13. Dark Shadows （Talia）

13

DARK SHADOWS (TALIA)

I think I might be pissing Xavier Arrendell off.

In his office, I lean over his desk, flipping through the Post-its I put in the sample books I brought along for our meeting today.

He listens quietly as I talk about all things material, pointing out which colors would complement each other and asking his opinion on anything he doesn't like or would like to switch with something else.

He's noncommittal, occasionally letting out a half-interested grunt, though he doesn't argue back at anything I propose.

Weird. It's almost like he's losing interest in the project.

Whatever. Honestly, as long as he's still willing to sign the contract, make the payment, and go through with it, I don't care how he feels.

I'd actually prefer if he was more hands-off, considering how he's tried to be too hands-on with me.

This would be a lot easier if he'd just stand back and let us do our thing.

Maybe it's the possibility of exercising a little creative freedom that actually has me excited today. Even if he's not enthused, I still enjoy explaining color palettes, texture contrasts between wood and upholstery, all the little things that go into making a finished piece.

If I'm being honest, it's not just work-related excitement.

Because right before I headed out to meet Xavier this morning, there was a little buzz in my pocket.

Micah: When can I see you again?

With one little text, he lit my whole world.

Tonight? I answered. Your place? I don't want to wake Grandpa.

I felt so dangerous saying that, knowing what it implied. And I half expected Micah to laugh and tell me he only wanted to hang out and talk about the case he was working, and how it might be connected to the Jacobins.

Micah: My place. I'll cook. Don't wear anything too nice. It won't be on long.

Ahhhh!

But I've been on cloud nine since that text.

Especially when I can still feel that sore, wonderful imprint of him. I can't help remembering his shape, his size, the slow, deep glide as he claimed me in ways I had no idea I could ever be taken. I'm still in disbelief a man like him could—

Rude, rough fingers grasp my chin.

So cold it feels like being touched by the dead.

That kills my sexy thoughts, throwing me back into reality.

I've been talking this entire time, but I was so caught up in my thoughts that I hadn't noticed Xavier's attention shifting, moving from the sample book to me.

Maybe if I was more focused, I could've moved away before he caught me.

But now, as my vision steadies, he's—he's too close , right in front of me, leaning across the desk until our noses almost touch.

His hand grips my chin too hard.

This is where I should scream bloody murder.

Instead, I'm turned to stone, completely caught off guard.

Why the hell is he touching me?

He smiles, slow and dark and baring too many teeth, staring right into my eyes. I think I see why he's been so deflated today.

He's sober, his eyes no longer dilated and jittering.

Somehow, a sober Xavier scares me more than one who's high.

He's also laser focused, and when I try to jerk back, his fingers tighten, digging into the hinge of my jaw and locking me in place.

"Now tell me," he purrs. His breath on my face feels foul. "You're looking flushed, Miss Grey." His gaze dips down, and I realize—oh God. My nipples are pressing hard against my shirt, roused by thoughts of seeing Micah. His hateful green eyes drift back to my face. "Is there something on your mind besides work, Miss Grey?"

Sweet Jesus, no.

Not anymore.

Also, it's bizarre how they both call me Miss Grey , but it feels so different.

With Xavier, it's revolting.

Hissing, I jerk back, wrenching free from his grip.

My cheeks throb where his fingers dug in.

"Don't touch me again," I whisper as firmly as I can, but my chest is starting to seize up. My voice comes out weak from not enough air.

He eyeballs me with a face like stone.

I want to say so much worse. I want to scream and rake my nails across his eyes. But I'm alone here, and there's no telling what he might do if I actually put up a fight.

I swallow hard, reaching deep for diplomatic words he doesn't deserve.

"Since you seem so distracted, Mr. Arrendell, we can continue this discussion l-later," I whisper.

I don't look at him as I gather up my books, hugging them against my chest as a shield and backing away.

I still want to scream obscenities for what he did and quit on the spot, but I think about Grandpa and how much he needs this money.

"I'll email you my thoughts," I bite off, my voice arctic.

Xavier watches with a sort of sick amusement, sinking back in his power chair. He smirks, and I feel like he's looking right through my clothes, stripping me naked with his eyes.

"You're sure you don't want to stay, Miss Grey?"

I'm going to vomit, if I don't kill him first.

I need to get the hell out of here.

I need to go now , before I either puke or have an asthma attack, and I turn quickly on my heel.

"Definitely not," I wheeze out.

Then I pull his office door open and bolt into the hall.

I know I shouldn't be running with this tightness in my lungs, but I can't stop it.

I know the way now.

I don't need Joseph or any hired help showing me out. I dash down the lurid red carpet and weave through the shadows, diving into the foyer with every breath coming thinner and thinner.

My head throbs, blurring my vision.

Oh no, oh no, I can't.

Not here. Not with him.

I manage to wrench the massive doors open and go tumbling outside.

Bright sunlight.

Open air.

Safety.

I suck in a few rattling breaths, trying to make my lungs work.

Staggering forward, I drop down on the top step. My sample books go clattering across stone. I thunk my bag into my lap, pawing frantically for my inhaler.

There—there it is—and I rip the cap off, push it into my mouth, depress the plunger, and breathe .

Mist floods my lungs.

I inhale in the practiced way I learned so many years ago. My vision keeps swimming while I wait for improvement.

I can't believe I almost lost it because this creeper grabbed my face.

No—it's more than that. It's everything tied up in this mess with Xavier, Micah, the Jacobins, the dead man.

Whenever I'm around Xavier, I'm reminded how dangerous he can be. That it's not just a man creeping on a woman with hideously inappropriate advances.

It's a man who might hurt me with no qualms about it.

No matter how I try this subterfuge thing, I can't pretend I don't know what I do.

Worse, he seems to enjoy how uncomfortable he makes me, even if he doesn't know all the reasons why.

The help from my inhaler nearly fails me the instant the doors bang open at my back, smashing against the stone like a gunshot.

My eyes snap open.

With a small scream, I'm clutching at my chest.

"Miss Grey!" Xavier yells at my back.

Oh God.

I'm too busy pumping my inhaler to turn around.

Fuck, fuck, fuck , why did he follow me?

His footsteps draw closer.

"Please," he says urgently. "If you need medical assistance—"

I cut him off, holding up a hand as I gasp.

I take several breaths, slow and measured, before I speak again.

"No, I'm… I'm f-fine."

"Are you?" When my eyes can focus and I look up, he's bent over me—and shocker of shockers, the concern in his eyes seems genuine.

"Forgive me. I didn't dare mean to trigger your condition. I never meant to cross that line."

That line?

That flipping line?

I'm one second away from gouging out his eyes after all, asthma or not.

There's no mistaking what just happened.

He meant to cross every line.

I guess he just thought I'd jump at the chance to ride him like every poor girl who's hooked up with him for his drugs or for his money or both. Ugh.

The fact that I'm desperate enough to work for a scumbag like him probably made him think I'd do anything to close the deal.

This prick.

This slimy, disgusting prick , and I'm ready to throw everything away—the contract, the money, hope for Grandpa—until we're both interrupted by someone's throat clearing.

Xavier's face changes in the strangest way.

I almost think it's a look of dread.

Something I understand as Xavier straightens, turns, and I look past him.

Eustace Jacobin stands beneath the open arched door, half in the shadows, as if this is her domain and we're the ones intruding.

Her chin is lifted proudly. Her black eyes are cold and fixed on Xavier with an impatient look, her pale hands clasped in front of a gown as black as a funeral.

Her eyes flick to me, skewering and angry.

Oh God, it's a miracle I don't need another hit from my inhaler.

She's like a gorgon. Her eyes turn my heart to stone in under a second.

I feel cursed.

Of course, her gaze lingers a little too long. A little too deliberately. Then it shifts back to Xavier, watching him coolly.

I can't read what passes between them.

But Xavier seems to forget I exist.

That should make me happy, but it doesn't.

He smooths down his suit jacket and drags a hand through his icy-blond hair before stepping closer to Eustace. It's like she summons him without a single word.

That tells me who has the real power here.

I might as well not be here.

As he draws closer, they lean in, speaking in whispers.

I don't catch what they're saying as they step inside—and as they do, Eustace pulls something out of her skirts, shielded by their movements.

…a camera?

Eustace must have realized I was watching them. She pauses, and while the camera vanishes into Xavier's coat, she throws another terrible look over her shoulder.

Then she turns back, watching me like a hungry lizard the entire time, and pulls the double doors shut with an ominous thump !

I'm left alone in the silence of day with nothing but the cries of hunting hawks wheeling overhead.