Page 59 of Dirty Little Secrets
“Enough!” I can’t relive this. I can’t keep comingback to this fucking memory. “I didn’t come here to dig up the past.”
“No, you came here to threaten me.” Quinton perches on the edge of his desk. “Well, go on now, Cavanaugh. Threaten me. What will you do if I don’t heed your incredibly menacing and awe-inspiring demand to stay away from little Emery? Well?”
I straighten my shoulders. “Diazenix. You knew.”
“Fuck you, Cavanaugh. You know that’s a lie.” Quinton’s lip twitches. “I dare you to utter another word on that subject. Have you heard the phrase tit for tat, my friend? While I love my father dearly and would hate to see him incarcerated for a cover-up, I will not lose my reputation and my company for a man with no morals.”
I snort. “That’s rich coming from you. You are your father’s son.”
“I fix my problems,” he grunts. “I do not bury them in the dirt like a coward.” He pushes himself off his desk, shoulders widening as he stalks toward me. “There is nothing you can do or say to scare me, Cavanaugh. Our closets carry far too many skeletons to start a war. You must have known this coming here, and yet, here you are.” He scans my face with keen intent. “Are you falling in love with her? Is that the problem?” He chuckles under his breath. “You’re a bloody fool, Cavanaugh. You cannot tame a wild animal, and that’s what Emery is—wild.”
“Don’t say her name as if you know her,” I spit, heart racing as we come face to face. “You know nothing about her.”
“Perhaps, but,” he cocks his head, “I know you, Damon, and I know how much you like a tight leash. A woman like Emery doesn’t thrive in captivity, in a cage. She’s meant to run free.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I grunt. “Emery is?—”
“You know what I think?” he asks. “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about, and that scares you. You know she’s wild. You know she will never fully belong to you.” A pause. “Let me give you a word of advice: the more you attempt to tighten said leash, the more she’ll resist.” He smiles at me. “Perhaps allowing her to roam free would be most beneficial.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I ask, resisting the urge to punch him square in the jaw.
“Not only me.” He shrugs coyly. “I think she’d like it too.” He checks his watch. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat some more, but I’ve got a meeting in five minutes.” He blinks. “Is that all for today?” I bite my tongue, swallowing back the bile in my throat. “Lovely, I’ll see you and little Emery at my gala on Friday.” He places his drink to the side and waltzes past me. “Close the door behind you when you’re done sulking. Toodles!”
I stay frozen in his office for several minutes, his words running on repeat. I don’t want to accept it. I can’t accept it. I won’t. But he’s right. The more I think about it. He’s right. Sheisa wild animal.
But even lions can be tamed.
THE HAMMER
EMERY
The womanin the mirror looks powerful. An elegant and seductive energy radiates off her skin, like an aura, an ethereal halo of strength and confidence.
I slide my hand against the black and white dress wrapping the woman’s body. It’s a work of art, crafted of the finest silk and lace. The black, strapless bodice exposes a plunging neckline, revealing enough skin and hiding just enough scar. It’s provocative and sexy, and I can’t seem to believe it’s me.
My gaze flits down to the stark white skirt that flows down onto the floor. Black lace appliques connect the two shades, melting the gown seamlessly into a hauntingly beautiful dichotomy of good and evil, pure and toxic, dangerous and safe.
“Do you like it?” Josephine asks, holding three othergarment bags in her hands. “Or do you want to try more?”
This is the seventh dress I’ve tried on this evening. The others didn’t…make sense. One was a beautiful ball gown, something out of a fairytale. It didn’t suit me. I’m not a princess.
The other was pitch black and so tight it felt like it was painted on my body. It was gorgeous but felt too dramatic, too drastic, too flashy despite the darkness.
“This one is perfect,” I say, flashing Josephine a warm smile through the mirror. “Thanks for all your help.”
“My pleasure,” she says, checking her watch. “Should I tell Damon that you are almost ready?”
My gaze shifts to the puzzle box on the bedside table. I couldn’t solve it in time. My spine tingles as Quin’s voice infiltrates my mind.
Do you know how sexy you look when you’re coming, darling?
The skin around my breasts flush with bashful pride. Something about that man is teasingly exciting. But it’s a slow kind of excitement, one that lingers deep inside my stomach. Perhaps it’s because he’s off-limits. Perhaps it’s because he infuriates Damon.
Or maybe, it’s simply because I’ve always been a sucker for an English accent. Everything he says sounds like velvet. So smooth. So easy to digest. And crave.
Apparently, I’m hungry often these days.
“Tell Damon that I’ll meet him at The Met,” I say, needing more time to fiddle with the puzzle. “And no, Iwon’t drive myself. I’ll take a car service.” I make eye contact with Josephine, whose lips are twisted up. “What?”
