saying them. The voice on the other side of the door is familiar yet foreign. Comforting yet frightening.
And just like before, there’s a scratching at the back of my mind. As always, the minute I reach for it, it stops. Frustrated, I open my eyes, blinking as I take in the overwhelming brightness of the living room. I stare at the white painted walls, the starkness of the white leather couch I’m sitting on, and the unstained white carpet my feet rest on. But white can be deceiving, and light can tell lies.
A truth I’m learning every time I close my eyes.
“Screw this.” I climb to my feet, intent on ending this silent standoff. I get that Dominic is pissed, but tough shit. He’s not the one about to have his entire life upended and then dissected under a microscope.
Fisting my hands, I stomp down the hallway, flipping on lights and making as much noise as possible. I didn’t ask to be here. I sure as hell didn’t ask to nosedive into notoriety. I deserve answers, and I’m damn well going to get them.
“Dominic!” I yell, banging on the door. “Open up. I want to talk to you.” Silence. I pound again. “I’m not fucking around. Open the damn door, or I’m coming in.” Silence.
My hand hesitates on the doorknob. Yeah, I threw out the threat, but, unfortunately, I didn’t think much beyond it. It’s forward to just barge into a man’s room. Especially one who made it pretty clear he’d rather stare at four walls than my face.
One who had no issue breaking into my apartment.
The memory drives whatever hesitation I have into the ground, and I shove the door wide open to find his room empty.
Where the hell could he have gone? It’s not like he lives in a sprawling estate. In fact, the small two-bedroom ranch is surprisingly tiny, considering the net worth of his gossip-infused empire. Dirty laundry is a lucrative business.
I wander back through the house and catch the flicker of an orange glow through a glass door near the kitchen. With a few paparazzi still lingering around, I should be more hesitant, but I’m drawn to it, and before I can stop myself, I step outside.
Dominic sits in a lawn chair, his head tipped back and his eyes closed. One hand cradles a half-empty liquor bottle while the other pulls the lit cigarette from his lips. “What took you so long?”
“How did you get out here?”
Lifting his hand back to his mouth, he takes a long drag off the end of his cigarette. “Through a door.”
“I know that, jackass. I meant without me seeing you.”
“There’s more than one door in this house, rook.” He blows a ring of smoke into the night air, a small smirk curling his top lip as he lifts the bottle. “And more than one stash. A man should always be prepared.”
I hate myself for staring, but I can’t stop. I’m too busy remembering how hard those lips claimed mine. How forbidden they tasted. How quickly I folded to their rough demands.
Clearing my throat, I jerk the cigarette out of his hand and stomp it out under the rubber sole of my Chuck. “I told you those things are going to kill you one day.”
Shrugging, he tips his head toward the paparazzi-infested lawn. “The line starts back there.”
I hate how unaffected he is about everything. Sighing, I collapse onto the lounge chair beside him. “How long have you been out here?”
“Long enough. Here.” He shoves the bottle across a small glass table between us. “You need to take it down a few notches.”
I shake my head. “Slugging whiskey out of a bottle isn’t my style.”
“Suit yourself.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him tip the bottle back, his gaze burning into the side of my face. For a moment I consider going back inside, but to do what? Sit in silence? Answer my own questions? Stew in my own regret and fear?
Fuck that.
I clear my throat. “So, what was the disappearing act all about?”
He shrugs. “I had to make a few phone calls.”
I’m so tired of his non-answers I could scream. “You care to elaborate?”
“Nope.”
I shouldn’t be surprised. He can have his silence for now. I can play this game too. Evade and deflect are tricks right out of the Angel Smith playbook. Dominic can dress it up and call it whatever he wants, but I know an ulterior motive when I see one.
It’s like Violet always says: