Shattered Dynasty by Ava Harrison
30
Trent
Tonight,I avoided her.
I’ve been doing that a lot recently.
The thing is, despite avoiding her, I find myself heading down the halls of the center and looking for her.
It makes no sense what I’m doing, yet I can’t stop my feet.
I find her in the library. She’s not alone. She’s with Anne, a resident here at Cresthill. My feet stop short, but it’s not her companion but what’s in front of her that has me halting my steps.
Even here, she found time to read the book I gave her this morning. The one she has to report back on this week.
This woman is impossible to bring down. No matter how much work I throw at her, she rises to the challenge.
If I weren’t actively trying to ruin her, I’d probably hire her.
“Let’s go,” I huff out.
She looks up from the table, confused. A cute line forms between her brows.
Not cute. It’s just a line.
“Where are we going?”
“I’m hungry.”
Payton still doesn’t get up.
I step closer and glare down at her.
“Well, maybe I’m not,” she states, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I didn’t ask.”
When she still doesn’t move, I let out a sigh.
“Are you hungry?” I begrudgingly ask.
“I can eat.”
Before I can think better of it, I’m reaching out my hand, offering it to her to help her up. If it weren’t for everything between us, I would swear I feel a spark when we touch.
Once we’re in the car and out of the lot, I weave my way in and out of traffic. When I pull to a stop, it’s in front of my favorite hole-in-the-wall diner. I finish parking my car outside.
“This place looks nice,” she says with a laugh, taking in the dilapidated front of the building.
The awning is hanging on by a thread, and the name of the restaurant has been worn off by time. Three of the letters don’t even light up anymore. The vowels, too, which I hear are important.
“Trust me when I tell you, it’s the best food you’ll ever eat.”
“Oh . . . I believe it.” She unbuckles her seat belt, reaching for the door. “It’s always the places like this that are the best.”
“Agree.”
“Can never judge a book by its cover, right?”
I turn to look at her, and I see how she looks back at me. Probably insinuating that I’m an asshole, even though I probably look like a nice guy.
She’s not wrong.
Or maybe it’s the opposite. Maybe she thinks she sees something more in me, even though I look like an asshole. Who knows with her?
But I don’t care, so I’m not gonna ask.
I get out of the car, and she follows suit. This is not the kind of establishment in which you wait for a hostess. You just take a seat. So, I lead us to an empty booth in the corner.
Normally, when I come here, I know everyone who works in this place, but tonight, I don’t recognize anybody. That’s when I spot Tanya, one of my favorite servers. She waves over to me and comes to greet me.
“Are you having your usual?” She beams at me.
“Yes. What about you, Payton? Do you need to see a menu?”
“What’s your usual?” she asks me.
“At this time of night . . . pancakes.”
Payton’s lips spread into a large smile. One I have never seen on her. Probably because I am the asshole who never gives her a reason to do it.
“Pancakes for dinner . . . I like it.” She turns to Tanya. “I’ll have the same. Can I add extra-crispy bacon?”
“Who doesn’t love a woman who orders bacon?”
Fuck me. I did not just say that out loud.
Tanya walks away, leaving Payton and me to sit in silence.
“How long have you been volunteering?” She breaks the still air with her question.
“A few years.”
“Can you elaborate?”
“Nope.”
Mature.
Her brows furrow. “Can you ever just answer a question honestly?”
“No.”
I could, but this is more fun. Like I said . . . mature.
Payton leans forward, her elbows now resting on the table. She places her chin in her hands. “Is there a reason for that?”
She’s analyzing me. Trying to understand what makes me tick.
If only it were that easy.
I’m all types of fucked up. Ain’t that right, big guy?
My head tips up to the sky as if he can hear me better at this angle.
“Yes,” I finally say.
“Are you going to tell me said reason?” she presses, pulling out a packet of brown sugar from a sticky white box, emptying it on the table, and playing with the mess.
Lowering my gaze, I meet her stare. “Negative, Ghostrider.”
“You’re intolerable.” She grins, and I love the way it looks on her.
“Absolutely.”
She looks frustrated from across the table, but that last smirk is still there, and I can’t help but enjoy it. I love messing with her. I love getting a rise out of her. I’m surprised when she continues to fire off questions. She’s not surprised when I continue to vaguely answer.
Until the food gets there.
Then I’m rewarded with a soft moan that falls from her lips.
Just that one little squeak, and my cock stirs to life.
Watching her eat pancakes is turning me on.
Who the fuck am I?
I don’t say a word further. I can’t be thinking this kind of shit. I don’t even trust myself to speak. Not with my little comment earlier.
I eat my pancakes; she eats hers.
That’s when I see him making his approach. He’s by the front door. He must have followed us.
Paul.
I don’t know what he wants, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I’m eating dinner at a low-traffic, obscure, hole-in-the-wall dive that he happens to be walking into.
Pretty calculated.
If I were by myself, I would approach him, but I don’t know what he wants, and my gut tells me, at this time of night, whatever it is, it’s nothing good.
Right then and there, a protective instinct snaps through me.
Payton.
Despite my hatred and animosity toward her, I don’t want to see Payton die.
I quietly stand from the chair, throw down a hundred, and then lift my finger to my mouth, telling her to be quiet, and pull her up from the seat.
Where we’re sitting, I have a view of the door; however, he can’t see us, so I quickly steer her out the back way.
“Why are we—”
“Shh,” I cut her off
She listens to my advice and is quiet as we get back into the car.
“What was that all about?” she asks, her voice laced with confusion.
“Nothing that you need details of right now.”
With her eyes locked on me, she watches me. “You rushed me out of there, but I didn’t finish eating.”
She pouts, and I sigh.
“Fine. I’ll get you some dessert.”
Pulling the car onto the street, I weave my way through traffic until we are back on West Broadway, heading to my place.
“Then why are we headed home?” she points out.
“Because, believe it or not, Chef makes homemade ice cream for himself.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch her mouth falling open. “How did I not know that?”
She sounds more appalled than when I ordered her to give presentations to my staff, and I shouldn’t be amused, but I am.
I shrug, changing lanes. “Because it’s a secret.”
“And you know this then?”
“It’s my house.”
“But it’s his ice cream.”
“Well, technically, it’s mine. Duh. My house.”
There’s that cute grin on her face again, and damn if my cock did not get the memo.
I make a few rounds through the area, checking for tails. It’s not a secret where I live, but I’d at least like to know if I have someone following me. If Payton notices that we’re driving in circles, she doesn’t comment.
Finally, I pull up to my building, park the car in my spot, and lead her upstairs. My hand touches the small of her back. I feel the warmth radiate through it.
This need to protect her tonight was overwhelming. I have to keep her safe. It’s one thing for my father’s will to chain us together and another for my sins to do so. My world shouldn’t touch her life, no matter what my father caused me to do.
We’re very quiet as we tiptoe into the kitchen, and I take her to a secret freezer hidden behind a cabinet door in the butler’s pantry.
I browse through our flavor options. “Chef has a personal stash here.”
I grab one of his pre-scooped jars, filled with homemade mint chocolate chip ice cream, and collect two spoons from a drawer.
“Taste it,” I demand.
She takes the spoon out of my hand, dips it into the ice cream, and swallows.
An honest-to-God, full-on moan escapes her mouth this time.
Dammit all to hell.
That moan.
That will haunt me for the rest of the night.
Then she fucking licks her lips. I watch the movement. Track it with hungry eyes.
Great. Just fucking great.
I find myself taking a step closer, a moth to a flame.
She has ice cream on her lip, and I need to taste it.
I know I shouldn’t.
I can’t help it.
Before I can stop myself, my hand reaches forward.
I close the distance.
My body is almost touching hers.
I lean closer, my hand touching her lips.
She stops breathing for a second.
Then I wipe the ice cream.
She exhales, her chest heaving, and she moves a step closer.
I want to kiss her.
My lips hover over hers.
We are so close I can feel her exhale.
“Why are you making a mess in my kitchen?” Chef shouts.
And just like that, the moment is ruined.
I remember who I’m standing with.
I remember why I shouldn’t do this.
I remember both our sins.
And I internally scold myself for thinking with my dick when it comes to her once again.
This won’t end well, I remind myself.
No shit.