Frayed Obsession, page 9
How could so much time have passed?
Now I feel bad for keeping her late. I scrub a palm down my face.
“If I may,” Lauren starts, and I sigh, too tired for whatever lecture she’s about to spew, but I know damn well she’s going to continue regardless of what I say, so I don’t bother interrupting.
“Maybe you should head home as well,” she says, meeting my gaze. “You seem run-down and exhausted. Even more so than usual. You need to slow down, or you’re going to burn out.”
My weary brain has trouble keeping up with her.
Leave early? “Thanks, but I have—” I look around the desk, the camera once again catching my eye, trying to pull me in for a completely different reason now. I shake my head and focus on the pile of folders to my left. “I have paperwork to get done.”
Especially seeing as you were late this morning and just wasted nearly two hours…
Lauren rolls her eyes at me. “It will still be here in the morning,” she says before adding, “Sir.”
I narrow my eyes at her.
“Oh, come on. Would it be so bad to be home for dinner?”
Yes.
Lauren sighs. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help then?”
“No, Lauren. Go home,” I say, my voice a little too sharp.
“Goodnight, Mr. Reed,” she says, clearly picking up on it before leaving my office, her long, blondish pony tail swishing behind her
She knows I fucking hate it when she calls me that, but she does it anyway, no matter how many times I tell her to call me Sebastian.
Lauren’s been my personal assistant for five years, and while she’s damn good at her job, she’s also a pain in my ass.
After making a fresh cup of coffee, I try to keep working, but my eyes sting from staring at the monitor, and the caffeine hit does absolutely nothing to help me focus.
Would it be so bad to be home for dinner?
The question plays on my mind.
I can’t remember the last time I left the office early enough to be home for dinner. Then again, the apartment doesn’t feel like home, and I haven’t spent dinner at home since my parents died. What would be the point in going back to the house I grew up in? It might be full of memories and possessions, but it’s still empty.
That’s no longer home either.
Not without them.
It’s better this way. Putting in the work to run this company is more than just a distraction. It’s to prove I was worthy of everything they gave me, everything they taught me, even if they aren’t here to see it.
Still, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have one early night. I wouldn’t be alone if I went back to the apartment, though, and the thought of seeing Grace has my head aching as conflicting feelings war against each other. Finding the other photos might have shifted something in me when it comes to her, but how can I forget about everything else?
With the thoughts of dinner and Grace, it hits me there’s likely no food in the apartment. Sure, there might be a few random things, but I’m never there to cook, so there’s no reason to have a stocked pantry.
Did she eat breakfast?
I saw her apartment—the bare cupboards and the empty refrigerator. Guilt tries to sneak its way in for not thinking of it sooner.
It’s not your problem.
But the more I tell myself that, I wonder what would have happened if Elena Reed had thought those same words that night in the alley, and I can almost hear her chastising me for even thinking it.
They didn’t need to take me in. Hell, they didn’t even have to stop the car that night. I don’t know how many days I’d been in that alley, still waiting for the woman who was meant to keep me safe to come back. A shadow had fallen over me, but instead of the monsters or whatever else I thought was after me in the dark, I’d blinked to see a woman standing over me. Elena Reed. She’d been so out of place in the dusty, dirty street with her silken dress and sparkling jewels that I’d thought her a dream. I hadn’t realised how cold I was until she laid her hand on my face, her warmth seeping into my skin as her brows wrinkled. There was another voice, and her lips moved as she spoke to it, or maybe she was speaking to me, but through the heaviness in my head, I could only focus on her. One moment I’d been on the ground, then I was in someone’s arms, her arms, as she carried me away from that place, not caring that I was likely ruining her dress with the filth I was covered in. The scent of roses had enveloped me as my eyes finally fell shut, but it was the sense of safety that had let me succumb to sleep.
My memories of that night are hazy, but I remember her. Because of existing malnourishment, it was hard for doctors to determine how long exactly I had been there, but they suspected it had been a few days. Even after saving my life, Elena didn’t leave me. Usually, adopting a kid you found on the street would be nearly impossible, but Colton had a lot of connections, and he used them. For her. For me.
When my final attempt at working fails, I resign myself to the idea of going back to the penthouse. A quiet night without work might be good. Maybe that’s all I need to sleep off this exhaustion and come back recharged tomorrow.
That’s it—I’m doing this for myself.
Not for the enigmatic girl alone in my penthouse.
The handles of the plastic takeaway bags cut into the skin of my palms as the lift nears the top floor to my penthouse. I’m so used to Shadow greeting me when I get back, I’m surprised when I’m met with nothing but silence.
After flipping the switch for the kitchen lights, I place the food on the bench, listening out for any sign of Grace or Shadow. I know she’s here, I would have heard by now otherwise, but my heart lurches all the same. I can see the empty living area from the kitchen, so I head straight for the corridor.
Has she gone to bed?
It takes a moment to remember it’s not as late as it usually is after work, so it’s unlikely.
Like this morning, the door to the guest room is partially open, and I stop on the other side. Taking a deep breath, I steel myself against any conflicting emotions that seem to appear when I’m around her.
Knocking once, I push open the door and immediately find Grace curled up on the large round chair by the window, watching the last of the day’s sun slip below the horizon under a cloak of orange and pink.
Shadow jumps up from his place on the floor and runs towards me, but I don’t doubt he already knew I was home.
Traitor.
Grace whips her head towards me, but as soon as she locks eyes with mine, a blinding smile lights up her face, stopping me in my tracks. It knocks the breath from my lungs, crashing through the walls I just built up, leaving the rubble to pile at my feet.
It only lasts a second before she freezes in place, confusion overtaking her carefree expression. A flush creeps up her neck and onto her cheeks as her smile drops away. If I had blinked, I would’ve missed it, and that thought pains me more than I’d like to admit.
“W-what are you doing here?” she asks, her voice strained.
Thoughts of it being my penthouse pass through my mind, but nothing holds.
I can’t get the image of her smile out of my head. It was nothing like the masked wall she’d given me since the first moment we met, and for a moment, it was like she was an entirely different girl.
What the hell is going on?
I should leave, but I can’t make myself move.
My phone chooses that moment to ring, and I’m simultaneously thankful and irritated for the interruption. “Dinner is in the kitchen,” I blurt before exiting the room and answering my phone without looking at the caller ID.
“H—” I clear my throat. “Hello.” I close the door to my bedroom behind me.
“What the fuck are you thinking?” Easton’s voice roars through the phone, and I wince, pulling it away from my ear. “I’d really like to know. Are you trying to get yourself fucking killed as well?”
My blood freezes, and an icy chill fills the air around me. I know he’s referring to Colton and Elena. “Don’t you dare talk about them like that.” My voice comes out eerily calm. What happened to them certainly wasn’t their fault, and the fact he could insinuate anything even remotely close to that pisses me the fuck off. Not only that, but clearly, he doesn’t have much faith in me being able to take care of myself.
There’s silence on the other end before he finally speaks. “You’re right.” He pauses, and I can hear the unspoken apology in his voice. “But what were you thinking going back there alone?” I can tell he’s still angry, but his tone has lost some of its edge.
“I needed an early night.”
“Then you call,” he growls. “Isaac’s coming up until I can get there. And since when do you leave the office this early?”
“No, East.”
“Yes, Bas. It’s not safe. You don’t know what she’s capable of.”
“I can handle it.”
The image of her smiling at me like I hung the damn moon slams back into me.
“I don’t think she wants to hurt me,” I say.
A humourless laugh fills my ear. “It doesn’t matter what you think. I’m not taking that risk.”
“It’s not your risk to take. It’s mine, Easton.”
Does she confuse me? Yes.
Do I trust her? Absolutely not.
Do I really think she would hurt me?
No. I don’t think so.
I sit on the edge of the bed and rest my elbow on my knee, letting my head fall into my palm, my fingers spreading into my hair. “Do you trust me?” I ask him.
“I don’t trust her.”
“That’s not what I asked. Do you trust me?”
Easton is silent again.
After a moment, he sighs before saying, “Yes, I trust you.”
Some of the tension I’d been holding deflates. “Do what you need to, East. Have ten guys outside if you want, but I can’t deal with anyone else in my space right now.”
“But—”
“No, listen. I’m telling you I can handle it. Trust me?”
Again, he doesn’t answer right away.
“Fine,” he grits out, and I can tell it’s the complete opposite of what he wants to say. “But if she so much as looks at you wrong, you call me immediately.”
“Deal.”
“I don’t like this,” he says.
“You don’t have to.”
We’re both quiet for a moment.
“What did you find today?” I ask, but I’m already resigned to knowing it wasn’t anything useful. He would have called or come back to the office if he’d found something.
“Fuck all. The address was a bust, he hadn’t lived there in five years, but I have Aiden searching for a recent address. Something we can fucking use.” Easton says, and I still feel deflated even though I was expecting it. After exchanging a few more words, we end the call.
Before heading into my bathroom, I take off my suit jacket and throw it on the bed. Rolling up the sleeves of my shirt, I splash some cold water on my face and run my fingers through my hair in an attempt to tame the mess. Having run my hands through my hair so much today, it doesn’t do a whole lot to fix it, and I decide to leave it alone before venturing back to the main area of the penthouse.
Grace looks up from her seat on the barstool when I enter the kitchen but quickly averts her eyes. The blush from earlier is still visible.
Or is that new?
Shadow appears in front of me, and I crouch down to give him the greeting he missed out on before. His tail swishes excitedly as he tries to lick anywhere he can reach. At least he hasn’t totally forgotten me.
When I stand, I catch Grace watching us, but she still won’t look me in the eyes. Before I can think more on that, I catch sight of the floor by the bench—the now clean floor, which was covered in coffee when I left this morning.
“Did you clean the floor?” I ask, aware that I’m staring. I only get a glimpse of her dark blue eyes before they’re gone once again, and it’s starting to frustrate me how much I want to see them.
“Yes,” she says, her voice soft.
I stare at her a moment longer before shaking my head. First the hidden photos, then the smile, now the coffee. This girl continues to both surprise and confuse me, and I have no idea what to think of any of it.
The food I’d bought sits untouched on the stone island between us, still in the plastic bags. As I start pulling the contents out, I can’t help but notice Grace’s eyes widen as container after container is placed on the bench.
With the food now laid out in front of me, I realise I might have gone a little overboard. I called in an order from my favourite Italian restaurant—a little family-run place on the edge of the city centre—and picked it up on the way here. It’s far better than any of the more expensive ones in the heart of the city.
I should probably be ashamed to say they know me by name, but there are only so many options when you spend late nights in the office and never cook.
“I didn’t know what you like.” I clear my throat. “There’s meat, no meat, and there should be ah…” I try to read the scribbled descriptions on each container. “Salad,” I say, picking up the one I was looking for.
She doesn’t say anything, her eyes flicking between the food and me. This was a bad idea. Why did I ever let Lauren get in my head? I’d been managing fine this whole time, and now the situation with Grace, with her being here. I should have stayed at the office. Instead, I’ll be playing fucking catch-up all day tomorrow.
It’s not too late—I could take my food to my office and do what I can from here. I have access to the company server, so I’d still be able to access most of what I would need to fit in enough work to cover the rest of tonight. I’m about to do just that when the softest smile graces her lips, barely perceivable, and I’m drawn directly to the small gesture.
“Thank you,” she says, pulling one of the containers to her without even looking to see what it is.
Chapter Fifteen
Sebastian
Pulling myself away from the strange allure Grace is starting to have over me, I grab a couple of forks and spoons from the drawer and place one of each on the island in front of Grace, then myself. Instead of the name of the dish, one container has my name scrawled across the lid and holds my usual order inside. The scent of rich Bolognese sauce and cheese fills my nostrils, and my stomach growls in anticipation as I unfold the foil edges and peel off the lid. I’m convinced Rosa cuts extra big slices of lasagne, especially for me, because there’s no way this is a regular serving size.
I watch Grace with more subtlety this time, glancing at her from the corner of my eye. She removes the lid off her food to reveal what looks like the gnocchi pomodoro. I don’t bother grabbing plates and stay standing on the opposite side of the wide island bench, keeping a good amount of distance between us.
The dining table would be more comfortable, although I don’t know for sure because I’ve never used it. But the thought of sitting down for dinner together seems too intimate.
This feels safer.
Grace flicks her eyes to my untouched food, but she doesn’t need to know I’m waiting for her. After a moment of hesitation, she pierces a piece of gnocchi with her fork and brings it to her mouth. Her soft, rosy lips wrap around the fluffy dough, and I force my gaze to the meal in front of me.
I pile a decent forkful of lasagne into my mouth when the softest sound escapes her. I swallow the food in my mouth, forcing the too-large piece down my throat, and my gaze flicks back to her.
It wasn’t loud or exaggerated, a natural reaction I’m not sure she’s even aware of. She brings another bite to her mouth, the red sauce just barely touching her lips, and I groan internally when another sound falls from them, even softer than the last.
What other sounds does she make?
The thought hits me out of nowhere, and my mind fills with all the ways I could find out. Would her sounds be soft and timid underneath me, or would they grow in intensity as I brought her to the edge of pleasure? I’m not sure which way I’d prefer, but the thought of either has me starting to burn up inside.
Grace’s eyes open and find mine still on her. She doesn’t look away immediately like she has done ever since that damn smile, and I can’t seem to pull myself away either—images of my hands on her skin, my mouth, perforating my thoughts.
What sound would she make if I touched her like that?
Her expression shifts from one of reservation to an innocent curiosity, and it only notches up my desire, my hands aching with the sudden need to touch her. My gaze returns to the very feature that started this whole thing, and her lips part slightly under my stare. When she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, I nearly lose all my resolve and round the bench then and there so I can pull it from her clasp with my own teeth and suck it into my mouth—not letting it go until it’s nice and swollen. Then I’d do the same with her top lip, so they both sat full and red before finally drawing her tongue into my mouth until she knew nothing but my taste.
Grace shifts on the stool, and while the movement adds to the fire in my belly, it’s enough to break through the images clouding my mind, and I shake my head, dislodging the thoughts.
My pulse starts throbbing behind my eyes again. I don’t need this. I need to find the person who killed my parents, not fantasise about the girl who stalked me. That’s the only reason she‘s still here so that I get the man responsible, but now that I’ve imagined her that way, I’m not sure how to erase the image burned into my mind.
We eat the rest of our meals in silence—no lingering glances, no sweet sounds that make me think anything but sweet thoughts.
There are still another three unopened containers between us and the container of salad neither of us has touched, so I collect the leftovers before placing them all in the refrigerator. Bar from licking it spotless, my container is scraped clean, and I throw it straight in the bin.
