Thorne Princess(107)

He was who he was. A dark horse who’d made it against all odds—without pedigree, without a name, and without a soul. He wasn’t malicious, no. Simply careless. And I could no longer afford to surround myself with people who didn’t care about me.

“You’ll convince him.” I tipped my chin up.

“You’re making a mistake.” Ransom caught the tip of my chin between his fingers. I swatted his hand away.

“Stop telling me what I’m feeling, what I’m thinking, what I’m doing. Stop gaslighting me. Just leave. Right now. And never contact me again.”

“Do you truly mean it?”

I closed my eyes, the pain too much to bear. “Truly.”

And I knew in that moment he’d never contact me again. That he was too proud, too fucked-up, to ever concede. Bow down. Show weakness.

I forced my body to step back, feeling like my legs were made out of concrete. Turning away from him, giving him my back, was the hardest thing I’d had to do.

He was, after all, my protector.

The man who taught me so much about myself.

The man who made me laugh.

Who made me live again.

Who made love to me, when I’d thought I would perish under the touch of another.

“Princess.” His voice made me stop at the foot of the curved stairway. I didn’t turn around. Didn’t trust myself enough. “I’m really proud of you.”

“I know.”

“You’re doing the right thing.”

“I know that, too.”

He’d wanted to say something else. I could feel it. But in the end, all I heard was the soft click of my door as it shut.

For the first time ever, I allowed myself to let go, collapse on the stairs, sobbing into my arms, letting my whole body break, and not just my heart.





“You goddamn idiot.”

Tom plastered his forehead to the cool steel of our agency’s door, closing his eyes. His breathing was labored, and he looked ready to kill someone.

Me. I was that someone. And I deserved a good beating for what I’d done.

Leaning against my desk with my arms crossed, I let him blow off some steam.

“You put your client at risk, let her out of your sight, and kept the entire mess from me. I can’t believe you.”

He pushed off of the door, pivoting into the common area of the agency. He kicked a trashcan. It rolled along the floor, spitting crumpled papers and chewed gum.

With calm I didn’t feel, I noted, “You were the genius who insisted I take the job.”

“I didn’t know your beef with the Russians was an ongoing matter!” Tom threw his arms up in the air, shouting.

“Neither did I,” I flat-out lied.

“And now she fired you.”

That one sliced through my chest like a rusty knife.

“We’ve decided it was best if we parted ways. She won’t say a word to her father about it. He’ll think it was just the mafia being the mafia. She’s high profile, loaded, sought-after—”

“Something’s not making sense here.” He raised his hand, stopping me midsentence.

I arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You’ve never kept shit like this from me. Ever.” Tom stalked toward me, his eyes zinging with determination. “You’re not giving me the whole story. Why did you keep it to yourself? Why didn’t you tell me about the Russians right away?”

Because I couldn’t stay away from a certain Thorne Princess.

“I can handle my own problems.”

“Bullshit!” He slammed his palms against my chest, pushing me. The desk scraped behind me. “Give me the missing piece.”

“There’s no missing piece.”

“I’ll go and ask Miss Thorne herself. She’ll answer, too. That girl couldn’t lie if her life depended on it,” Tom warned.

He wasn’t wrong. Hallie was pure as fresh-fallen snow. Still, what were the chances he’d hurl his ass all the way to California just to ask her? I stared at him flatly, calling his bluff.

Tom waltzed over to our secretary’s desk, ripping a Post-it note from a pile and scribbling something, slapping it against her screen.

Get me on a flight to L.A. Today.





T





He picked up the phone and made a call.

“What’re you doing?” I asked tersely. I didn’t have patience for this shit. I was tired, agitated, and above all, still digesting the fact that Hallie had thrown me out of her life.

“Calling Holmes’ daughter. At the funeral—which you bailed on, by the fucking way—I promised I’d give her a call if I’m in Cali again. She wants to talk about her dad.”

The asshole meant business. He was going to jet to California and hear from my former employee how I’d fucked her.

It was time to face the music, even if it sounded like a cat in heat.

“I fucked her,” I spat out finally.

Tom froze, his phone still pinned to his ear. I heard a few, faint hellos from the other line. Slowly—very fucking slowly—he lowered his phone, killed the call, and tucked it into the inner pocket of his blazer.

“You fucked the ward?”

Hearing the words flung back at me, they sounded all wrong. I waved my hand dismissively.