Page 63 of Toxic Temptation
She starts picking at her cuticles, a nervous habit I’ve noticed before. “I learned to define myself by my brain.”
“Or hide behind it.”
“Excuse me?”
“You can be both things, you know. Smartandbeautiful.”
“I… That’s… I’m not…” She trails off, sentence unfinished, her breathing shallow. “It’s not that simple.”
“It must have been hard,” I offer in sympathy. “Being taken seriously, when you look like that.”
The tension leaves her shoulders all at once. “It wasn’t just my looks. If people didn’t assume I was some makeup-tutorial airhead, they assumed I only got where I am because of my father’s reputation.” She stares out the windshield. “Choosing to do my residency at St. Raphael’s probably made it worse. Everyone there knew Dr. Fairfax—just not me.”
“Then why choose there at all?”
“Sentiment, I guess.” She fades into a fidgety unease. “I practically grew up in that hospital. It was my playground. And it’s where my clearest memories of Dad are. He was pure magic with patients. He could walk into a room with a crying child and walk out with them smiling.”
She’s somewhere else now, lost in those memories. Her fingers work at the raw spot on her nail beds. She’s gazing out at the windshield as though her life is splattered out against it.
“I miss him every day,” she whispers.
I reach over and cover her hand, stopping the picking. She freezes under my touch, and for a second, our eyes meet. Hers are glassy with unshed tears.
There’s more to the story. I can feel it in the way she holds herself, like she’s carrying precious weight she doesn’t want to shed or share.
“So!” She claps her hands together, forcing brightness into her voice. “Where is this intimidating office of yours?”
“Right around the corner.” I make the turn and Krayev Headquarters comes into view—fifty floors of steel and glass designed to dwarf anyone who approaches, to start the work of making them feel small before they come into my office and I finish the job. “There it is.”
Vesper’s mouth falls open as she tilts her head back to take it all in. “This is your office?”
I pull into the private parking lot reserved for executives and VIPs. “Welcome.”
She doesn’t seem to hear me. Her attention is fixed on the architectural details—the way light catches and reflects off the metal facade, the impossible height of it.
“This is unreal.”
“You’re flattering me.”
“I’m used to sterile buildings that have no imagination and smell like sulfuric acid. This is beautiful.”
I chuckle. “Well, do your best to pry your jaw off the floor. There’s more to be seen inside.”
“No promises,” she warns, shaking her head.
The moment we emerge through the glass doors, people straighten. Conversations stop mid-sentence. The lazy afternoon energy evaporates as word spreads that I’m in the building.
Even Vesper notices the shift. “Jesus,” she mutters under her breath. “Are people really that scared of you?”
“A little fear is healthy for blood circulation.”
“Ah, yes, I believe I read that in Grant’s Atlas of Anatomy.” She nudges me in the ribcage as I guide her towards the six silver elevators standing in line to the right.
I approach the executive elevator and type in my access code. “This one’s restricted to senior staff. I’ll have someone make you a key card.”
Panic flashes across her face. “Will I need one?”
“You’re my girlfriend. We’re supposed to be serious about each other, remember?”
