Jared

 

 

 

I find her curled up in the armchair. She has moved it next to the window, with its back turned halfway toward the elevator and facing the window in front of her. It's still early in the day and the sun is bathing the city skyline below in a blazing light.

I can't see her face, and while I know that she must have heard the elevator, she doesn't move an inch, not acknowledging my presence whatsoever. Instead, she keeps her eyes glued to the window, watching the city breathing below her.

The elevator doors close noisily behind me, and I wait, burying my hands in my pants' pockets while I slowly approach her. She still doesn't move, doesn't even turn her head when I stop right next to her. She tries to look calm and unfazed, but I can tell by the way she’s breathing that she's tense.

"What now?" she asks, still not looking at me. "Are you kicking me out? Is that it?"

I'm standing next to her, my stance wide and close to the floor-length window. There's a certain thrill to standing so close to the edge and looking right into the abyss at the tip of my feet, despite the lack of actual danger. I know I couldn't break this glass and fall even if I tried. But it looks like I could, and that's enough to make my heart race at the thought of it.

"Why did you write these things?"

I'm keeping my eyes away from her, fixating on the view below. Despite everything that Silas told me, I still need to know why she wrote those words. Even if she refused to fall for his bait, she may still have other plans that no one knows about.

Button sighs next to me, clinging to the blanket wrapped around herself.

"Writing is an outlet for me," she says. "It always has been. And you never told me that I couldn't write. You just made me promise not to publish it."

"I didn't make you promise, I made you sign a contract forbidding you to publish anything," I correct her. "But okay, writing is your outlet. Whatever. I can get that. What I don't get is the way you write. That passage didn't read like a fucking diary-"

"Because it isn't," she says, cutting me off. "I don't keep a diary. That's not what I do. I write stories, non-fictional stories."

"Non-fictional stories that you sell to the press."

She sighs.

"Yes. That's my job," she says. "Or rather, it used to be. But it's hard to break out of this habit. It's my style. Everything I write sounds like it belongs in an article or an editorial. It's how I write. I can’t help it."

"You can't fucking tell me that you never even considered selling that stuff, Button."

I tear my eyes away from the view and turn to her, meeting her eyes for the first time since I've walked in. She looks exhausted, her face smeared with the leftovers of yesterday's make-up. She has cried, a lot. Her eyes are red and puffy, speaking of pain as much or more than fatigue.

"I'm not saying that," she says in a low voice. "It would be a lie."

My chest tightens. "So you did consider it."

It's not a question, but she nods, lowering her eyes for a moment.

"At some point, I did, yes," she says. "When this was still strictly business. And long before that guy showed up. I never considered selling to him."

"I know."

Her eyes dart up at me, widened in surprise. "You know?"

I sigh, raising my eyebrows at the memory. I will still have to have a word with Silas about this. Despite his noble intentions, that move was not okay. It was more than not okay. He really overstepped his boundaries.

"He was bait," I simply tell her. "Paid by my team to tempt you to betray me. Without my knowledge."

"Great," she snorts. "So you weren't the only one who couldn't trust me."

"Can you blame them?" I want to know. "Or me?"

She shakes her head.

"No, not really," she admits. "But... if he was paid, you must know what I told him? You must know that I said no. Twice, actually."

Our eyes meet again, and I see a cautious smile playing at the corners of her mouth when she adds, "I was very adamant."

"So I've heard."

She peels herself out of the blanket and gets up from the armchair, stepping closer to me. Her body is wrapped in a white silk robe, hiding very little of her limber frame. I want to touch her, to wrap my arms around her, and feel her soft skin against mine. But I'm not sure if I can, if I should.

She seems to feel the same way.

Her approach is hesitant and overly cautious, her hand barely touching mine when she reaches for me.

"You know who I am," she whispers. "You know I'd be lying if I said I had never considered any of this."

She looks up at me, but we let our fingers intertwine.

"I'm the kind of woman who signs up to be a high-class escort because she no longer wants to work for money by the time she's thirty," she reminds me. "I mean... who does that?"

I can't help but join her little chuckle.

"You," I say.

She nods. "If you'd ever read any of my pieces, you'd also know that I don't shy away from nasty stories. Those that expose or shine a light on the darker side of society."

"Like an agency called Violent Delights," I complete her reasoning.

She smiles at me.

"Exactly," she agrees. "But you have to know, I've never enjoyed hurting anybody, especially you. I never wanted to hurt you - and by now I'd even go a lot further."

I cast her a questioning look.

"By now, I want to protect you," she clarifies. "And destroy everyone who ever tries to hurt you."

She lets out a sad chuckle, and it’s overridden by sorrow. "Though if that's true, I would have to start with myself."

"Why are you saying that?"

"Because I fucking hurt you, Jared," she says. "I thought that I let you go for my most vulnerable part every time we played. But I was wrong."

I catch my breath when she slowly lifts her hand up to my throat, placing her fingers around it as if she was to choke me.

"I don't think the throat is where we are most vulnerable," she whispers. "I think it's the heart instead. And I hit yours pretty hard."

She lets go of my neck and lets her hand travel down to my chest, placing her palm on the left side.

"I'm sorry."

I place my hand on top of hers and beckon her to meet my gaze with the other, by tilting her head up with my index finger below her chin.

"I'm sure my heart isn't the only thing that's been in a lot of pain recently," I tell her. "I didn't exactly treat yours fairly either."

She smirks at me, a single tear rolling slowly down her cheek as a deep sense of relief takes over, eliminating the tense aching that must have been torturing her this past night just as much as it tortured me.

"I guess we're even then?" she breathes.

I have never seen my Button like this. It's almost as if I'm seeing her for the first time, really fucking seeing her. Just her, with all her flaws, her pain, her brilliance, her raw beauty when her face lights up, as I lean down for a kiss.

I don't crave for us to be even.

I yearn for us to be together. Because that's when we're at our fucking best.

Partners. A team.