CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Carter and Killian went to work a couple of hours ago.

I'm where they ordered me to be. Curled up on one of their leather couches in their office, same place I've been hanging in ever since they left.

My damp hair drapes on the front of Carter's black T-shirt I'm wearing. It doesn't chill my skin, though. Impossible when Killian insisted I wear his beneath Carter's.

He claimed he wasn't sure it'd work between us. Silly man.

I bring both collars of their shirts to my nose, sniffing their distinctive, manly scents.

We'll work.

We will abso-fucking-lutely work.

Humming to myself, I flip another page in the hardbacks I picked off the men's bookshelves. An organized crime book. One of the dozens they have here. History books, criminal law books, autobiographies of New York's most famous mafia bosses—if it was ever written, I bet it's here. At least it seems like it by how huge their collection is.

This could be something to do with the shady crowd milling around the hotel. I recognized some politicians here and there. Then there are those with the hardened expressions. And those I've seen in the newspapers.

But what could it have to do with Carter's and Killian's taste in books?

Probably nothing. I shrug, continuing to read Bugsy Siegal's story. Truly interesting stuff. I'd have kept reading for hours, except I can't sit still another second longer. I place the book back on the shelf where I found it and check the clock mounted on the wall.

Eleven a.m.

Too early for lunch. I unlock my phone, going through work emails.

Seed delivery to approve for next week. A signed contract for a wedding coming in three months. Opal asking whether I'm going to be on time on Monday morning.

Done. Done. Done.

In the silence of the huge penthouse, I've got nothing better to do than think.

My mind whirs to Carter and Killian. Drawn to them as if they were the honey to my hungry bee. My body heats and the memory. My skin is itchy with need.

They touched me. Ran their tongues on me. Kissed me. Kissed us.

We were together. We are together.

My God, I miss them.

Also, I hope Killian approves of me giving him a nickname. He has to.

I growl at my eagerness. My feet pace back and forth in the men's office as I try to wrench this idea from my head.

And failing.

Maybe Killie?

Too soon, Amara. Chill the fuck out.

My heart aches to hear their voices. I'm sure they could calm me down if they were here.

I could call them. That'd soothe my rattled soul for sure.

No.

They're working, and I've never been the clingy type. I have no plans on being one now.

Looking for something to do, I move my phone between my right and left hand.

My phone, that's right. I do have something to do.

Call my landlords aka my parents.

How I wish there were other available spaces I could move my shop to. Sadly, there aren't. I checked. Have been checking every now and again in case I get thrown out for no reason whatsoever. It's not the craziest idea.

I hope I'm wrong about them.

More than that, I hope they'll be okay with me subletting the apartment so I could use the money to help out around here. I don't care what Carter said. I want and should pitch in around here.

With a deep inhale, I dial my mother's number.

"Amara," she answers, underlying annoyance tainting her voice.

I ignore her disdain. I don't ask what's wrong this time. There's always something wrong when it comes to me.

"Hey, Mom." I rub the back of my neck, pacing the room again. "Got a minute?"

"You need money, don't you?" she whispers. She's exasperated. What's new? "I knew it. You and your silly florist dreams. It was only a matter of time before you failed."

Jesus, tell me how you really feel.

"Mom, Carnations is doing—"

"Case, come here a second, honey," she calls my dad, her voice dripping with sweetness. She's fake. So fake.

Judging by the chatter in the background, I'd say they're entertaining guests at their penthouse. That explains why she sounds extra nice. None of their acquaintances would ever learn what a disappointment I've turned out to be.

Unlike Melina, my older sister. The lawyer. The one who's about to make partner at one of the biggest criminal law firms in Manhattan.

I sink my teeth into my knuckles. The pain helps me snap out of my pity party. Fuck them. Fuck them right up their asses.

The sound of a heavy wooden door slamming is followed by my dad's voice. "What's going on, Elora?"

"It's that daughter."

"Hmph," he grumbles. "Yes, Amara?"

This isn't one of Killian's huffs. Dad's hatred and exasperation seep through the phone. There's no mistaking his annoyance. He's been that way toward me ever since I instructed our housekeeper to stop watering the plants around the penthouse and started taking care of them myself. Like I'm a disappointment.

I ignore him too.

I have my Daddies here.

A laugh escapes me at the thought of calling either of them that. Daddy one and Daddy two.

"What's so funny?" The underlying warning in his voice shakes me through the phone.

"Nothing, sir." I clear my throat.

"Money," Mom whispers loud enough for me to hear.

"Is that it?" he parrots Mom's accusation. "Or drugs? Maybe your business is failing? Maybe all of the above?"

"What?" It takes everything in me not to shout at him. That's the fast track to getting them to refuse what I'm about to ask. "No. I'm not doing drugs." Unless you count Carter and Killian's cum as one. Fucking addictive. "And Carnations is doing just great."

"What is it then?" Mom snaps. I should've guessed they'd put me on speakerphone. "This isn't a social call, and we have guests waiting for us. The mayor's daughter and her husband are here."

More people who are so much more important than I am. Who you'd rather be around,I think but don't verbalize. Trying to convince them to love me is a losing game. They haven't invited me over to their home in an eternity. They won't start anytime soon.

Besides, it's not their affection I'm after. Solving my rent problem is.

"I need you to sign off on something. I'm going to put up the apartment on Airbnb for a month or two." Since I'm not interested in having a repeat of this conversation, I clarify, "Maybe longer. I haven't decided yet."

Silence. They've either muted the call or I've shocked them into silence.

"Absolutely not," Dad thunders eventually.

I imagine his gray eyes glittering. His thin, brown eyebrows pinched together. His anger exploding from him, turning him into an ugly, ugly man.

"Will you hear me out?" I still try. And crash and burn.

"You're supposed to prove to us you're a responsible adult." He seethes. "Look after the shop instead of going on months-long vacations."

The impulse to answer him stands on the tip of my tongue. I itch to throw back in his face how other than weekends, I haven't taken a day off in the last four years. That if I did plan a long vacation, I'd be fucking entitled to have one.

Carter and Killian's faces appear before my eyes. Carter would've sneered at my father, might've punched his throat. Killian would've huffed right back in his face. Would've made him feel small and pathetic.

They wouldn't have begged him to understand. Wouldn't have appealed to his compassionate side. They wouldn't have given my dad the explanations he's not worthy of.

I'm equally strong as they are. I stood up to a fucking burglar. I can handle my father.

"I'm not going on vacation. I'm, uh… making some changes." I lift my chin in the empty study. "What's wrong with having a paying tenant fill in for me? Just until I figure this out."

"Amara Grace Carmichael, you've never known when to give up," my mother interrupts. "Always pushing. Taking advantage of our kindness."

Shit. She uses the tone. The I'm so fucking done with you tone.

They're threatening Carnations. I hear it. I smell through the phone.

They can't kick me out, though. Right? I pay on time. I'm a dutiful tenant. They're legally bound to let me stay. They have to.

"What the fuck does it mean?" I inwardly curse myself for snapping. For exposing my weakness.

"That does it," Dad booms. "You just crossed the last line, Amara."

My lip curls. I'm so pissed that I'm choking on my words. Scratching at my throat.

"That's it, Amara?" Here comes the gloating. How he loves that. "Got nothing clever to say?"

The beautiful, sunny day outside does nothing to calm my nerves. Being sore doesn't do a damn thing to help alleviate my mood.

My parents are about to fuck me over. I'm not going to lie here and let them kick me while I'm down.

"I do have something to say." I know what's about to leave my mouth will make them mock me. Fuck it. It's the truth. "My flowers are nicer than you two ever were."

"I should've gotten my tubes tied up after Melina," Mom murmurs.

Her words shouldn't hurt. After so many years of being told I'm less than my sister, I should be used to it.

But they hurt. They hurt a whole fucking lot.

My parents have said a lot of things in the past. Never that. Never actually wishing I wasn't even born.

"We're putting the building up for sale." My father delivers another blow to my already bruised heart. "We'll find buyers soon. Then you're free to go on your vacation. Indefinitely. We're done caring what happens to you, you hear?"

My flowers. My beautiful plants.

"No." I collapse to the floor, grasping the desk so I won't crash.

"Yes." He's evil. Cold.

"You can't," I counter, stronger this time. "We signed a lease. It's not up for another…"

Air leaves my lungs when I calculate the dates. Blood drains from my face.

"Two weeks," Dad completes my sentence, triumphant. Donating sperm apparently gives him the right to treat me like shit. "Two weeks and you're out. Even if we don't have a buyer, we're evacuating you. Use this time to consider your vacations and your future, Amara. You're on your own from here on out."

"Please, Dad—"

"This conversation is over. You have our lawyer's contact number. Reach out to him for anything you might need that relates to the shop. Goodbye."

Dad hangs up.

He fucking hangs up on me.

My pulse slows. I don't think I can breathe or even live for five minutes. At least.

When I come to, I jump to my feet, sprinting to the closet.

My parents hate me. They hate how eccentric I am. How I've been an embarrassment for years, according to them. How I've never towed the line.

They think I'm alone. Hell, they want me to be alone.

I am not.

I have two men to hug me. Offer warmth. Support. Affirmations.

My parents won't win.

I. Am. Not. Alone.

I have to be smart about this. I can't show up at the hotel wearing the owners' clothes. There'll be time for that, it just won't be today. Sniffing their shirts one last time, I discard them and opt for an outfit that could pass as my work clothes. I choose a long yellow maxi dress with Bengal clock vine print and black high-top sneakers.

Before I storm out of the apartment, I grab one of the lily vases in the foyer. An excuse to stop by Voltage.

Panic bubbles in my chest, and I still try to abide by Killian and Carter's rules. Sort of.

I wasn't supposed to leave, but I have to.

Still, no one will know we're in a relationship. I'll make sure of that.

As I ride down the elevator, I let that sink in. How these two men have settled into my heart. Earned my respect. Made me love them more than I've ever loved my own parents.

They're my people. With them, I'll sort out my jumbled brain. I'll be fine.

I have to.