One Day Later—Kian’s Office—The Hamptons
A gentle knock on my door draws my attention from the plethora of papers littering my desk.
“Come in,” I say, grateful for the distraction.
The door opens tentatively. I know already that it’s one of the staff that keeps this place running when I’m in New York. “Sir?”
“Come in, Nessa,” I say, gesturing her forward.
“Sir, it’s about the young lady,” she says apologetically.
So much for the distraction I was hoping for. I suppress a sigh. “Did she eat anything today?”
“Not a thing, sir,” she replies, as though she herself has personally failed me somehow. “I tried to coax her into eating a crust of bread. But she refused.”
“Stubborn little spitfire.”
“Sir?”
“Nothing, Nessa,” I grumble. “Don’t worry about it.”
She lingers for a moment. “Sir…”
“What it is?”
“She’s getting weaker and weaker.”
“That tends to happen when you refuse to eat.”
“Perhaps loosening her restraints might persuade her to eat?” she suggests timidly.
The fact that she’s even making the suggestion tells me that she’s concerned for Renata. But then again, Nessa has a strong maternal vibe.
“I don’t think that’ll work with her, Nessa,” I say. “But I’ll think about it.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but then thinks better of it. She knows better than to defy me so brazenly.
“Thanks, Nessa,” I say. “You can go.”
She gives me a tight smile and slips out of my office. When she’s gone, I lean back in my wing-backed chair and take a deep breath. It’s been a day since Renata and I had had our last conversation. And true to her word, she’s refused any type of meal since then. A hunger strike. Like she’s fucking Gandhi.
I have to marvel at her willpower. She must be fucking starved, but so far, she’s stayed strong. Still, it’s only been a day. And I haven’t even brought out the big guns. That’ll come in due time.
My office here is very different than the one in my penthouse in Manhattan. It’s more than three times the size, for starters. Bright and airy in a way that New York can never be. I usually love spending time in here. But for the last day, I’ve been staring at the door far more frequently than is healthy.
I don’t know why I’m keen to go and see her. Maybe it’s because I need to figure out what this weird, sometimes intoxicating, sometimes toxic connection is between us.
Because maybe, if I can figure it out, I can destroy it. Remove the distraction and get my head back in the game.
I’ve passed the point where I can claim to be unaffected by Renata. She’s well and truly in my head. And it’s made me… not sloppy, but certainly less focused.
Slamming my fist on the table, I give up the fight and leave my office. I’ve deliberately put her in a room on the other side of the house. As far away from me as possible.
Not that it’s made much of a difference. The lure is just as strong no matter where she is.
I stride into Renata’s room without knocking. She gives a start of surprise, but it twists into anger the moment she realizes it’s me.
“You’re worrying Nessa,” I announce.