Page 20 of From the Shadows

The whiplash right now is crushing me. I’m exhausted. My brain is spinning and running, flipping around in circles all over itself. And my balls are in serious state with the threat of permanently turning a vibrant shade of blue.

I need to leave, put some space between us before something happens. It could be fabulous or fucked up, and I don’t have the capacity to deal with either.

So I push the air from my lungs and nod. “Client privilege, yes. Thank you so much for dinner. Thank you for rearranging your entire day to spend it with Evie. But I think it’s best if I get her home and put her to bed.” Reverting to formalities is my version of a smoke screen. And as wrong as it is to throw that up, it’s really the only choice I have.

I push off the counter, ignoring the confusion painting Jess’s face, and scoop up Evie. She’s nothing but a tight ball wrapped securely around the little pillow.

And my daughter is committed.

No matter how I tug or wiggle, Evie’s little hands just grip the thing tighter.

“Take it,” Jess says. She hasn’t moved from her spot in the kitchen, but she’s watching my every move. Closely.

The easy teasing, the give and take, is gone, and it’s my fault. It usually is. But I’m a smart enough man to know that sometimes, I just have to put the shovel down, because if I double down and keep digging, I’m just going to make things worse. I don’t want that.

My place is quiet. Quieter than I had hoped for maybe the first time ever because it means my nanny is still gone, dealing with God knows what. Her absence is an inconvenience on top of the raging fucking pain in the ass that Amie dropped in my lap. Not Evie. Never Evie. But the last-minute scramble to accommodate her mother’s scatter-brained whims? Yeah, that’s a hemorrhoid and a half.

In this moment though, it makes getting Evie settled and in her bed an easy enough task. She stirred, understandably, when I got her a clean diaper and changed her into pajamas, but I settled into the plush chair in the corner of her room and rocked, my palm a warm weight on her back. Pale light streams through the blinds casting her dark curls in an almost artistic glow.

I’m well aware of the fact that I’m biased, but God, this kid…

She’s angelic.

How can Amie be so fucking detached? So self-absorbed that she dumps her daughter on the nanny and leaves town without a word? I don’t get it. I would lay down my life for this little girl, and I don’t make such declarations freely.

Little by little and then all at once, the remaining tension leaves Evie’s little body and she is fully crashed out. So completely relaxed that when I transfer her to her crib, she doesn’t stir in the slightest. Just a sigh through her perfectly pursed lips and her limbs splayed wide.

She’s perfect.

I tap the top of her sound machine and back out of the room praying that her time with Jess today wore her out. I have work to do before grabbing what sleep I can squeeze in because fuck only knows what tomorrow will bring.

I splash some whiskey into a glass and drop in a sphere of ice. I like my drink how I like my drink. The snobby self-proclaimed connoisseurs can shove their judgment right up their asses.

My hair falls into my eyes as I examine a legal brief. I have to shove it back three, maybe four times so I can see what needs to be done, because as soon as this mess is off my desk, I can start looking into who is stirring up shit at the estate.

I need a haircut, but who has time? Such a mundane task is just another thing to add to my never-ending to-do list, but for now, I shove my fingers through the black strands, gathering the bulk of it at the base of my skull, and secure it in a band. This one probably has pink sparkles on it or something, but at this point, I really don’t care.

With one eye on the clock and an ear tuned to any sounds in the penthouse, I plow through the piles of work I’ve neglected.

Fuck that, I don’t neglect my work—ever. The world has rained down an absolute shit-storm on me, and I haven’t had a minute to take care of much of anything. At this point, I’m feeling pretty good that I’ve remembered to brush my teeth.

Hell, I haven’t even had time to take a long enough shower so I can jerk off to thoughts of coming all over Jess’s tits. That woman has me all twisted around myself. She has me considering scenarios I haven’t allowed myself in eons. Not since Amie told me she was pregnant. What I thought at the time were stars in her eyes turned out to be nothing more than dollar signs and the quest for status.

Then Amie went off, chasing whatever shiny object caught her eye, and I’ve barely been able to keep my priorities in a loose pile, let alone together in a tight grouping.

Why did I ever think sleeping with her was a solid choice?

What made me think it was a good idea to go back for a repeat with her? To entertain the hint of something more? Of belonging?

I haven’t had any of that since before I could wipe my own ass. I honestly don’t think I’d know what to do with a long, healthy relationship if it bit me in the ass. Adult relationship. Because what I have with Evie is fucking perfect.

Time stretches deep into the night as I work through the piles on my desk, the thoughts in my head, the dumbass who dares to fuck with Christophe and everything he’s building. Nothing about that feels right.

He’s culled his ranks. Fired—though disposed of is probably the more apt term—anyone who held loyalty to his uncle.

Garrick never fell into that category. Never even looked in that direction, so I don’t know what has the boss thinking he could be the issue. But if I don’t do everything I can to get to the bottom of this situation and find out who the real problem is, I won’t be able to live with myself. And if Garrick is dispatched and I later find the problem did not lie with him, I’ll have his blood on my hands. And I fucking hate the sight of blood.

Chapter 9