My gait is slow next to her power-walk; she struts in sky-high heels like they don’t exist. There’s nothing Violet can’t master, nothing she can’t rightfully conquer.
She’s built for business, pleasure, and everything in between. She’s everything I didn’t know I needed…wrapped in one smoldering ass package.
She hits the front doors to the SparrowHead lobby with a jolting force, exiting with me in hot pursuit. The gust of air that greets us from outside is muggy: breezy and wet from the rain that now drizzles.
Where there was once sun just an hour ago, there are now clouds, dark and ominous, moving swiftly across the sky.
Through the light rain shower, I speak to her retreating back.
“You can trust me.” There’s silence in return. “You have to know that I did this without thinking, that I knew I couldn’t lose. Not when it comes to you.” Still nothing.
“Hurting you was never part of the deal. I would never want to hurt you.”
She scoffs harshly. “Yeah…right.”
That’s it. I’ve finally caught my breath, but my patience has run out. I grab Violet’s elbow, spinning her towards me. She stops walking immediately, and now we are face-to-face. The sleet begins to fall faster.
“Okay, Violet. You wanna talk about trust? Let’s talk about trust. You can’t trust me? Oh, because you were so honest, right?” I hear her intake of breath, but I don’t stop.
“Look, Vi. I was an asshole. And we both held things back from each other…but what about the things that we didn’t? What about the things that we shared? Weren’t those real? They were for me.”
She pauses momentarily, glancing down towards the ground. The quiet is deafening, making the slushy rain sound like a roar. Though we are on the cemented sidewalk outside of the building, we are completely alone, and it almost feels as if we are back at the bar.
Seeing each other again for the first time after a year apart.
Our faces are dripping wet. Our clothes are soaked through. Rivulets of icy rain fall down Violet’s face like tears, and I’m not quite sure that they aren’t.
She lifts her eyes to meet mine.
“No, Heath…“she hisses softly. “You don’t get to make the calls, anymore. I’m done being your minion.”
I’ve never been the kind of man who couldn’t talk to women, never understood that tongue-tied type. But when I’m around Violet, I’m sometimes at a loss for words. With her, there are some things I just can’t say…
And just as I’m thinking about my next words, she runs off again, leaving me in the dust. I rush to the Audi, which thankfully isn’t far away. Opening the driver’s side door, I jump into its leather interior, pushing to “Start.” Several fumbling seconds later, I am backing out of my parking space and heading directly towards her.
I pull up next to her just as she raises her hand to hail the nearest taxi. My voice is a raspy growl.
“Get in, Vi.”
The downpour drenches us both but she ignores it, stomping through huge puddles with the gait of a gladiator. “You can go now, Heath.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Get in.” She flings her wet hair over her shoulder in response, sort of a fuck you without the middle finger. Nonetheless, I keep cruising beside her.
Rainwater is tunneling into the rental’s open window. I’ll be swimming in this car if I don’t make a change, and I couldn’t give two shits.
I can live with the wet leather…
I can’t without Violet.
She keeps trotting down the street, black bag in hand, getting more and more drenched with each passing minute. Her black jacket’s been left behind, and her bright red shirt is barely passing as clothing.
“Please get in.” I try another route. “I’ll take you to wherever you want to go. We don’t have to talk or anything. I’ll just drop you off.”
She hesitates briefly before halting completely. She chews her already-red lip, tapping a heel on the ground with impatience, and I can almost hear her thoughts. I’m damned sure she can hear mine, my heart is pounding so loudly.
She turns suddenly towards me. “Fine. I’ll get in. But take me home. And then get out of my life.”
I nod slowly, my voice sinking with the words. “Whatever you say.”
I hit a switch near my armrest, opening all of the doors. I prepare for Violet to take the passenger seat, but when she doesn’t, hopping directly into the backseat. She pulls her door shut with a resounding thwack, and I close the open window, pulling off, regretting every single fucking secret, every single untruth…
Chapter Thirty-One
VIOLET
Christmas Day
The interior of Heath’s car is warmer than I thought it’d be. I hug myself to fight off the chill before I realize that there isn’t any.
His seats are heated, the surface hot. I didn’t realize that backseats could have that capability, but this is a Sparrow we’re talking about. He’s one of those suits I thought I hated, one of the spoiled wealthy I could not stand. He flipped the script on me…just when I thought I was getting to know him.
I reminisce about the conversation with Marilyn before my night with Heath. I remember each resonating word.
“You’re in love with Heath,” she asked. No, not asked. Declared.
I balked. “No! Well, yes, but…” I stopped talking. I don’t know how to finish that sentence.
“It’s okay if you love him, Vi. He loves you, too.”
“But… He does?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “How do you know?”
She shrugged. “He’s my brother. And I know him better than a book.” She grinned. “And a book is twice as hard to read.” She stroked my arm. “You need to tell him that you do. Don’t hold back with him. Or you’ll regret it.”
I listened to her advice. Soaked it up like a sponge.
Stupid me.
Twelve months couldn’t wash the feeling I’d first had with Heath away. Several states couldn’t make it fly by. I’m just as infatuated with Heath as the day we’d locked eyes.
And maybe he had me before then. The second I heard his voice, I think I belonged to him alone.
That soothing, calming voice in my ear that lulled me into security and then struck out like a coiled snake. I still don’t know if I can trust that voice…or the man behind it.
Fitzgerald Sparrow was known for years as an asshole, and judging by the way that Heath had been brought up, the same traits likely lurked beneath the surface for him, too. At least, that’s what I’m trying to convince myself. Maybe, if I try hard enough, I can squelch the tingling on my skin that rises every time he looks at me. Maybe I can temper the flutter in my stomach that kicks up every time he puts his hands on my skin.
And maybe, just maybe, in enough time… I will forget him. Forget this constant craving. Forget this possessive need.
But right now, that’s impossible…because he’s currently speaking to me from the front seat of his car.
“I need to explain some things to you,” he says.