeps me fully informed about his whereabouts.

"Could be a nice quiet morning then." I want to say that I'm relieved, but mostly I'm confused. Kian doesn't just not turn up to work.

The second I place his coffee on my desk, I pull my cell from my purse, expecting to find a message or an email from him.

But there's nothing. It's been the same since I closed the door on him last night.

I almost message him asking where he is. My thumb hovers over my screen, but just before I begin typing, I remember that he's an adult and has absolutely no reason to check in with me. I'm just his assistant.

Once my computer loads, I open his diary and find the entire week has been cleared out, all meetings gone.

What is he playing at?

Forcing my feelings down, I open my laptop and get to work.

Him not being here is a blessing in disguise. Thanks to our trip last week, I've got a mountain of emails to get through and jobs to complete.

I should be grateful.

I also shouldn't be looking up every time I hear a noise that could be Kian arriving at the office.

I t didn't matter how many times I looked up—it was never him.

King and Michael both came and went. Neither of them asked about Kian's whereabouts. A couple of others I didn't know arrived for meetings before leaving again without so much as glancing my way.

I didn't leave for lunch. Instead, I asked Melissa to grab me something when she popped out in favor of continuing with work. Or at least, I told myself it was so I could make the most of catching up. Deep down, I was lingering in case Kian showed his face.

It had been radio silence all day. Not a single message, email or phone call. No demands—not one. It was weird. Too weird.

I stay late, again because I want to work…and by the time I leave the Callahan Enterprises building, the sun is already setting behind the tall buildings.

I stop on the way home to grab myself some dinner, and after showering and pulling on some comfortable clothes, I once again open my laptop and continue working. I don't have anything else to do.

It never used to be like this. No matter what, I was always able to come home to my best friend. No matter how bad my day had been, she was always there to distract me and make me smile.

I thought I appreciated it while she was here, but now she's gone, I realize that I didn't.

I miss her. I miss her so fucking much.

Emotion bubbles up again, and I fight to batter it back down.

Reaching for my cell, I wake it up to find nothing.

Even Matt is avoiding me now.

Ryder has gone, probably found a girl who was actually willing to meet and give him some action that wasn't through a screen.

And Tate...she's just busy moving on with her life. She's married with a baby on the way. I'm no longer the most important person in her life. I get it. I really fucking do, and I'm ecstatic for her. But it still hurts.

In a moment of weakness, I open my messaging app and find my conversation with Kian.

The "message has been deleted" comment from where I removed the picture of my tits taunts me, reminding me that all of this is my fault.

If I never sent him that message, then maybe we wouldn't have ended up here. Did I lead him on with that photo? Did I let him believe I was just like all the other women around him?

No.

I refuse to believe that.

I'm not them. I don't want to walk around with my arm threaded through his in the hope of the photo of us together ending up on social media.

I'd rather remain hidden. It's why his suggestion of us fake dating was so ridiculous. I understood the concept, but I'm not the woman for that. And not only because I think it would be entirely too easy to begin to fall for him.

I've always fallen easily. That's no secret to me. It's why I always end up hurt so badly. I have this uncanny ability to ignore all those wild red flags and I fall head over heels. Swept away by a guy's charm, lies, and wicked touch.

Just look at Matt. He was one giant walking red flag, and yet I fell hard and fast. Almost as if I hadn't been hurt before.

I always end up with a broken heart. It's something I can guarantee from the get-go.

Closing my messaging app, I lower my cell to the couch and let out a pained sigh.

Nothing good can come of sending him anything. He's made it very clear today that he doesn't need or want to talk to me. I'm not going to be that woman who's scratching around trying to get any crumbs of attention he's willing to offer. I have more self-respect than that.

Focusing back on work, I do my best to force thoughts of him aside.

It's easier said than done.

And as the next few days pass, and his lack of presence in my life only gets more oppressive, it becomes harder and harder to forget everything he brought to my life in those few days we had together.