Black Sheep Bargain
Autor:in
Naima Simone
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19,8K
Kapitel
16
One
Whoever said “revenge is a dish best served cold” clearly possessed a lack of imagination.
When not administered immediately, the other person might forget they had it coming. Or they might have one of those “come to Jesus” moments where they’re not the same bastard who deserved their comeuppance.
Or worse.
The person might die.
Oh no. Revenge was definitely a dish served piping hot and shoved down the throat.
Nico Morgan stood on the sidewalk outside the Brighton bakery on Washington Street, traffic a cacophony of horns and squeals. Pedestrians flowed around him, separating like the tide, caught up in heading to work, classes or the local coffee shops.
But none of the other bakeries in this neighborhood could compare to the baked goods tucked in the glass cases of Evans Bakery.
The name was as simple as the food and family inside.
Well...most of the family.
Giving the brick building with the pristine white, green and yellow awning one last glance, he strode forward and opened the wide door. There was a painting of an elegant white cake and chocolate chip cookies on the sparkling glass. If his memory was correct—and his memory was always correct, since he never forgot a medication dose, a profit or loss, or a slight—Glory Evans ensured her staff cleaned this glass every morning without fail. And a couple times through the day if needed. The older woman’s motto had been, Dirty Windows, Dirty Ovens. His private investigator’s report had noted Glory’s death earlier this year, after she never fully recovered from her stroke a few years ago. And her granddaughter had now assumed responsibility of day-to-day operations.
As he stepped inside, the scents of sugar, vanilla, baked bread and freshly brewed coffee greeted him. Most people would find it odd that the sweet and nutty aromas had lust pumping through his veins. But then most people wouldn’t take one look at the woman pushing through the swinging kitchen door and associate those scents with her.
Athena Evans.
Nico clenched his jaw, narrowing his eyes on the slender yet sensually curved manager of the bakery as she warmly greeted customers, holding conversations even though her slim arms bore the burden of a wide silver tray loaded with pastries. He tracked her slow but steady progress through the crowded space, tracing the familiar lines of her face, the delicate set of her shoulders, the seductive yet somehow innocent sway of her hips, the stride of those long, toned legs.
There wasn’t a damn thing innocent about Athena Evans.
He had personal and intimate knowledge of that.
Athena called out to the shorter woman behind the counter—her sister. Returning his scrutiny to her face, he caught the subtle uptick of warmth in her smile—hell, in her entire expression. That’s because Athena didn’t just smile with her mouth. Never had. It began there with a shockingly sexual curve, but it also softened the sharpness of her cheekbones, brightened her hazel eyes so they appeared more green than golden brown. It loosened her shoulders, relaxed the straight line of her spine.
It’d been one of the most beautiful things about her.
It’d also come to be one of the things he resented most about her.
Today, her sister was the recipient of that show of affection as Athena rounded the corner of the bakery case, tray held high, arms not showing the slightest sign of strain. His breath stuttered in his chest at that negligent display of strength. Desire pulsed in his veins as he studied the flex of sleek muscle revealed by the sleeveless yellow sundress that emphasized the beauty of her dark brown skin. With an ease that would’ve shamed an award-winning body builder, she set the tray on top of the case, not appearing winded or tired. Years toiling in the family bakery would build up that kind of stamina.
Besides, even if Athena were bone weary, she would never let on. That’s not what the perfect daughter, granddaughter or sister did.
And Nico counted on that futile pursuit of perfection to aid him in his own endgame.
It was the only reason he stood in his ex-lover’s place of employment three years after she ended their relationship, willing to face her “fuck you, now get the hell out.”
Oh, the things one was willing to do to for revenge.
Anything.
Anticipation swirled in his chest. Yes, because all the plans he’d worked on, existed for were slowly coming to fruition. But also because he stood in this shop, within feet of this woman. Electric currents raced over his skin. Waiting for her to notice him. To look at him so he could glimpse the shock, the hate, the... He was a succubus, greedy for any emotion, any reaction.
Three years.
Three years he’d gone without allowing himself even the sight of her. But now, with an unforeseen twist of fate, he needed her. No one else but Athena Evans would do. And he could indulge himself in her.
Until their business was done.
Then he would be the one to end it. To walk away.
Because three years ago, Athena had reminded him of a very important lesson. Never become attached.
Only trust the one person who will never let you down—yourself.
Athena removed the eclairs and doughnuts from the tray, talking to her sister and the customers at the counter. As she finished up, she scanned the lobby, and he braced himself. Objectively, he should’ve been wary of the trickle of eagerness that invaded him. But he ignored it, chalking it up to excitement over the imminent commencement of his plans. Not to the moment when she...
Her eyes locked with his. They widened.
Filled with shock, horror—and fury.
He smiled.
Without removing her gaze from his, she leaned down and said something in her sister’s ear. Whatever it was had Geneva Evans’s head jerking his way with a glare. His smile didn’t falter. Satisfaction burned so fucking bright inside him, it rivaled the iconic streetlamps outside his Beacon Hill home. Geneva nodded, and Athena emerged from behind the bakery cases and forged a straight path to him. This time, she didn’t pause to hold pleasant conversations with customers. No, she marched toward him, that affable smile nowhere in sight.
And when she stopped in front of him, smelling of sugar, butter and freshly baked bread, the cold glitter in her hazel eyes didn’t stop him from hungering to sink his teeth into that place where throat and shoulder met...and take a bite.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Then before he could answer, she gave her head a shake. “You know what? Don’t answer that. Because I don’t give a damn. Just leave.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You don’t want me to do that.”
“Oh, I assure you, I really do.”
“I need to speak with you, Athena. Five minutes. What’s five minutes compared to three years?” he asked, pausing as her lips twisted down at the corners. Anger slashed through his chest, but he smothered it. Maybe at one time he’d given a fuck that she’d walked out on him, but not now. He’d have to care about her to feel anything about it. “Trust me. You want to hear what I have to say.”
“Trust you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Those are words you might not want to lead with,” she muttered.
“Sticks and stones, and all that, Athena,” he murmured. “Or should I say, pot meet kettle?” He cocked his head. “We can stand here and trade compliments or you can follow me outside so we can talk, and then you can get back to your duties in the kitchen.”
He smiled, and it didn’t feel pretty. Probably because it wasn’t. When they’d been together, she’d enjoyed playing the role of Cinderella for her family, so he’d call it like he saw it.
“Still an asshole, I see.”
She returned his smile. It differed so much from the one she’d given her sister that he would’ve laughed if he didn’t know that would antagonize her further. Her earlier smile had contained love, warmth. This one was nothing more than a baring of teeth. Good. He didn’t need her affection for this. Preferred her animosity. At least then he knew where they stood.
At least then there was a little bit of honesty between them.
“Still choosing a life of martyrdom and blind devotion, I see,” he said smoothly, with only a tiny hint of bite. After all, it was her sense of sacrifice that would work in his favor. For once. He sighed, glancing down at his antique gold Omega Speedmaster Moonwatch. “Five minutes, and then I’m leaving. And, Athena...” He leaned down so their faces were inches apart. So he could pick out the golden striations in her green and brown eyes. “You’ll regret it if I do.”
Anger flared in her gaze, but so did uncertainty. Most likely because during the year and a half they’d been together, she’d never known him to exaggerate or threaten. He didn’t need to.
No, he promised. Then followed through.
“Five minutes.” She jerked her chin toward the back of the store. “In my office, not outside.”
Not permitting him a moment to disagree, she pivoted on her wedge heel and strode across the store. At a more measured pace, he followed, aware of the curious stares shadowing them. But all of his attention was focused on the woman in front of him. On the gorgeous halo of dark brown curls that grazed her tense shoulders. On the slender back that flared into rounded hips and the ass that deserved its own religion.
He jerked his gaze away. She—and her ass—no longer had the power to influence him. Yes, Athena was a gorgeous woman; he would be a liar to deny that. But he’d allowed that beauty to lead him around by his dick one time before. Never again.
Athena pushed through the wide, swinging door that led into the kitchen and veered to the left, toward a brightly lit hallway. Framed photos decorated the walls here, as they did in the bakery’s main room. Black-and-white pictures of the shop from the 1960s when it first opened as well as color images of the present day. Pictures of the family over decades, showcasing a shift in fashion and generations. The display proudly declared a heritage, a legacy along with a family business.
And he knew from their many conversations, Athena was determined to carry that tradition forward into the future. At any cost.
Pausing before a closed door, she slipped a key ring out of her dress pocket. She unlocked the office and entered, leaving the door open in silent invitation. Accepting it, he moved inside the small room that contained her scent and her stamp. Potted plants in the windowsills. More framed pictures of family on the desk. Cookbooks and tin boxes that looked familiar because they used to take up space on his bookshelves.
Opting to stand instead of taking a chance with the folding chair in front of her desk, he crossed his arms and met her steady gaze. She, too, stood behind the ancient, scratched desk.
“I’m sure you didn’t travel all the way over to Brighton to stare at me since you could’ve done that anytime in the last three years. So what is this mysterious important topic you need to see me about?” she asked with no small amount of sarcasm.
“Barron died.”
Her low gasp echoed in the room, and for just a second, sympathy softened her features, thawed the chips of ice in her eyes. Anger flickered in him like a struck flame, dancing to an unseen wind. She could keep her pity. He had no need of it.
And Barron sure as hell didn’t deserve it.
“I’m sorry, Nico,” she murmured.
A shiver stumbled down his spine, and only by sheer will did he not reveal his reaction to his name wrapped around her tongue. That same tongue might as well have been hugging his dick, that’s how eroticly the sound had struck him.
And it seemed sacrilegious that the first time she’d spoken his name in three years was to apologize for the death of the man who’d donated sperm to his mother over thirty years ago.
Fuck her compassion.
“I’m not,” he stated, blunt, hard.
She stared at him, and he met her gaze without flinching.
“How long?”
“Almost nine months.”
“Really?” She frowned. “I hadn’t heard. Not that I follow news from the corporate business world but...” She shook her head. “Still that’s big. Are you...okay?”
“Am I okay?” He smiled. “Oh, Athena, I’m ecstatic. The bastard is roasting in hell. It doesn’t get much better than that.”
If only his mother had lived to see it—that would’ve made Barron Farrell’s death sweeter.
After all the years of pain and suffering Rhoda Morgan had been through after he’d abandoned her with an infant, she should’ve stood by that graveside. It’d been her right, her due.
“Is that what you came here to tell me?” she asked, confusion coloring her voice. “That Barron Farrell is gone? Because while I hate to sound insensi—”
He waved a hand through the air in front of him. “No, I wouldn’t walk across a room to talk about Barron’s death, much less drive the twenty minutes from downtown to deliver the news. And while a part of me finds a great deal of satisfaction in him attaining his great reward, I’m also upset about it.”
“That’s understandable.” She nodded, and a gentle note threaded through her voice. “Your feelings toward him must be...complicated. There must have been things you wanted to say to him before he—”
Nico’s harsh bark of laughter interrupted her. “Complicated? My feelings for Barron Farrell were the simplest of all human emotions. Hate. Utter contempt. But you’re right. There were things I wanted to tell him before he died. Like what a heartless bastard he was. Like that he didn’t deserve to be called a ‘man,’ much less a father. And that one day he would know how it felt to have his world stripped of everything he loved. And I would be there to witness it. I would be the one to watch it all crumble around him.”
“But he stole that from you. By dying.”
Anger, scalding hot and brutal, slammed into him. “Yes,” he snapped. “He robbed me of my right to pay him back for every tear my mother cried, every dime she scraped together, every prematurely gray hair she grew.”
Fuck.
This wasn’t how he’d planned this discussion. Shoving his hands into his front pants pockets, he paced across the office, attempting to expend the agitation crawling through him. But the tiny room didn’t offer enough space, and he pivoted, retracing his steps until he stared at a battered gray file cabinet and a potted plant with overflowing leaves. Another framed photo sat on top. This one of Athena and Glory Evans outside the bakery.
Family.
How she clung to them like a buoy in a wind-tossed lake.
With his mother gone, he didn’t have those moorings.
She’d been gone a year now, and God, did he miss her. In the worst of those moments—like early Sunday mornings when he didn’t have her apartment to visit for breakfast before their weekly visits to Faneuil Hall Marketplace and SoWa Vintage Market—he convinced himself he was better off without those ties. No ties meant no waiting for them to be cut. No depending on people who could walk without a moment’s notice or explanation.
No dying and leaving you broken and alone.
No using those same ties like a web to tangle and trap.
As he intended to do with Athena.
Guilt flickered in his chest but he smothered it. That didn’t belong here. Not with her. And not when it came to Barron. Neither one of them had looked back when they’d left him. He hadn’t been enough for either of them. So no, he didn’t harbor any regret or shame for his course of action.
This was for him.
And for his mother.
“He’s gone, Nico. You can’t exact revenge on a dead man,” she said in that same soft tone. The tone that reminded him of a time when he’d shared parts of himself with her that he’d hidden from everyone else except his mother. Reminded him of a time when he’d believed...in her. In them.
When he’d believed in a lie.
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
He turned from his contemplation of the picture and faced her again. Maybe she sensed something in his voice, his demeanor. Or maybe, even after three years, she still knew him. A fine tension entered her frame, stiffening her shoulders.
“What’re you talking about?”
“It means, he might be dead but his legacy is very much alive. Farrell International still continues to operate, and under his sons, thrive. If he’s beyond my reach, I’ll go after the only thing he’s ever cared about—that company.”
“Wait, wait.” She held up her hands. “Sons? I thought you said he only had one son, aside from you.”
“No, apparently Barron made a habit of fathering children, then abandoning them and their mothers,” he said. “The news hit all the business papers and gossip sites. At the reading of Barron Farrell’s will, Cain Farrell discovered not only that he had two, unknown younger brothers, but that he also had to share his inheritance with them. Farrell International. Barron had a stipulation that they all must work together at the company for one year or else Farrell would be dismantled and sold. They chose to stay, and in the last nine months, the business has done very well. Possibly better than it did under Barron’s control.”
She shook her head, frowning and winding a finger in the air. “Back it up a minute. You said Cain Farrell discovered he had two brothers. That’s wrong. Unless you’re one of the two?” Then she waved her hands, frowning. “No, that can’t be right,” she said, answering her own question. “Because you’re not working for Farrell International.”
“It’s not wrong. Barron included the illegitimate sons he meant to acknowledge in his will. And continued to deny the existence of the one he’d been denying for over thirty years,” he drawled.
Her full mouth flattened into a grim line, and her hazel eyes narrowed with a gleam of anger.
Shock ricocheted through him. She was angry. On his behalf. Rarely did anything surprise him. But she’d just accomplished the impossible.
“I hate to speak badly of the dead but... What. An. Asshole.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, but he smothered the spurt of humor. Finding Athena Evans adorable heralded a slippery slope to destruction. And since he needed her, remembering the wreckage she could leave behind—had left behind—was imperative. If she agreed to this—and he had no doubt she would—he’d never be so foolish as to allow her close again.
“Not that I’m unsympathetic, but I still don’t understand what this has to do with me.”
He approached the desk, cocked his head and studied her for a long moment. “Because you’re going to help me get what I desire most, Athena. Justice.”
For his mother. For himself.
She blinked. “I’m going to...help you,” she slowly repeated. “I don’t understand.”
“I meant what I said about dismantling Barron’s legacy. Stock by stock. Right now Cain and Achilles Farrell and Kenan Rhodes own the majority of shares with the remaining numbers distributed among Farrell International shareholders. Or so they believe. I’ve been working for years, trading and buying stocks, and I almost own just as many shares as they do. In another few weeks, I’ll own more, and I’ll have controlling interest in Barron’s company.”
“And what do you plan to do with the control, if you get it?” she asked, her gaze roaming his face as if she could find answers there.
“When I get it. I plan on being Barron Farrell’s son.” His lips lifted in a small smile.
She could take that however she wanted.
“I don’t trust that purposefully enigmatic statement at all.” She scoffed, crossing her arms. “But it doesn’t matter because I want no part of—” she flicked her fingers “—whatever this is.”
“Oh but you’re not just ‘a part,’ Athena, you’re going to be my partner.”
Her chin snapped back, shock flaring in her eyes. Slowly, her arms dropped to her sides and she stared at him. Tension crackled in the room, popping over his skin, even through his suit jacket and shirt. Exhilaration. It sang in his veins.
How could he have forgotten that she’d never had a problem challenging him, going head-to-head with him? Where others showed him deference and even fear, she’d dared him with her gaze, her words...her body. No, Athena Evans had never kneeled before him.
Unless she desired to be there.
“And why the hell would I do that when being your partner the first time was so overrated?” Her mouth twisted into something not quite a sneer. “No, I think I’ll pass. But hey, thanks for stopping by. Don’t let another three years go by. Or I don’t know...do.”
“Do you know what your brother has been up to, Athena?” he asked, flattening his palms on the desktop and leaning forward. “While you’ve been chained to this bakery, undoubtedly running yourself ragged to keep the lights on and the employees paid, do you have any idea what your brother has been doing behind your back?”
If he hadn’t been scrutinizing her so closely, he might’ve missed the glimmer of anxiety in her gaze. But he did spot it. He also noted that nothing else about her expression or demeanor changed.
Still the Evans family gatekeeper. The fierce protector.
He counted on that fierce loyalty.
And yet an ember of anger sparked to life deep in his chest. That same blind devotion to people who, yes, loved her, but who had never appreciated her or offered her the same consideration she showed them—that’s what had broken her and Nico. She’d walked away, never looking back.
Today, she had no choice but to look back. He’d made sure of that.
He reached inside his jacket and removed three folded sheets of paper. Without breaking their visual connection, he set the thin sheaf on the desk and slid it across to her. After a long moment, she lowered her gaze and stared at the paper as if scared to touch it.
Smart.
Because she knew Randall Evans. Knew what he was capable of.
Nico could call Athena a number of things, and in those days after she left him, he had, but none of those names had included coward. And she reinforced that opinion when her jaw firmed and she picked up the stack, unfolded it and read the top paper. She wouldn’t need to read the rest. The first page with Promissory Note boldly printed across the top would declare its purpose.
Straightening, he waited while she scanned the note, already knowing what she read. A three-hundred-thousand-dollar loan Randall Evans took out with a local bank, putting up the bakery as collateral. Which he could do since, as the oldest child, the shop had gone to him when Glory Evans had died earlier that year.
Correction.
Oldest biological child.
Technically Athena was the oldest child, but she was also adopted. And apparently not good enough to inherit the Evans’s precious bakery.
And yet even after that slight, Athena still stayed.
That ember inside him flared into a flame.
“This can’t be...” she whispered.
“True? Real?” He arched an eyebrow. “Why? Because he’s above this? Because he wouldn’t do this without talking to you first? Because he wouldn’t put your business in debt when you’re already struggling to pay bills, to make payroll, to stay afloat?”
She glanced away from him and that’s all the answer he needed.
She looked down at the note again, her fingers fisting the paper. “It states here that the maturity date isn’t for another two years. Why are you showing me this now?”
“The loan would be due in two years if your brother were making the monthly payments. As of today, he’s six months behind, and the bank is about to proceed with calling the loan. If that happens... No, when that happens—the entire balance will be due, and if your brother cannot pay it, they will take their collateral.”
Her eyes closed, her lips moving on a silent curse. The note in her hand shook before she deliberately set it on the desktop. Spinning on her heel, she thrust her fingers through her hair, striding away from the paper as if being anywhere in its vicinity offended her—threatened her.
Yes, that was more accurate. Because that had been real fear Nico had glimpsed in her eyes before she’d shut them. His fingers and palm tingled with the need to... What? Tear that loan from the desk and shred it to pieces? Wouldn’t change the fact that her brother had screwed her and the family by being the same selfish, self-absorbed ass he’d always been.
To cup her shoulders, turn her around and press her to his chest? To hold her?
No, that was no longer his right. And even if she’d allow it, he wouldn’t. One touch to silken skin, one inhalation of her warm, sweet scent and he’d trick himself into believing maybe he could trust her. That she’d stick.
Only one person in his life had ever stuck. And she was gone.
All he had was himself.
And the certainty that Athena was devoted to an ungrateful, spoiled family.
Athena stopped in front of the small window that offered an uninspiring view of the back lot. The silence in the office stretched, but Nico didn’t break it. Unlike most people, especially in the social circles he now swam in, he didn’t mind the quiet. When a person grew up in Roxbury, where peace and silence were rare commodities, one valued the moments void of noise and confusion.
But nothing about the quiet in this office was peaceful or calm. He didn’t need to see her face to feel the turmoil that emanated from her. The bend of her head, exposing the vulnerable nape of her neck, the slight slump of her shoulders and the flutter of her lashes against her striking cheekbones all relayed a story.
Weariness.
Worry.
Defeat.
Something ugly slashed through him. He’d caused that.
She should never wear that. It didn’t fit.
Fuck.
He took an involuntary step toward her—
“What is making that disappear going to cost me?” She pivoted, facing him again.
That unruffled, cool mask firmly back in place. Relief cascaded through him. Good. He didn’t want a crushed Athena. He needed the warrior she was named after. And this woman, staring at him with contempt in her eyes, didn’t tempt him to do something as foolish as reconsider his path. Or her part in it.
“That’s why you’re here, right?” she continued. “That’s the offer I would regret not hearing? You need me to—how did you put it?—be your partner, or what? You allow the bank to call the loan?”
“Yes.” Her sharp inhalation blew on the flame of anger still dancing in his chest. “That’s your and your parents’ job, to clean up after your brother’s messes, not mine. You agree to the terms of my bargain and I’ll pay off the loan. Evans Bakery will be debt free and safe. Until the next time. And we both know there will be a next time.”
“What are these terms?” she ground out.
He slid his hands in his pockets again. So he would resist touching her, trying to shake some sense into her about the futility of covering for a nearly thirty-year-old man who persisted in behaving like a boy. Nico could see why her parents did. But her? No, he’d never get it.
“You pretend to be my fiancée for the next three months. That includes attending social and business events, dinners, parties or wherever I deem your presence necessary. Your job as my fiancée is to convince everyone, especially Cain and Achilles Farrell and Kenan Rhodes, as well as their significant others, that we are in love, devoted to one another and a solid couple. In other words, Athena, your sole purpose is to make me look like a good guy.”
“I am not a goddamn genie,” she snapped. “Because that’s what you need to pull that off.” Loosing a disbelieving laugh, she dropped her head back and pinched the bridge of her nose. “What the hell?” she muttered softly before raising her head and spearing him with a narrowed glare. “Do you hear how crazy this sounds? I mean, seriously. Play it back in your head and give it a minute. Maybe the absurdity of it hasn’t had time to sink in.” She shook her head. “Of all the things I expected you to say when you popped up in here this morning, Nico, that didn’t even climb into the top twenty.”
“And yet, you’re going to agree. Because if you do, you’ll keep this bakery. If you don’t, you’ll lose it. Those are your choices.”
“Why?” she asked, the question bursting from her. Her desperation unmistakable. “Why me? And what is this...charade supposed to gain you?” Once more, she tunneled her fingers through her hair, dragging the thick curls away from her face and offering him a clear, unrestricted view of the frustration etched on her features. “Why are you doing this?” she finally whispered.
“Why you?” he arched an eyebrow. “Expediency and practicality. I don’t have the time or patience to find a woman who will play the role of a woman who knows me when I already have one who does. And so well.” He paused, letting his gaze roam over those jeweled eyes, the perfect slash of cheekbones, the decadent curve of her mouth and drop down to her slender body with its wicked, lush curves. “Besides, another woman might get ideas. This is an arrangement. Nothing more. When the three months are up, I don’t want to go through the trouble of breaking off something that was never real to begin with. You, I have no worries, will have no problem leaving.”
She’d already shown him she was so damn good at it.
“And with you by my side, I’ll gain entry into Barron’s sons’ tight little circle without suspicion. Who would look wrong at a happily engaged man? And by the time we show up at just about every social event where they and their wives do, I’ll accomplish that goal. As for why I’m doing this?” He stepped forward, his voice lowering with the bitterness he’d hoarded for decades. “Because I can. Because that bastard will rage all the way from hell, knowing I own his beloved company. Because I can’t exist in a world where the name Farrell is praised and revered when it doesn’t even deserve to be spit on. It deserves to be forgotten.”
She inhaled a deep breath, then slowly shook her head. “No. I won’t do it. I can’t do it. You’re making me an accomplice to a plan to destroy lives. And if you think none of that will blow back on you, hurt you...” She held up her hands, palms out. “I can’t.”
“So you’re saying no out of worry for my soul?” He released a harsh bark of laughter that had her flinching. The movement was infinitesimal, but he caught it. “Save your false concern. Just to be clear, you’re choosing to let me leave through that door, knowing your bakery is only weeks from closing. Because if I do, I’m not coming back, Athena.”
Her gaze flicked toward the note on her desk, her chest lifting and falling on another deep breath. When her eyes returned to his, the resolve there telegraphed her answer. “Yes, we’re clear.”
Shock rippled through him, followed by a twisted stab of emotions he hadn’t experienced in three years. Fear. Doubt.
But damn if he’d let her witness them.
Dipping his head, he said, “If that’s your decision,” then turned and left the office without glancing back.
In the past, she had stolen his heart. Broken it. And walked out on him. Since knowing her, she’d surprised him at every turn. Why should now be any different?
Because Athena Evans had never done the expected—even when he needed her to.
