Page 23 of Temporary Vows

My hand tightens around the dust cloth until my knuckles ache.

Of all the nights for him to show up.

Of all the versions of me he could have seen, it has to be this one. The exhausted, hollow-eyed Elodie who’s been fearing for her life.

I’m caught between the urge to bolt and the sick, treacherous flutter low in my stomach. Because no matter how much I’m supposed to hate him, part of me doesn’t.

Part of me is still enchanted with him, even though I know better.

What’s that saying?

Those who know better should do better.

It’s funny how they never do.

“Come here.” His deep voice is low and unhurried. Demanding but with a slow, lulling cadence like a lullaby gone wrong. Those two words drag over my skin, making my body want to obey before my brain can object.

I should pretend I didn’t hear him. Pretend I’m just another exhausted barista closing up for the night and he’s just another customer.

But I’ve never been good at pretending when it comes to Dorian Vale.

My feet move before my pride can catch up. One step. Then another. Each one feels like I’m crossing some invisible line I swore I’d never go near again.

I stop beside his table, careful to keep just enough distance between us that I can still breathe.

“What can I get you?” I ask. My voice comes out softer than I’d like, frayed at the edges.

When he searches my eyes, it feels less like he’s lookingatme and more like he’s peeling me open, layer by layer.

The corner of his mouth lifts into not quite a smile but something more like he’s amused by something he’s not going to share.

“Sit,” he says after a long moment.

I stare back, my eyes wide and unblinking. “You want me to sit? Withyou?”

“Yeah, sit.” He points to the chair opposite him.

“I can’t. I’m not allowed to sit and fraternize with customers.”

“They’ll make an exception for me.” His mouth curves, slow and dangerous. “Especially since I’m not just a customer to you, am I?”

My stomach knots. Sitting with him is a bad idea for all sorts of reasons. But what am I going to do? Argue?

With my gaze still trained on him, I walk around to the chair and lower myself into it. My body thanks me for the moment of reprieve.

I’ve been going nonstop since last night. I came straight back here after the encounter with Marcus’ men. I worked through the night, too terrified to go home. Then I went from here to school as per usual and came straight back. I plan to do the same thing tonight.

Dorian and I stare at each other. I look him over. Everything on him screams money. The watch on his wrist alone could cover the arrears on my loan easily and then some.

How can I know a man who’s a billionaire and comes from a company that makes multi-billions, and I had thugs inside my apartment, holding me at knifepoint, demanding the money I owe?

The crazy thing is, Dorianshouldbe a person I could ask for help, but he made it clear years ago he wasn’t going to be a savior for anyone with the last name Harper.

“So… why am I sitting here?” I ask, bringing my hands together.

“So we can talk.”

“Talk? Talk about what?” I swallow past the lump in my throat and try to look like all is well with me.