She just didn’t care about me enough to want to keep it a secret to protect me.
It’s a heavy admission that hurt once I put it together. I was worried about her and her welfare, yet she wasn’t concerned in the least about my feelings.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Dax murmurs.
I’m so lost in my own musings that I’m momentarily not sure what he’s talking about.
“I think she cares about you,” he continues.
“Doesn’t matter.” That comes out with no amount of self-pity. I have a meeting coming up, so I rise from the couch. “Like I told you, we’re not together anymore. You’ll have to excuse me, though, because I have a meeting to attend.”
“Why did you break up?” he prompts, taking the cue and standing as well.
“Because I don’t like what your sister does for a living,” I state. “I don’t want to have to worry about her like that, so I gave her an ultimatum. She chose to walk away.”
I brace for Dax to be offended by that, but he just nods. “I’d try to get her to stop, too. I understand.”
I nod, then step toward the door to open it for him.
“But…” he says, his hand clamping down on my shoulder. “We still need to stop her.”
“We?” I ask in surprise, whirling on him. “There’s no we. Your sister and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.”
Dax cocks an eyebrow. “You’re full of shit. I can hear it in your voice when you talk about her. You’re worried sick about her, so it doesn’t matter if she called it off or not—you’re still emotionally invested in her well-being. So yes… we need to do something.”
“Like what? An intervention?”
“Exactly,” Dax says, an evil smile on his face. “We’ll call her. Me, you, my parents. We’ll all gang up on her, insist she come home. My dad’s exceedingly good at guilt-tripping us. He had heart issues a few years ago, and he can even fake some heart palpations or something.”
“Do you seriously think your sister is going to come running home because you demand it?” I ask skeptically.
“Hell no. Not if we demand it. Like I said… we’re going to guilt her into giving up this ludicrously dangerous career. All of us… together… like a team.”
Studying Dax, I realize I know his sister better than he does. It’s not going to work. Willow is her own woman—no amount of cajoling, guilting, or demanding is going to do a damn thing other than cause her to dig her heels in deeper.
But… I can’t pass up the small chance it could work.
Because Dax is right. We may have called it quits, but it hadn’t done a damn thing to stop me from worrying about her, which means I still care way too much. And, if that’s the case, I need to do everything I can to ensure her safety.
Whatever that means to us as a couple…
Well, I can figure that shit out later.
CHAPTER 14
Willow
I pace the inside of my room. My travel per diem was decent, so I splurged on a nice hotel in Kinshasa that overlooks the Congo River. Normally, I’d spend my downtime exploring on my own, but it’s not possible here. Crime is too rampant and corruption is too commonplace.
Part of my agreement with the Washington Post when they contracted me was to provide me with security and I’m safe with them while I’m shooting my assignment on the new coalition government that’s been formed. The political infrastructure is incredibly unstable right now, and I’m paired with a reporter who is interviewing various members of the Senate and National Assembly. We have one more set of interviews tomorrow before I’m headed back to the States.
The question is… where will I go?
I want to go back to Phoenix—or whatever city the Vengeance will be playing in. I’d wanted to attend all the games to support my brother and I hadn’t intended to take on any work throughout the playoffs. But damn if Dominik hadn’t sent me scurrying away with his demands that I fall into line with what he thinks I should do about my line of work. I’d taken this job purely out of spite and while the money is decent, I don’t need it. I’ve spent my career living out of hotels without a mortgage or student loans, so my savings account is quite healthy.
But I’ll be damned if some man is going to dictate what I can and can’t do with my life just because it causes him worry.
And yet… there’s a tiny part of me that feels bad about discounting his feelings. We’d agreed our arrangement was sex only, but I’m also smart enough to recognize it has turned into a bit more than that. I realize it came from a place in his heart that’s filled with concern, but it’s manifesting poorly into a controlling attitude I can’t handle. Yes, I like Dominik being the boss in bed, but, outside of that, I make my own choices.
A knock on the door startles me and I consider ignoring it, but it’s probably the reporter I’d been paired with checking to see if I want to go to dinner. I don’t open it, though, not until I put my eye to the peephole. When I see who’s on the other side, there’s no controlling the tiny growl of frustration.
It’s Jean-Paul Bisset, a French freelance photographer I’ve occasionally gotten dirty with between the sheets. In fact, he’s the last guy I’d been with prior to meeting Dominik. Regan loves when I regale her with tales of our escapades as he has the biggest dick I’ve ever seen. I often run into him on these types of assignments around the world.
But I’m no longer interested, and I hope my expression reflects that as I crack the door open. Jean-Paul has been relentless in flirting with me. A bunch of journalists had eaten dinner together a few nights ago, and he’d gotten sloppy drunk. He’d started spouting shit about being in love with me. All a pack of lies. He just wants to get laid. And I get it… in another lifetime, I’d be smiling right now.
“What do you want?” I ask curtly, refusing to open the door any farther.
“Oh, come on, Willow,” Jean-Paul pleads in his silky French accent. “You know I want nothing more than to give you pleasure.”
There was a time when that would have been enough for me, but his words don’t raise my temperature in the slightest—not from attraction, anyway. I temper my tone to a cool level of politeness to cover my aggravation. “I’m sorry, Jean-Paul, but I’m no longer interested.”
“I don’t believe it,” he scoffs. “You’re always interested.”
“Not this time,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest. To make things a bit easier, I add, “I’m seeing someone—exclusively.”
Jean-Paul’s eyebrows pop up in surprise. “No.”
“Yes. And when I’m exclusive with someone, I’m exclusive. I don’t cheat.”
“Even if I do that thing with my—”
“Goodnight, Jean-Paul,” I drawl. Trying not to roll my eyes, I start to close the door.
He shoots a hand out to stop its progress. “If you change your mind, you only need to call.”
“I know,” I reply softly, then push until the door clicks.
Leaning against it, I wonder what the hell just happened. I’m not exclusive with Dominik. I’m not anything with him. He broke up with me. Told me if I took this job, we were over, so I owe him no level of loyalty.