Not in Love by Ali Hazelwood

“Here’s the deal.” He dropped his voice further, angling his back so that if Rue was watching, she wouldn’t be able to read his lips. “Your sister obviously cares about you. She called me here because literally anyone else, from the doorman to her neighbors to the fucking mailman, would not hesitate to call the authorities. But here’s what she doesn’t know.” He leaned forward. “I have an entire team of lawyers at my disposal who can make your life very, very hard. Which means that I can ruin you without getting you arrested or beating you to a pulp. I wouldn’t even need to make her sad.” He straightened, pleased at the narrowing in Vincent’s eyes.

“I just want to talk to her,” he bit out.

“Then schedule a fucking meeting.”

“We have a buyer right now. She’s being selfish.”

“Good. She should put herself first. Now, will you get the fuck out of this building, or do I have to make a couple of calls?” He took his phone out of his jeans and dangled it until Vincent shook his head and stalked away, stopping to kick the banister on the landing like the childish fool he so clearly was. Once he was gone for good, Eli knocked softly.

“It’s me.”

A few beats and the door opened. Rue stood in the middle, half in the shadows, looking like a paler, less substantial version of herself. She didn’t quite meet his eyes, and Eli was tempted to make a detour for the parking lot to rough Vincent up.

“I wasn’t sure who to call—”

“No need to explain. Can I come in?”

Her eyes widened, like the thought hadn’t occurred to her. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I know.”

She tensed. “I didn’t call you here because . . . I don’t think that just because we had sex you should be at my—”

“I am, though. At your disposal.” He smiled at her, small but reassuring. If she needed to tell herself that this was just fucking, she was welcome to do so. He refused to play the game any longer. I’m not going to follow the rules, Rue. I’m not going to behave. I’m not going to pretend this is enough. “I’ll stay for twenty minutes, just in case Vincent’s waiting for me to drive off.”

Her head bent low, and there was a slight tremor to the hands she stuffed in her pants. But it wasn’t until they entered the living room that he could fully see her expression. Ever-armored Rue Siebert looked forlorn, and ten years younger, and a hundred times more fragile. The sight of how much she hurt hit him with violence. He wrapped his hand around her forearm, pulled her closer, and it was more for himself than for her. “Hey. It’s okay.”

They’d hugged dozens of times by now, always within the constraints of sex. This embrace was different: It had no direction and existed only to provide comfort. It was warm and eviscerating and dangerous. More forbidden than anything they’d done so far. And then he felt it: the small shivers running through her back, her forehead pressing between his pecs, a choked sound she swallowed. She was crying.

Eli’s heart sank.

“It’s okay, baby.” He kissed the crown of her hair and held her as tight and as long as she allowed. “It’ll be okay.” Minutes later, when she slid two hands on his chest and pushed him away, he had to clench his fists to avoid drawing her back into his arms. And that was when his vision broadened from its Rue-induced tunnel and shifted to his surroundings.

The apartment was magnificent. Or, what she’d done with it. The place wasn’t large, and the layout was nothing special, but Rue hadn’t lied about having plants. In fact, the entire room was lush, every surface covered in green. Cacti, flowers, a few ornamental pots. But Rue’s favorite cultivation method was clearly hydroponics. There were towers, and shelves, and a couple of kits she may have built on her own. Most of what she grew was produce: Eli spotted basil, tomatoes, mini cucumbers, peppers, lettuce, and that was just at first glance.

Her house was a beautiful, honest-to-god garden.

He puffed out a laugh, thinking about the raised bed he’d bought two years ago to grow herbs for the kitchen, the one he’d never gotten around to putting together. In fact, it was still packed in the garage. Had been there for so long, Maya had given it a name.

Fucking Herbert.

He glanced back at Rue, wanting to say something, but it wasn’t the right time to compliment her agricultural skills. She’d walked to the couch and collapsed herself in front of it, on the floor, back pressed against the cushions, knees to her chin. Like her brother, in the hallway earlier.

Eli sighed and sat next to her, allowing his arm to brush against hers.

“I don’t usually cry,” she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I figured.”

“How?”

“Just a hunch.” She hadn’t cried last night, and that fucking deposition had given her plenty of reason. “Your general vibe, as Maya would say.”

She smiled through her sniffles. “It’s because he’s my brother.”

“I know.”

“He’s younger. My brain is wired to constantly feel that I have to take care of him.”

“I know.”

“He’s being a total asshole. I’m being a complete pushover. This could escalate to a really dangerous level. I need to figure out a solution to this. It’s just . . .”