Bryn
The next morning, I march into the office, sleepless, angry, sad, and with the list of expenses that King Christos demanded of me.
“He’s waiting for you,” Robertha says when she spots me.
I swallow back my anger and frustration and walk inside, staring at anything but him as I walk forward.
I can’t seem to bear it when he’s near—it hurts like a bitch and nothing I do can get rid of the ache in my chest.
“Here’s the list you requested. Call me if you have any questions. I need to be across the street organizing the arrival of the clothes and don’t have a lot of time.”
“Bryn.”
I inhale and turn, meeting his penetrating gold gaze.
It’s darker than usual today as he drags his hand down his face. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”
“I’m sorry too. I’m not sleeping well and I suppose the launch is so close that the stress is making me moody.”
“Is that it?” he asks, softly.
I force myself to nod, and the disappointment and cutting grief in his eyes makes me want to blurt out that that’s not it at all. That I miss him, that I’m mad at the whole world because I don’t understand why he’s not with me even though I understand, I understand perfectly.
“Anyway, call me if you have any questions.”
I head to the warehouse and get to work. I’ve been so busy with the launch, the crying spells are coming less frequently. I feel more in control, less as if someone else owns my destiny, more like I’m steering my own boat.
I suppose it helps to get approached by so many men on Match.com. Though I haven’t agreed to any more dates as of yesterday, it helps to be reminded that I am sexy and attractive to the opposite sex.
But I still cry early in the morning and late at night, unable to grapple with the reality of having Aaric so close, having been so close to being with my soul mate and losing him in the end.
To know his kisses won’t ever be mine again, his touch won’t ever know me or drive me wild like it did.
“You’ll get over him,” Jensen says, when he meets me at the warehouse, where I keep opening boxes of the first collection.
We’re busy unpacking, and sweat is coating my skin when the man haunting my dreams—my backer, my fantasy man, the love of my life and the only man I’ve ever loved—walks into the warehouse.
Like a king, confident, gorgeous, and unnattainable.
And he steals my heart from me all over again.
I spot him instantly—tall and powerful, in black slacks and a white shirt, tieless—and I’m transported twelve years ago to him arriving in his mechanic’s suit to help me lug boxes at Kelly’s.
My damned eyes, it seems, haven’t had enough weeping, because the sense of loss I felt when my parents died, when Kelly’s was taken away, and when the man I love left me comes back with a vengeance when I watch him lift one of the boxes and prop it over his shoulder only to look at me.
Dejà vú all over again.
I blink back the moisture and look away, and keep opening boxes so hard I almost cut myself.
“Hey, watch it,” Jensen calls from far away, laughing.
Aaric is still standing before me, waiting, starting to scowl at me.
“You okay?” Aaric asks, his gaze deep.
“Yes.”
“Good. Be careful. Where do you want these?”
I see him with the box on his shoulders and stare stupidly at him.
“You came?” I gasp.
“You needed me here, didn’t you?” He raises his brow in challenge, looking cocky and a little bit more handsome than I’d like.
“Yes, but I thought you were teasing me,” I counter.
“You’ll know when I’m teasing you, bit.” He sets the box down, moving closer, taking a lock of my hair and looking down at me. “You’d be laughing very, very hard,” he warns.
“Ha.” I pretend not to believe him. “You’re not a funny guy.”
He tsks at that, looking disappointed at my revelation. “Damn bad.” He looks at me thoughtfully for a moment, causing my heart to keep pounding harder and harder. “But hey, I’m a hell of a box lugger.”
He props the box over his shoulder and chuckles as he moves it to where I’ve been pushing boxes across the room. I wonder what it would feel like to kiss that smile on his lips.
I swallow and avoid making eye contact. “Over by the windows. But you don’t have to move them, I can just open them here and put the clothing on the racks.”
Christos makes the box seem small and weightless as he lugs it across the room, then he comes back and reaches for my cutting knife and starts slicing boxes open.
I try not to look at his hands, at any part of him, even the tattoo I can see working under the white shirt he wears.
He moves effortlessly and fast, like only a guy who’s actually worked with his hands for years knows how to move.
Minutes later, a dozen men appear. Christos instructs them to open the boxes and set the clothes on the racks, and though I thought Jensen, Sara, and I would take ages to finish, we’re done in a few hours.
“I suppose we’ll have time for the salon tomorrow night after all,” Sara bemusedly tells me. She doesn’t try to hide the reverent amazement on her face.
I glance at Aaric. “Thank you for helping.”
He looks at me for a long moment with a twinkle in his eye, then he winks. “Still a hell of a box lugger.”
I can’t get away fast enough, because even his smiles hurt to see now.