Page 47 of Abyss

Against my advice to let her hands heal and stay off her feet, she proceeded to make the damn cornbread on Saturday night. As if she was on a mission to solve world hunger and end wars. As if without baking it, children everywhere would starve.

The pained look on her face, the blood seeping through her tights where her knee was, and her mangled hands had my pulse racing so fast, I was at risk of overheating. The last time my heart had pounded like that was a couple of years ago, when Maddy was in a car accident. Thank God she was okay, but I swear I thought I was having a heart attack when I first heard the news.

I didn’t want to, nor did I have any intention of it, but after seeing Kavi wince while using her hands to bake, I came and stood next to her in the kitchen, following the recipe along with her to make a second batch. She clarified that one was for the art class she was teaching on Sunday, and one was for the office.

“Everyone loved the pound cake and muffins I made. I feel like they’ve come to expect treats around the office now.”

I begrudgingly held back an eye roll. I didn’t, however, hold back the grumbled rebuke about the only thing theyshouldexpect is to work the fucking hours I pay them for, but she didn’t seem to care or be listening.

No one fucking needs muffins and cakes around here. What theyneedis to get their jobs done.

I won’t deny I was a little curious about this art class shetaught. For free, apparently. I recall Maddy telling me about it briefly a while ago, but as Kavi buzzed around, telling me about a couple of the kids in her class while she gathered her supplies and snacks, there was a part of me that wanted to go along with her. There was something about the excitement in her voice, the spark in her golden-brown eyes, that betrayed the timid and quiet woman she showed the rest of the world.

Not me, though, clearly.

Somehow, I didn’t intimidate her any more. Somehow, she was all about practicing her sass and quips on me.

And, somehow, I didn’t hate it . . .

I had to practically beg her to take my damn chauffeured car yesterday. Me, beg!? It’s fucking unheard of.

I don’t know why she’s been adamant about taxis and walking on her own, but at one point, I threatened her to either take the damn car or risk having me haul her over my shoulder and set her ass in it myself.

Thankfully, that made her comply. Probably because she knew I would, given I’d done precisely that on Saturday when she banged up her knee.

But then, today, she got to work an hour before I did. And I know from talking to Aaron that he didn’t bring her. The woman is frustrating to an alarming degree.

I don’t get up to open the door for her, relishing the way she lingers outside, hoping to get someone’s attention.

Her body-hugging cream shirt is tucked into high-rise pine-green corduroy pants that are folded at the bottom. Save for her signature shoes, the outfit looks new—though I can’t be sure, given her interesting taste. I wouldn’t be surprised if she bought it from a higher-end thrift store.

She sways, this and that way, her pants only accentuating the curvature of her hips, those thighs rubbing against each other so provocatively, I’m tempted to call a break and take care of myself in my private bathroom.

Right as Gail, our head project manager, rises from her chair to assist Kavi, the elevator doors open behind her, revealing the face of someone I’ve done everything in my power to avoid over the past couple of years.

What the fuck ishedoing here?

A few members of my executive team turn to follow my gaze, their faces puzzled and anxious. I must look as murderous as I feel.

Kavi hands the platter to Gail before turning to greet him. A moment later, she waves her hand toward another meeting room, giving me an apprehensive look from the window.

I don’t think she’s ever met my brother before, but knowing him, he hasn’t wasted time introducing himself.

She doesn’t reemerge from that room.

Not after five minutes, and not after ten.

My hands ball into fists as I try to keep my composure in front of my staff while they continue to pretend they have not seen my brother.

Losing patience, I excuse myself from the meeting, telling them to continue. I head out of the room, stomping down the hall toward the other conference room. My blood rushes through my veins like an untamed wildfire, making me wonder if my apprehension is just based on having to see my brother again or something else.

Something I’m afraid of; something I can’t quite put into words.

My irritation spikes when I hear a burst of Kavi’s laughter through the door. What the fuck is so funny? And why . . . why, since the time she’d hurtled into my life like a goddamn storm, haven’t I been on the receiving end of that laugh?

My brain tells me there are a few reasons it can name, specifically having to do with me humiliating her in public acouple of times and firing her outright once, but I shove those thoughts away.

I got it. They weren’t my best moments, nor my best decisions.

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