I didn’t know why I thought this, but something about her voice sounded off.
“Okay,” I told her. “I’ll be right out.”
After I hung up the phone, I braced my hands on the edge of the desk and pulled myself up, preparing for the pain. It probably wasn’t smart to have sat in one place for so long.
Sure enough, my back muscles were killing me.
Nothing was better than having your own limbs; I knew that now. Technology for prosthetics had improved since it first came to be, but it still couldn’t exactly imitate a person’s limb perfectly. It was bigger and harder, and it also meant there was only one comfortable sitting position for me. I had been sitting in that same position for hours, and now every muscle in my body was not telling me of its protest, but screaming it.
I slowly moved to the door and didn’t straighten my posture until I got in the hallway. The music was louder here than in my office, but still not very loud. I was glad I picked this building. It had everything I needed, but what was more, it had good insulation between the rooms.
And the interior was sturdy. Its design was in line with the classic and modern feel I was going for—
“Emilia.”
I froze in my step at the sound of my name in that voice.
That fucking voice.
I hadn’t heard that voice in three long years, since that day he’d visited me at the hospital just a few days after the surgery. A few days after the amputation.
I didn’t remember much of it. I didn’t even remember if he had talked about anything important. I was too hopped up on pain medication to care, and the only thing that had been in focus for me was his gray eyes.
Everything else had ceased to matter then, yet those eyes had made me angry that day.
I hadn’t wanted them on me. Not when I was so vulnerable.
I looked up and met those gray eyes. Still piercing and bottomless and unreadable as they had been three years ago. Hell, as nine years ago, though I admitted there was something soft about them now, and I wasn’t sure I liked it very much.
“Jensen. What are you doing here?”
“I—” He paused and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “How are you?”
I was sure that wasn’t what he’d wanted to say at first. I took one step toward him before I thought better of it and stopped. It was best not to get too close. I didn’t want to get stuck in his orbit. I might not get out.
“I’m doing good. What about you?”
He nodded. “Same.”
There was a small awkward silence that ensued, and I shifted most of my weight onto my real leg, crossing and uncrossing my arms.
I didn’t remember things being so awkward between us. But then again, I didn’t remember us getting close either, and it was entirely his fault.
He had wanted to keep his distance from me, and I didn’t know why.
I took him in, ignoring the way my heart was pounding in my chest, as if begging to get out. I hated that he still had the same effect on me, even after all these years.
Hell, I hadn’t felt like this since that night at the rooftop of the bar, and looking at him now, I wasn’t sure if he even felt an inkling of what I felt.
And wasn’t that just about the worst thing possible? To feel so strongly, so fucking enduringly, for a man such as Jensen Pierce, only to have him look back at me with indifferent eyes.
He was in his work clothes—by my guess—his suit jacket unbuttoned, giving me a glimpse of his huge pecs confined by a navy-blue dress shirt, minus the tie, and with the top button undone.
There was a five o’clock shadow along his strong jawline, and my fingers twitched with the need to touch it, to see if it was as rough as it looked.
His gray eyes were bright despite the fact that he looked like he had been working hard all day, running the world and whatnot. His dark, almost jet-black hair was a messy array that I wanted to run my fingers through.
My gaze moved down his large, powerful body, letting my eyes take in everything that I had missed out on in three whole years.