my quirks, my obsessions, and all of my faults. And most surprisingly of all, she understands them. She understands the need in me that’ll never die. She accepts it.
So, yes, she is my Fate. I’m disregarding the teeny-tiny fact that Eleanor getting the job at my company was because I manipulated the entire process. When Dorothy told me about a girl the agency had on their books – a girl from out of town with no formal qualifications or experience working in the art world – I laughed. But then I read her CV, and I was instantly drawn in by her obvious passion for all things old. I needed to know who this woman was. So I found out all there was to know about Eleanor Cole. Then I found her. I watched her in the library, lost in endless books. I watched her roam the rooms of endless museums. I knew Dorothy needed the help, but I didn’t trust anyone in the art world to work for me. This woman, though, was unknown in the industry. She hadn’t worked in it, experienced it, seen the rivalry. She was perfect for the position, but I knew Parsonson’s would snap her up in an instant, especially if Simon Timms was heading up the interview process, the slimy piece of shit. Eleanor Cole wasn’t just notably knowledgeable, but beautiful, too. And sassy. And sexy. And intelligent. And passionate. And don’t get me started on that arse of hers. Yes, I knew she would be good for Dorothy, but I can’t deny I was also thinking with my dick.
But I really wasn’t prepared for her, and I soon realised I was out of my depth. I’d been foolish, underestimating what I was truly getting myself into. She was like a super-charged energy that shocked life into my stone heart. The fire in her eyes each time I provoked her, watching her battle to fight off the surges of desire when we argued, it was all so fucking addictive. She made me lose focus. She made me think outside of my usual box.
Now and then, clarity spontaneously shocked me back to reality, and I’d find reason for a split second, find the strength to push her away and refocus on what mattered. Except I missed our chemistry-fuelled clashes the moment I put distance between us, and the conflict began to send me wild. So I’d find a way to coax her back, and the vicious circle of lust and madness would start all over again.
The urgency to find what needed to be found took a back seat. I’d discovered something else that stole my attention. It was something that motivated me, but it was also something that scared the god-loving shit out of me. I felt something for her, and it wasn’t just a hard dick. Feelings stirred deep inside of me, the most confusing feeling being jealousy. I’d never been possessive – only over my treasure. No woman had made me question what I wanted. I’d take or leave any one of them at the drop of a hat and find a replacement just as fast. The thought of any other man so much as breathing on her had unearthed a rage in me like nothing I’d felt before. It frightened me. And I could see that it frightened her. Enough to keep her away? Because she knew deep down that I would break her heart? No. She stuck me out. I cursed her for it, and I adored her for it. She took everything I threw at her. My corrupt little witch.
And here we are now . . .
The grin on my face as she walks down the aisle actually hurts my cheeks. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled so hard. She’s a vision in a simple strapless satin gown, her face naturally flawless, and her red hair glowing and tumbling over her bare shoulders. This should have happened over a year ago, but, you see, something came up.
It was quite unexpected, a bit like Eleanor was.
I look past her, my eyes homing in like a radar on my boy. He’s toddling down the aisle in a mini tux, his big, round eyes beaming. My smile stretches wider when he spots me at the end of the aisle. His hand pulls away from Lucy’s, and his chubby arms lift excitedly, his little legs picking up a pace. With Eleanor being led by my slow gramps, it doesn’t take much speed for