Chapter 30

Tara

Ryker is an asshole. It's the only thought that circulates my brain as I leave the club. Then I realize all my shit is still inside, including my goddamn cell, laptop, and car keys.

Fuck my life.

Head high, I march my sweet ass right back inside and straight to Ryker's office. I hate how good it smells in here. The way this motherfucker affects me should be criminal. Rushing over to his desk, I grab my phone first and start piling my files on top of my closed laptop.

Then I see it.

One of the computer screens shows my suite with Ryker sitting on the floor and my stomach drops. He looks like he's suffocating. His chest heaves and he's clawing at his legs. Is he having some kind of attack?

Vault barrels into the room and quickly attends to him.

Oh my god, what the hell is happening?

Dmitri storms in next. They sandwich Ryker on the floor. Is Ryker having a seizure? Should I call 9-1-1?

My hand trembles as I try to find the volume. I'm not even sure if there is sound on this camera system, but I need to know what's happening and I'm not going back down there to find out.

I don't even know why I care.

Clicking a volume button on the laptop, sound filters through the tiny speaker.

Dmitri's in Ryker's face. "Breathe slower."

"I… I can't… I can't see anything." Ryker sounds terrified and something inside me fractures.

Dmitri claps his hands on Ryker's cheeks and gets in his face. "You gotta inhale and exhale slower, man. Come on. I'm right here. We're both right here."

"I can't let go." Ryker's voice cracks. "I can't… I can't let… her go."

Muting the sound because I can't bear to hear anymore, I drop into his chair. What do I do? Listening to the rest would be such an invasion of privacy, but also, it'll make me want to go back to that suite and try again with this guy.

I refuse.

If he can't let me go, then he'll have to come get me. On my turf. On my time.

Although, who's to say he's even talking about me at all? That possibility makes my stomach twist. I've heard Dmitri say weird shit to Ryker before—during their fight in the hallway—where he said, "She's not the one."

There are too many possibilities in what any of this means, and since I don't know Ryker Hudson intimately, I'll likely never found out what his issues are. But seeing him break down like this? Watching a grown ass man crumble in such a drastic way?

My god. I can't put it into words.

I also can't seem to pull away from the computer. Not until I see both Dmitri and Vault leave. Okay. He must be better now, right? They wouldn't leave him alone if he was still suffering, would they?

No. They wouldn't.

Okay, I gotta get out of here. Grabbing my things, I head for the door.

Maybe I should check on Ryker one more time before I go, though. Just to make sure he's all good.

Creeping back over to his desk, my heart sinks. He looks absolutely broken.

The office door suddenly swings open. Shit! On reflex, I slam the laptop closed like a teenager caught watching porn. Dmitri halts when he sees me behind the desk. "I-I was just getting my stuff."

He steps inside and shuts the door, locking us both in together. "How much did you see?"

"Nothing. I saw nothing."

Dmitri slowly closes the gap between us. "Don't lie, Butterfly. Tell me what you saw."

"I barely saw anything. Just a group hug."

He sits down in the leather chair facing me. "Sit."

"God, what is up with you guys always barking orders at me like I'm a dog?"

"Sit."

I drop my ass into Ryker's chair. Damnit. No part of me would take orders outside of this club, and I think the only reason I'm willing to do it now is because I desperately want to know more about Ryker and I'm betting if I play nice, Dmitri will share.

He crosses one leg over the other and leans back in the chair, arching his brow at me.

"What happened in there?" I ask quietly.

"That's not for me to say."

Well, this chat just became worthless. I open the laptop and the cameras all come back to life. I watch Ryker stand up and head towards the bathroom. "Will he be okay?"

"Do you honestly care?"

I drag my gaze away from the screen once Ryker's gone from view. "Yes."

Dmitri's expression softens. "Do you really, Tara?"

"Yes. And I hate it."

"Good." He gets up and opens the door. "Get the fuck out of here."

???

It's been a few days since I left the Monarch. I haven't heard from Ryker at all. Not that I expected to, but my heart won't listen to my brain. I'm not in love with the man, but I could easily see myself getting there if he wasn't such a prick. A prick who didn't want me. A prick who wouldn't even kiss me.

Lord knows I have a type. The ones who don't give me the time of day are the only ones I work harder for. Talk about toxic traits. I really should consider therapy.

What time is it? Shit, I've got to leave in fifteen minutes if I'm going to make brunch with my family in time.

My doorbell rings, and dread consumes me. Earlier, I got a message from the Monarch's concierge service saying my bags would be delivered this morning. It's the finale. The last cord to sever between me and that club.

After Dmitri told me to leave, I washed my hands of the place and refuse to think of it ever again.

"It's open!" I yell, while applying another layer of lipstick in the mirror of my bathroom. "Just leave my bags at the door."

Fixing my hair one last time, I smooth down my sundress and sigh at my reflection. Talk about trying hard. My stepfamily is another group of people I'm not good enough for. No matter how hard I try, I can't win them over.

I hate bowing down to men, and it's all I've done since I was a teenager.

When my mom married William Brisbane, I was fifteen. I went from having a tiny dresser stuffed with t-shirts and shorts, to a walk-in closet overflowing with designer dresses, bikinis, and jeans. Don't get me started on the shoe collection.

I loved it.

I still do. Who doesn't like nice things?

What I don't like—and never have—is the expectations that come with having those nice things. I have to sit pretty. Be sweet. Stay polite. Pretend I don't notice old bastards eye-fucking me while I sip champagne at fundraisers. Play along with clients when they flirt atrociously with me over dinners at stuffy restaurants when my stepfather isn't paying attention.

He's never once treated me like his clients do. In fact, he almost values my work and opinion like I'm his equal. It makes working with him easy—and working with Garret, his son, impossible. Garret's been jealous of me since the day our parents got married. No amount of time has changed the way he loathes me. And ever since we graduated college, and both took heavier roles in Brisbane Realty, Garret's done all he can to make my work life hell.

"Looks good," I say to my reflection. This floral print will make my stepfather happy. He loves flowers on me and my mom, even though I have no idea why. But I'll forever do my best to stay on his good side because I don't want my mom to have stresses in her life because of me. William can be a bear when he's angry. My mom's the one who has to put up with his attitude.

Clasping a bracelet on my wrist, I enter my living room and see two suitcases in front of my coffee table.

And Ryker sitting on my couch.

"What are you doing here?"

Dressed in a black suit, he stares at the coffee table with his elbows on his knees. His jaw clenches several times before he finally looks up at me. Then he stands up and saunters over to me. The intensity of this man is off the charts. Ryker silently wraps his finger around one of the curly tendrils I made to frame my face. "You look stunning, Tara."

Tara. Not Butterfly. Not Miss Reed. Not baby or good girl or any other thing he's called me this week. I want to slap him. I want to hug him. I want to cry and laugh and melt into him. I'll never understand why him saying my real name stirs so much emotion in me, but here we are. Enigmas.

"You shouldn't be here." Stepping back lets me find my courage. "And I have to go."

He swallows hard. Then silently takes a step back from me, too.

"I have an appointment."

Ryker nods. "Brunch. I remember."

Whatever. I'm not delusional enough to believe he memorized any part of our time together that didn't somehow suit his motives. Moving towards the door, I look over my shoulder to make sure he's with me. He's not. Ryker's gone back to my couch.

Damnit.

"You have to leave," I say. "I have to go."

He sits down again.

"I mean it! You have to leave!"

He stares at me.

"God damnit! If you don't leave, I'm calling the cops."

He leans forward and steeples his fingers, resting his elbows on his knees again.

What a stubborn asshole. "Why won't you leave?"

"Because I don't think you really want me to."

The arrogance in this man! "I never want to see you again. Get out."

His Adam's apple bobs in his throat. "Do you want me to get on my knees and beg again? Because I'll do it."

My cheeks tingle. "What? No. I don't want that at all."

"Then tell me what you want, Tara. How can I…" He looks away from me and sighs. "I don't know how to do this."

"Do what? Be anything other than a fucking asshole?"

"I don't know how to be…" He looks around the room. "Normal."

Seriously? What a dumbass. "Do you know someone who's normal?"

"You are."

"You don't know anything about me, Ryker."

"You're right." His gaze captures mine. "But I want to."

My palms sweat. "Why?"

"Because I feel something with you."

I bet he does. "Yeah, you feel hate, frustration, obligation, and disappointment. Funny, I'm not one to kink shame, but I didn't see that coming from a man like you."

He frowns. "I don't feel any of those things with you, Tara."

Crossing my arms, I hug myself and look away. "Could have fooled me, Sir."

"Don't do that. Don't use honorifics right now."

Fuck this guy. "Bye, Ryker. See yourself out." I walk out and slam the heel of my palm on the elevator button, grateful that it opens immediately. Stepping inside, I muster what's left of my confidence and turn to face him so I can flip him the bird.

He's already out of my apartment and slams his hand on the closing elevator door, forcing it to reopen. His intensity is back too. Tenfold. I back up until my spine hits the wall. He's on me in a flash, caging me in. His forehead presses to mine as his hands remain braced on either side of my head. My heart races. I can't feel my feet.

Ryker looks down at my mouth.

He leans in a little more. I feel his breath on my lips and his soapy scent tingles in my nose. Ryker's overpowering everything that's mine. This elevator, my thoughts, my heart, my lust, and my brain.

"I'll kiss you," he whispers, and I float a little higher. "Just… let me earn you back first."

Pop! The hope floating inside me bursts like a balloon, and little pieces of it flutter to the ground as garbage. Slipping out from under him, I smash the lobby button and hug myself again. Damnit, I left my keys!

A headache starts creeping in. Massaging my temples, I wait until we hit the lobby and the door opens. I don't get out. Neither does Ryker. "This is your stop."

He doesn't leave.

I hate him.

Ryker hits the close button and pushes the number for my floor again.

"Turn around and face the corner," I grumble. To my surprise, he does as I say. The elevator starts moving. He doesn't budge. Not even when we're back at my apartment, and I step out to grab my keys and purse. He doesn't even move once I step back inside and hit the lobby button again.

He keeps his nose in the corner, back to me even when we're dumped back out at the lobby.

"You can turn around now," I say. Holy shit. I have no idea what this is, but… I like it.

Ryker turns around and smooths his suit jacket down. Then he lets me step out first and makes sure the door remains open for me as I do and grabs my arm to stop me from going out the main door.

I look down at his hand with the monarch tattoo. "Let me go, Ryker."

"I don't want to," he says quietly. "Not now. Not tomorrow either."

Oh look, my stupid heart has found fresh hope. Can't wait to see how long it takes for this one to pop too. "I don't understand you. And I'm not willing to play your games anymore."

His grip remains on my arm, even if it's loose. It's both grounding and unsettling.

"I know I started it," I confess. "I put you in a bad position with that building and used your interest in it as leverage to get me what I wanted. That's my fault."

"Making your stay with me miserable is mine."

"It wasn't miserable all the time." Holy shit, why can't my mouth stay shut?

"No?"

"No." Look, if there's any chance of fixing what we both busted, maybe I should try. He once said I was his obsession, but after the three days I've been away from him, I'm strong enough to admit I think he's mine too.

We have chemistry. I just don't know if it's explosive and damaging, or precarious and precious. But there's something between us I've never felt with anyone else. I want to explore it. I want to learn. Ryker could very well be the biggest mistake of my life, or the greatest chance I'll ever take.

"I liked us together when you weren't being a shithead."

"Yeah." He lets go of me and rubs the back of his neck. "I'm a massive prick sometimes."

"It's good that you"re self-aware." I hate the torment in his gaze. "But it's not sometimes. It's most times. And I know it's a mask, Ryker. I wear one too. Take it off for me, like I have for you."

"If I do that…" His breath rattles out of him. "Will you please give me a chance to make things up to you?"

"Depends." I cross my arms. If I give him another chance, it'll be on my terms. "Are we going to trust each other with more than a flogger and dildo?"

"Yeah," Ryker nods.

"Then tell me something about yourself. Something really fucking personal."

"Right now?"

"Bye, Ryker." I storm off and he grabs my waist to stop me again.

"Okay, okay, okay." He spins me around to face him. "I've only had two girlfriends in my entire life. One when I was fifteen. And one when I was eighteen."

"How old are you now?"

"Thirty-two."

"How many lovers? Not clients, lovers." I don't give a shit about his stupid high school girlfriends or the people who've paid him for sex. I want to know how many women he's brought to his bed. Not as an escort, but as a man who wanted pleasure and comfort.

The silence is suffocating.

"Six." His face turns red. "I've had six."

I'm not making Ryker say this to humiliate him. I just wanted something open and honest to come out of his mouth for once.

"That includes you," he adds.

"Me?"

"I never counted how many clients I had back when I…" He drifts for a moment, then shakes his head. "Back then. It would have killed me to know the exact number. And when I opened my club, I stayed away from everyone. I only take a woman to my bed when my nights turn too dark, and I can't see the light anymore."

Oh my god. How awful.

"And you… you just came into my world and shook it all up, Tara. Like a fucking snow globe. Only all the little snowflakes are pieces of me. They're swirling around and I can't catch them all and shove them back under my feet."

My mouth runs dry.

He runs the back of his hand along my cheek. "You don't treat me like everyone else has. You don't look at me like everyone else does."

"How…" I clear my throat. "How do you think I look at you?"

He steps into my space and is so close to me, I can barely breathe. "Like I'm the devil your demons have hunted for their whole life."

A tear slips free, and he swipes it away from my cheek. Unable to deny his words, I whisper, "This could go really, really bad, Ryker."

"Or it could go really, really great." His expression softens as he stares at me. "Give me another chance. Please, Tara."

"Okay," I say after a few heartbeats.

The relief that washes over him saturates me, too. I have no clue how this is going to work, but I'm willing to give it a try.

"Come on." I grab his hand and ignore the sinking feeling in my belly. "We're going to brunch."

"Are you serious?" He sounds concerned.

I lead us over to where my car's parked. "You just opened up and gave me a very personal truth. Now I'm going to do the same."

Here's hoping this doesn't blow up in my face before mimosas are poured.