Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Atlas follows my gaze, holding still for a second before turning back to me.
“You know,” he says, his voice light but careful, “I read a story about this once. Obsession doesn’t end—”
I let out a dead laugh, cutting off whatever else was about to spill from his mouth.
When he sighs loud enough that I know his common sense has failed, my eyes snap to him. “Don’t.”
One simple word is all it takes for him to back down. Never needed to raise my voice once to get my point across.
Atlas pushes off the wall with a whistle. “A gift from the holy ones?”
If I wasn’t still pissed about him smelling like Ivy, I’d probably snicker at the nickname.
Atlas tilts his head and swallows. “She asked about you.”
I glare at him. “I could tell.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Means,” I say, already over this conversation. “I know her better than anyone.”
“Asher,” his tone drops, arms lifting, and I know he’s about to deliver yet another reason to punch him in the face. “She cares about you. There’s no faking that shit!”
“That’s touching,” I drawl, and I’m about to start counting to ten if this asshole doesn’t back the fuck up.
He asks under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re being an asshole.”
“Good.” I bare my teeth. “Means she’s alive.”
His voice drops. “Whatever game you think you’re playing, you need to rem—“
A sudden shift on the monitor jerks our heads up. Ivy is already dismantling the closet, wrenching dresses off their hangers and shoving garment bags aside in broad, reckless sweeps. She knows exactly what she’s looking for, leaving silk, cashmere, and shit she hasn’t touched since the day I hung it up to pool in a mounting pile on the floor. She keeps moving without a single pause, never once looking down at the mess she’s making.
This is a search.
I watch her hands as she clears sections, checking the seams and running her flat palms behind the stacked boxes. This is the instinctual reflex of a woman who knows dark rooms make for perfect hiding because she’s usually the one lurking in them.
Tsk, tsk, Venom…
Every muscle in my body turns rigid, the absolute insanity of my own possessiveness is about to end with a bullet in someone else.
Atlas says nothing. For fucking once.
She freezes, the sudden stillness yanking me forward in my chair. One second she’s ripping through the racks, and the next her fingers stall around something wedged deep between two garment bags, drawing it out with a hesitant slowness.
A white knit sweater.
She lifts it up, turning the wool over in her hands, and my whole body locks tight as I lean forward.
Does she recognize it? That it’s the exact one she wore on the yacht?
Shrugging, she puts it back where it belongs and continues on. Of course she didn’t recognize. That would require her to be in control of her own brain.
I slam my laptop closed before I fucking break it and Atlas lets out a long breath, “You wanna tell me what the fuck that was?”
“No?”
He grunts out a dry laugh, shaking his head at the floor. “Solid strategy.”
I shove back from the desk. “It’s worked great so far.”
“Has it?” Atlas asks, brow arched.
I need a fucking drink. Pouring two fingers of whiskey, I leave the lid off and rest my hand against the bar.
“If you got a point, Atlas,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut. “make it.”
“I think you’re losing your way.”
My eyes snap open. Before I actually fucking swing, my hand finds the bottle again, leaving the glass behind because fuck it.
Taking a long swig of the expensive whiskey, I keep my eyes locked on his. When I no longer feel the fire in my throat and my stomach is about a second away from burning through my ribs, I lower it, swiping the residue off my lips.
“Camille’s on her way.”
His shoulders stiffen. “For dinner?”
My lip twitches. “To stay.”
Silence.
He recoils, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ, Ash.”
Why can’t he see the obvious reasons why I’m doing what I’m doing?
“It makes things easier.”
“For who!” He yells, spit flying from his mouth.
Me.
Nobody.
I lift the bottle like a cheers and shrug. “For The House.”
Atlas’s mouth twists. “Bullshit.” He must have grown an extra nut sack because now he’s almost up in my shit. “You think bringing your ex in here is gonna piss off Ivy.”
Another swig, this time filling my mouth until the whiskey burns my tongue before swallowing. “What I think is it establishes boundaries.”
“Also—”I add, sizing him up with a head tilt but not being completely serious. “Why are you in my face right now?”
All anger evaporates from his face as he steps back. Not a lot, because Atlas may be a gentler man than me, but he’s never been one to back away from a fight.