“I promised you I would do whatever it took to make your life better. I’m not changing my mind on that. That fucker is gonna pay for what he did to your life.”
Nodding my head, my smile grows at the thought of paying Bennett back for all the shit that has happened to me. For the death of my father, for all the destruction he and his parents caused. I’ll revel in the only thing that will remain after Bennett is gone—money and power. Ruining Declan’s life along the way to my salvation is something that’s simply unavoidable if Pike and I want to keep our hands clean in this. So that’s it; we move forward with the plan.
This is the moment Pike and I have been waiting years for. We take the evening to discuss plans and timing, and agree that I’ll come back in a few days after Bennett leaves for Dubai. After we talk, Pike cleanses me, and then I’m back on the road. Back to gain my retribution.
AFTER MY MEETING with Mr. Bernstein at Chicago Magazine this afternoon, I’ve been working on the social piece that they want to publish next month in the February issue. The magazine is featuring a few “It” couples for their Valentine’s edition, and wanted to highlight Bennett and me by having me write the piece myself. I was instructed to write about how we keep the spark alive while noting the many pots we have our fingers in, such as the charities and foundations we work with and support. Bennett seemed excited when I called him a couple hours ago to tell him about the details of the piece and my meeting with Mr. Bernstein and the editor that was assigned to me.
When I wrap up my work, I start getting ready. Declan finally caved and texted me after a mere twenty-four hours. It didn’t surprise me he couldn’t wait any longer. The text was short and clipped, straight to the point, and I agreed to stop by. Although I’m nervous about sex with Declan again, I try to focus my attention on other things, but it still lingers in the back of my mind. After I’m dressed, I head out and drive to Declan’s place. When the elevator opens, he’s already wearing a smile as he steps out, holding his key card out for me.
“Here,” he says.
“What’s this for?”
“To save me the hassle of having to come down here to get you every time you want to come by. Take it.”
With a flirtatious smile, I say, “So, I’m a hassle?”
“You? Never.”
As we ride up in the elevator, he steps in front of me, pushing me up against the mirrored wall, and kisses me. With his hands around my neck, he controls every movement of the kiss as his tongue parts my lips so that he can take more. Our bodies are pressed together, and the heat of him overcomes me, so that when he finally pulls back, I feel a little flushed.
“Missed you,” he states as he looks down at me.
“Did you?”
“Always.”
He takes my hand when the doors open, and I can smell food cooking in the kitchen. I follow him as he leads me to the bar and pulls out a stool for me.
“What’s all this?” I ask as I take a seat.
“Dinner.”
“You cook?” I ask with a smirk as he grabs a bottle of wine and begins to pour me a glass of Pinot Noir.
“Why do you look so surprised?”
Shaking my head, I take a small sip before saying, “I guess I don’t really know much about you, so I’m sure there’s a lot about you that’ll surprise me.”
He smiles at my words as he walks into the kitchen and begins chopping a few vegetables.
“What are you making us?”
“Champagne almond chicken, roasted vegetables, and new potatoes.”
“Sounds amazing,” I tell him as I continue to sip my wine and watch him move with ease around his kitchen. “Who taught you how to cook?”
“My mum. I can remember back to when I was little and she used to drag a chair in front of the stove for me to stand on. I would watch her and help her when she needed something stirred up. Eventually she started having me crack eggs and doing other simple tasks,” he tells me as he scoops the veggies up and drops them into a steel bowl. “And as I got older, she and I would cook these elaborate meals.”
“She sounds like a wonderful mom.”
“She was.”
“Was?” I ask, and when I do, he looks up at me, and says, “Another day,” the same words he used when I asked him why he needed to control everything.
“What about you?” he asks me. “Do you like cooking?”
“I never learned.”
“Your mum never taught you?” he questions.
I shake my head, knowing the truth of never having a mom, but Declan only knows of the lies I’ve told him about my family, so I tell him, “No. She worked a lot and wasn’t around much. I do like to watch Clara cook when she comes over to prepare meals. Every now and then she lets me help out, but not often. I pretty much do what your mom allowed you to do on that chair. I only stir things and sniff around.”
I watch the creases deepen at the corners of Declan’s eyes when he looks at me and laughs.