by Cynthia Sax
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Henley doesn’t say anything. I gaze at his face as he drives, memorizing the flatness of his nose, the shape of his chin, the thickness of his eyebrows. The silence in the vehicle is ominous, reminding me of past losses, reminding me of the eerie silence following my father’s last breath.
I can’t lose another man I love.
Chapter Twelve
* * *
HENLEY HOLDS MY hand as we walk to the elevator, his grip tight. He doesn’t say a word and doesn’t look at me.
We enter the empty elevator. I stand beside him, vividly aware of his big body. He stares straight ahead, his face as hard as rock.
I squeeze his fingers, he squeezes mine, and hope flickers inside me.
“No matter what happens today, what you have to do,” I murmur, “I’ll understand. The days I’ve spent with you have been the best days of my life.”
Henley gazes down at me and frowns. “We’ll have more days . . . if you forgive me.”
“Forgive you?” I raise my eyebrows, confused. “This was my mistake. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I failed you, kitten.” His eyes blaze. “One of my employees stole from you and I allowed it to happen.”
“No, I allowed it to happen.” I won’t allow him to take responsibility for my error. “I should have been paying closer attention to my surroundings.”
“I monitor those surroundings.” Henley’s expression grows frighteningly fierce. “You had the passcard clipped to your belt. I remember that clearly. That person touched you.” He folds the fingers of his free hand into a giant fist. “You’re mine. No one touches you.”
His possessiveness curls my toes. “It must have been a casual touch because—”
The elevator doors open and Henley tugs me forward. “Status,” he barks.
Grant jumps to his feet. “The passcard is deactivated.” He doesn’t meet my gaze, and my anxiety compounds. “It was last used at twenty minutes after one o’clock at the building’s front doors, the main elevators, and the fourth floor’s reception doors.”
The thief accessed the Fortress. My chest constricts.
“She didn’t try to hide her face.” Grant turns his screen toward us and I stare, the thief’s identity unmistakable, the image crystal clear. Camille turns, looks up at the camera, and smiles, my passcard clenched in her right hand.
“No.” I take a step backward. “Camille’s my friend. She wouldn’t steal from me.”
“We’ll talk about this later.” Henley hooks his arm around my waist and pulls me tight to his body, his strength comforting, his heat soothing. “Did she break the numeric code?”
“No, she didn’t.” Grant shakes his head. “She tried your code from Monday, Miss Kat’s birth date and social security number, and then random numbers.”
She has my birth date and social security number. I turn my head and bury my face into Henley’s shoulder, unable to see, to hear more. Camille planned to use me, to steal from me.
“The system locked her out after five attempts,” Grant continues. “She gave up after twenty-three. She didn’t attempt the thumbprint and left the building without accessing any other floors.”
Henley nodded, appearing satisfied. “Send a reminder to all of the staff not to use their social security numbers and birth dates as passwords.” He bumps me forward and unlocks the door. “Track down our little thief and bring her to my office.” He guides me into the Fortress.
Employees watch me from their glass-lined offices as I walk along the hallway, my head lowered and shoulders slumped. Henley’s palm rests on the small of my back. I was sloppy with security, trusted the wrong person, let Henley down, endangered everyone.
“I didn’t give her my passcard.” My voice is small. “You likely don’t believe me because Camille is . . . was a friend, but I’d never choose anyone else over you. I’d never betray you.”
“I believe you.” Henley opens the door to his office. We step inside and he closes the door behind us. “Come here.”
He wraps his arms around me and holds me to his chest. Although I don’t deserve this solace, I take it because I’m tired, so very tired, and this might be the last time I touch him. I lean into his big form and press my cheek against the luxurious fabric of his expensive black suit.
“Camille didn’t intend to harm you or Blaine Technologies.” Henley rubs my back. “Testing our system’s security is a game she’s been playing for years. We knew who she was when we hired her.”
“I didn’t know who she was,” I mumble. “And she doesn’t know who I am. I say I value honesty, yet I’m lying to everyone. I’m lying to myself.” I gaze up at Henley. “Only you see me as I am.”
His eyes soften. “I see you as you are and I—”
There’s a knock at the door and Henley’s face grows hard. “Bring her in.” He steps forward, standing protectively in front of me.
Camille struts into the room, her chin tilted upward. She’s wearing the same black suit she’s worn every day this week, her green hair slicked back into a neat ponytail. Grant follows her, his expression grave.
“Mr. Henley.” Camille spots me and her steps falter, some of her defiance deflating. “Yellow.”
I don’t correct her. I don’t laugh and tell her I’m Coral today. Knowing how this meeting has to end, I look away, unable to say anything.
“It stops today, Camille.” Henley’s voice is flat. “I tolerated your nonsense until now because it kept my team vigilant and it didn’t hurt anyone, but last night you went too far. The next time I find you poking around somewhere you shouldn’t be, I’ll escort you out of the building personally.”
“Yes, Mr. Henley.” Camille clasps her hands in front of her, her face pale.
“Give the passcard back to Kat,” he orders.
“I was going to give it back to her.” She extracts my passcard from a pocket of her blazer and holds it out to me. “I was only borrowing it.”
I take the passcard from her, my fingers shaking. “You told me you’d never do anything to hurt anyone.”
“I wanted to prove I could access the Fortress. I wasn’t planning to hurt anyone,” Camille insists. “Peace and love, remember?” She makes a V with her fingers.
“What about hurting me?” I ask quietly.
Camille slides her gaze to Henley and then to me. “I knew Mr. Henley wouldn’t fire you. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
“This is business, not personal.” I shake my head, my curls bouncing against my cheeks. “He has to fire me.”
“Kat.” Henley turns toward me.
“Mr. Henley has no choice.” I meet his gaze. “He vowed to fire me if I ever jeopardized the company’s security. Having my passcard stolen definitely qualifies as jeopardizing the company’s security.”
“No.” Camille moves between us. “It was my fault. I should be the person fired.”
I ignore her, holding Henley’s gaze. He widens his stance, bracing his massive body. His fingers clench and unclench, power exuding from him.
“You always keep your promises,” I remind him, my heart aching. “You have to do this to maintain your integrity.”
“‘Relationships are built on trust,’” Henley quotes my father, and I nod, unable to speak. He sighs, his shoulders heaving, and he extends one of his hands. “Give me your passcard, Kat.” I place the white plastic rectangle on his scarred palm and his fingers fold around it. “As of this moment, your employment with Blaine Technologies is terminated.”
“No!” Camille cries. “You’re making a mistake, Mr. Henley.”
“I made the mistake,” I state, my heart aching. “Mr. Henley is helping me correct it.” I maintain eye contact with him. “This ends today.” I can’t continue to live a lie.
Henley looks away from me, stares at the brightly colored flowchart displayed on the far wall, his big barrel of a chest rising and falling. “Grant.” His voice sounds strangled. “Walk with
Camille to the elevators and call a cab for Kat. I’ll escort her out of the building.”
Grant tugs on Camille’s arm. “No.” She refuses to leave. “It’s my turn, Yellow.”
I can’t continue to punish her, not when I’m as guilty as she is. “My real name is Katalina Volkov, Camille. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re a Volkov.” Camille’s mouth drops open.
“I’m a Volkov,” I confirm.
“I need to speak with Kat. Alone,” Henley barks. Grant hustles a strangely subdued Camille out of the office, closing the door behind them.
Henley paces back and forth, back and forth, his tread tellingly loud, tension radiating from him. I watch him, waiting for him to speak.
“No.” He stalks toward me, his eyebrows lowered, his eyes black, his expression fierce. I don’t move, standing my ground, unafraid. He’ll never hurt me. I know this. “You’re not ending this, kitten.” He grips my arms, his strength flowing into me. “I won’t allow it.”
I gaze up at him, my spine straight and my shoulders squared. “I have to end this. I have to face the truth, Henley.” I take a ragged breath. “My father isn’t waiting for me back in New York. He’s not a quick phone call or text message away. He’s dead.” The words echo in the silence, and a soul-deep agony slices through me. “My father’s dead and pretending he’s alive won’t bring him back.”
Henley’s eyes soften. “I know, kitten.” He rests his forehead against mine. His breath wafts on my skin. “I know.”
A tear rolls down my cheek and I brush it away with the back of my hand. “I miss him so much.” More tears fall and I can’t stop them.
Henley draws me into his body and I bury my face in his shirt and sob, the strength of my sorrow shaking my shoulders. He says nothing, holding me as I cry.
For the first time since my father died, I allow myself to mourn his passing, weeping until there’s nothing left inside of me, until I run out of tears. Phones ring. E-mails pop up on screens. My beloved behemoth doesn’t move, doesn’t turn his head, all of his focus on me, on the grief I shouldn’t be indulging. “I promised my father I wouldn’t cry for him,” I mumble.
“You’re not crying for him. You’re crying for yourself.” Henley rubs his thumbs over the tear tracks on my cheeks. There’s no judgment in his dark eyes, only understanding. “You’re allowed to cry for yourself.”
“You always find the loopholes.” I force a smile. Henley brushes my curls away from my face, smoothing my hair, caring for me, looking after me.
“Henley, I want to ask you something.” I press my cheek into one of his rough palms. “And I don’t want your answer right now. You’re experiencing guilt over firing me. These feelings are compounded by dealing with my grief.” His lips part. “No.” I place my fingers over his mouth, stopping his words. “Don’t talk. Even if this isn’t what you’re feeling, I can’t have any doubts. This is too important to me.” He’s too important to me.
Henley inclines his head, silently agreeing to my terms.
“You also don’t have to say yes.” I skim my fingertips over his chin, exploring his face one more time, maybe for the last time. “I can return to New York. My uncle offered to assist me, to block the bulk of the questions, the condolences. No one messes with him either.”
Henley scowls, my weak attempt at a joke falling flat.
“But I’d rather face the harsh reality here with you,” I admit, flattening my palms on his chest. “I trust you.” I struggle to control my emotions, wanting him to know everything, to be able to make an informed decision. “I love you.”
Henley’s body jerks as though I’ve hit him, his eyes flashing and his jaw clenching. I drop my hands. Is this a good reaction? A bad one? Henley doesn’t say anything.
I take a deep breath and continue. “When I rejoin the real world it’ll be chaos. In New York I felt . . .” I remember the outpouring of sympathy, the overwhelming tidal wave of sorrow, and I shudder. “I felt hounded and sad and a little bit crazy. It’ll take a big man to deal with all of that.” I gaze up at Henley. “Are you interested in being that man?”
“Kitten.” Henley captures my lips with his, the force of his embrace driving my head back. He cups my skull, holds me to him, and ravishes my mouth, his kiss wild and savage. I cling to his shoulders, standing on the tips of my toes, pushing my curves against his hard muscle.
Is this a good-bye kiss? I wouldn’t be shocked if it was. I’m a mess. He hired me and then had to fire me less than a day later. I jeopardized his security system. I showed my breasts to his entire team. Everyone thinks I’m a blonde bimbo. I kick and punch him in my sleep. I sigh against his lips. Even I wouldn’t date me.
Henley steps backward. “I’ll think about everything you’ve said and give you my answer tonight,” he informs me gravely, his serious tone escalating my fears. “Come.” He opens the door. “I’ll walk you out.”
He’s in a rush to be rid of me. My shoulders slump. This must be good-bye. I trudge along the hallway. Henley trails me. Employees are gathered in groups of three or four in the glass-walled offices. Their gazes flick to us as we pass, their mouths moving. I must look like a mess, my eyes red and my nose pink, and they’ll know I’ve been fired. Office gossip is the fastest form of communication in existence.
“No one will ever lose their passcard again.” I summon a sad smile.
“Yes,” Henley rumbles. “My reputation as a monster is secure.” He unlocks the reception doors, holds them open for me.
“You’re not a monster. You’re magnificent.” I graze my fingers over his stomach as I pass and his shoulders shudder, his reaction easing some of my concerns. Henley wants me; maybe not enough to deal with my craziness, but he does want me.
Grant turns his head toward us and meets my gaze. His eyes widen and his lips flatten. “The car for Miss Kat has arrived.” He glares at Henley.
“Thank you, Grant,” I answer for Henley. “For everything.”
Henley presses the button for the elevator. I stand beside him, slip my palm into his, and he folds his fingers around mine.
The elevator doors open and we enter, holding hands. A redheaded woman carrying a stack of gray files glances at Henley and hastily moves away from us.
“Triple points,” I murmur, seeking to break the tension.
Henley’s body shakes against mine. “I’ll win you that plush unicorn in no time.”
I should laugh. This is how I want him to remember me, with laughter and smiles, but I can’t. My heart is splintering into jagged fragments, my emotions barely contained.
The elevator doors open and we exit. My heels tap against the tiled floor as we move toward the front doors. Henley’s tread is soundless. Men and women in dark suits step to the side. A security guard holds the door open for me and mumbles a greeting to Henley.
A smartly uniformed driver stands beside a sleek black town car, waiting to take me away from the man I love.
I turn to Henley, my smile strained. “I’ll accept whatever decision you make.” He doesn’t say anything. “You’re a good man, Henley.” I reach up and skim my lips over his. “And I’m a better woman, a stronger woman, for having met you.” I blink back tears.
“Stay strong for me, kitten.” He brushes his knuckles along my cheek, his skin rough and warm. “You’ve trusted me from the first moment we met.” Henley steps backward and folds his arms in front of him, his legs braced apart. “Don’t stop trusting me now.”
I trust him to make the right decision for us. This might not be the right decision for my heart. I swallow my fears, turn, and enter the car, leaving my behemoth standing on the sidewalk, a solid wall of black separating joy and sorrow.
Chapter Thirteen
* * *
I RETURN TO the hotel room alone. The hardworking maid has already cleaned the space, replacing the towels and making the bed, purging all remnants of my night with Henley. I lift the ivory duvet. The corners of the sheets are folded crisply and precisely,
the linen as tidy as the bedding on my father’s hospital bed. I ruffle the cotton, mussing this sterile perfection.
I should pack. My suitcases are stacked on the top shelf of the open closet. If Henley decides he can’t deal with the insanity, that I’d thrive better in New York without him, I’ll want to leave LA immediately. There’s nothing here for me except him.
I drift my fingertips over his dress shirt. It hangs next to my father’s, the black fabric contrasting vividly against the rumpled white cotton, Henley’s sleeves inches longer. I bring my father’s shirt cuffs to my nose and inhale, the scent of stale musk and cigarette smoke filling my nostrils.
Those cigarettes killed my father, giving him lung cancer. Tears slide down my cheeks and pool in the seams of my lips. He refused to quit, smoking until he couldn’t do it anymore.
My father is . . . was stubborn about a lot of things. My mother died twelve years ago in a car accident, and my father had loved her stubbornly until the very end, her name being the last word he rasped. Now they’re together.
And I’m alone.
I unbutton my coral-colored blazer, drop it to the freshly vacuumed carpet, and don Henley’s huge black shirt. The fabric engulfs my much-smaller frame. His lemon-and-cedar cologne surrounds me, giving me strength.
I sit cross-legged on the bed and watch TV. A rich middle-aged housewife details the contents of her closet, her taste being an eclectic mix of styles, her shoe collection enviable. Five young designers compete to create a collection for a large retailer. A bride searches for a dress for her vampire-themed wedding. I push my grief, my worries, under these trivial concerns, losing myself in the silly ordeals.
There’s a knock at the door, and my heart leaps. It’s Henley. It must be. I hop off the bed, run my hands over my tousled curls, and apply some lipstick. Holding his shirt closed, I open the door.
It isn’t Henley. Dave, the balding concierge, stands in the hallway with a giant plush unicorn in his hands. “Delivery for you, Miss Kat.” He hands me the toy.
