Page 52 of His to Possess
She stepped in slowly behind me, her eyes carefully moving around the room. I could tell she was trying to see if anything had been taken, or maybe just trying to feel safe again in her own space.
The cramped living area was a stark contrast to my penthouse, but there was a warmth here that I couldn't deny. Mismatched furniture and carefully chosen art prints spoke of a life lived on a budget, but with taste and determination.
Just as I was about to move further inside, I caught a flicker of movement from the corner of my eye. Laurel shifted slightly to her right, and in that split second, I saw her foot move deliberately over something on the floor. A piece of paper, disappearing beneath her shoe.
My instincts kicked in, years of reading people and uncovering secrets coming to the forefront. But I kept my face impassive, pretending I hadn't noticed her clumsy attempt at deception. Lether think she had succeeded. Let her have this illusion of control, for now.
"It's… cozy," I said, deliberately keeping my tone neutral as I continued to survey the room. My mind, however, was racing. What could be on that paper? A note from someone? A bill she didn't want me to see? Or something more sinister?
Laurel cleared her throat, drawing my attention back to her. "It's not much, but it's home," she said, a hint of defensiveness in her voice.
I watched Laurel's face as she spoke, her eyes taking on a distant, almost wistful look. "When I'm back on my feet and my finances stabilize, I'm going to recreate the look of my first apartment in Paris," she said, her voice softening. "It was full of light, bright but so warm and elegant." A small smile played at the corners of her mouth. "I guess you always have a thing for your first place, you know?"
I nodded, feigning casual interest. "How many places did you stay while working in Europe?" I asked, keeping my tone light.
Laurel's eyes flickered away for a moment. "Oh, just that small apartment before moving in with my boyfriend at the time."
I noted what she didn't say—what had happened to that boyfriend. My curiosity piqued, I moved towards the wall, stopping at a cluster of dainty decorative frames. Each held a snapshot of Paris or a famous painting. I studied them, buying time to formulate my next move.
"It must have broken your heart to leave your boyfriend in Paris." I turned back to face her. "Is he planning to come meet you in the US?"
Laurel's voice remained detached, almost disinterested as she responded. "No, that's not in the cards."
But her body told a different story. I watched as her shoulders tensed, her posture becoming defensive. She was trying to hide it, but I was starting to read her well. There was more to thisstory than she was letting on. And though I let her think that she had the liberty to keep that secret to herself, without further elaboration, I already knew I'd dig up every detail and discover what happened.
"These are lovely. You have quite an eye for composition," I said, gesturing to the frames.
Laurel relaxed slightly at the change of subject. "Thanks. Photography was a hobby of mine back then."
"Back then?" I pressed gently. "You don't do it anymore?"
She shrugged, her eyes darting away. "Haven't had much time lately. Or inspiration, I guess."
I took a step closer, my voice low. I wanted to let her tell the story herself, but that was more than likely not going to happen on its own. I had to make the first move and prompt her to talk about it. "Laurel, what happened in Paris?"
For a moment, I thought she might actually open up. But then the walls came back up, her expression shuttering. "At the end? Only pain and disillusion. I'm surprised you're asking questions about it since you certainly did your research before bringing me up to your humble abode."
I studied Laurel's face, noting the tension in her jaw, the defiance in her eyes. She was right, of course. I had done my research. But there was always more to uncover, always hidden depths to explore.
"You're correct. I did look into your background," I said, my voice cool and measured. "It's standard procedure for anyone I consider working with. But records only tell part of the story."
I took a step closer, watching her reaction carefully. "What I know is this: You were rising quickly in the Parisian art world. Your assessments were highly sought after, and your reputation was impeccable. Then, seemingly overnight, it all fell apart."
Her gaze hardened, but she remained silent. I continued, "A high-profile auction. Forgeries were discovered at the lastminute. Accusations of fraud and theft. Your name was cleared eventually, but the damage was done."
I paused, gauging her reaction. Her face was a mask, but I could see the pain flickering in her eyes. "What the records don't show," I said, softening my tone slightly, "is how it felt. How you went from being celebrated to ostracized. How you had to leave everything behind and start over."
For a moment, I saw a crack in her armor. A flash of vulnerability that made me want to reach out, to offer some kind of comfort. But I pushed that urge aside. Comfort wasn't what either of us needed right now.
"What I don't know is who was really behind it. Who had the most to gain from your downfall. Because make no mistake, someone set you up. And I intend to find out who."
Laurel's eyes widened slightly, surprise and something else—fear?—flashing across her face. "Why?" she asked, shaking her head. It was as if she couldn't believe the words that had just left my lips. "Why does it matter to you?"
I met her gaze steadily. "Because you're mine now. And I protect what's mine."
I watched as surprise flickered across her face, her eyebrows lifting slightly.
"I'm yours only until the end of the contract, Rex," she said, her voice cool and measured. "And only regarding work and sex. Nothing more."
