The Man Who Has No Love - Victoria Quinn Page 0,82

but I never safe there. I was petite and attractive, so walking home alone at night was always a bit scary. If I got home before the sun went down, it would have been different. But I worked long hours, so after taking two trains, I was always walking down the sidewalk late at night.

The walk to my old apartment in Manhattan had been easy because there were always people out, business professionals and families, and it was a nice neighborhood. But I had been so broke and so desperate for a place, I didn’t really understand what I’d signed up for.

Deacon made all my problems go away.

His residence immediately felt like home, even more so than it had before, even though I still slept in a different bedroom. Just knowing he was in the house put my mind at ease. His presence was strong enough to reach me through solid doors. I wanted to be in that bed with him, but I knew that would happen in time… I just had to be patient.

I left my office and headed to the elevator to go upstairs. The door was about to shut, so I used my hand to block the door so I could squeeze inside.

But now I wished I hadn’t.

Because Jake stood there, in his suit and tie.

I wanted to walk out, but it was already awkward enough. Seemed like it would make it worse to leave. I’d have to run into him at some point. It was unavoidable. So, I joined him in the elevator and stared straight ahead, holding the contracts I’d just received for a client. They were important, so I wanted to drop them off right away.

But damn, those seventeen floors took a lifetime.

Jake turned to me. “So, you’re fucking Deacon Hamilton.” Accusation was in his voice, like he thought I lied to him before.

Not currently. But I wished I were. I kept my gaze on the door.

Jake didn’t let it go. “I had the balls to tell my wife what happened, but you didn’t have the balls to tell me you were seeing him?”

I was losing my temper—quick. I turned to him, meeting his gaze with viciousness. “You’re one to talk about balls when you don’t have any. You got me fired because I moved on with someone else?” He should have kept his mouth shut, not behaved like a child when he didn’t get his way. It was so petty. “That’s pathetic. At least the man I have now has more power than you ever will.” The doors opened, and I stepped out even though I had no idea if this was my floor. “And I’m not fucking Deacon Hamilton. I’m in love with Deacon Hamilton.” I turned back to get a look at his face.

And he definitely looked pissed.

I went to Deacon’s residence after work, enjoying the fact that I didn’t have to walk in the cold to the subway or my old apartment. When I was done for the day, all I had to do was take the elevator to his floor—and that was it.

I had dinner with Deacon like always. He made something for the two of us, and it was always scrumptious. When the meal was over, I did the dishes, even though I never did the dishes in my own apartment. I just let them pile up until they started to grow mold. But I wanted to do my part, to pull my weight in his residence after he was so generous by inviting me to live there.

He came up behind me and set the two wine glasses in the sink. Then he leaned against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at me. “I had no idea you knew how to do dishes.”

I turned to him, giving him a sour look.

He grinned—looking so damn handsome.

“I just didn’t have the time.”

“Now you do?”

“My commute was cut down from forty minutes to two. And I don’t have to cook either, so that’s saved me a lot of time.”

“Miss your frozen burritos?” he teased.

I gave him another sour look. “No. But they aren’t as bad as you think.”

“If you knew what was inside them, you might feel differently about that…”

“I’m a burrito girl, no matter what.”

He chuckled and gave my ass a playful tap. “Burrito girl… That’s cute, baby.”

I kept washing the dishes, but I did inhale a breath when I heard what he’d called me. It’d been so long since he’d used that nickname. He