Vicious (Sinners of Saint #1)(91)

I tried not to give myself too much crap for agreeing to work for Vicious in the first place. My situation was dire, with Rosie’s health and everything, but never again. I was glad it would be over this weekend after we moved into our new place. I was eager to release myself from Vicious’s painful claws.

It was the New Year, and he was my resolution. I was done with him.

Brent and I hurried the short distance to the gallery through the horrible weather, and I heard a familiar voice that made my heart stop.

“Emilia!”

My first instinct was to not turn around, to keep on moving, especially since my new boss was there. But I wasn’t capable of ignoring anyone. Not even him. I spun slowly on my heel, the sleet lashing on both our faces as I drank Vicious in. He ran across the street to get to me, his whole body tensing when he noticed Brent next to me.

“Who the fuck is this tool?” He scowled.

Oh, God.

I blushed furiously, turning to Brent with a crimson face. The last thing I wanted was for my new job to start off this way. I inwardly cursed Rosie for telling Vicious where I was, because I knew he had no other way of finding out I would be here. Then I proceeded to also inwardly curse Vicious for having a broken gaydar, because Brent was clearly playing for his team, not mine.

“I’m so sorry, Brent. Please don’t mind him.” I kept moving, my eye on the entrance door ahead.

Brent quirked an eyebrow but thankfully didn’t say whatever was on his mind at that moment.

Vicious chased us, his long strides catching up with our hurried steps with ease. “I don’t care who this fucker is. We need to talk.”

“Please turn around and walk away before this evening ends with a restraining order. I’d hate for it to ruin your glowing finance career.” My face was dead serious and my voice so cold I wasn’t even sure it belonged to me.

We were power-walking on the sidewalk as he jogged beside us on the street, his hands tucked into his wet coat. I refused to glance at him because I knew I’d surely cave if I did.

“It’s important,” he said, ignoring my threat.

“Not as important as my career.”

“I’m not leaving this spot until you talk to me.”

Brent was looking all kinds of uncomfortable beside me, his expression begging for cues about how to respond: Did I need help? Did I want some time alone with this guy?

Sleet slashed down angrily and blew icy needles in my face, each like a sharp slap.

I narrowed my eyes at Vicious. “Stand here if you like. Turn into an icicle. I’m going inside to work.”

I let the doors swallow Brent and me and even managed not to look back once as I tramped into the gallery. Over the next two hours, I downed three glasses of champagne and discussed art with avid collectors. But not even my new job and Brent’s animated nods at everything I’d said made me feel better. My mind kept drifting back to Vicious and the fact that he had returned to New York.

The evening dragged. I was so angry—furious, to be exact—that he’d managed to ruin this for me too, that I spent the majority of my time plotting how to strangle him in my head as I patiently mingled with strangers and chatted about the merits of the paintings up for sale.

When it was time to leave, I called a taxi to pick up Brent and me. Twenty minutes later, the driver texted to inform us he was waiting outside. We waltzed through the doors—I was able to see the yellow car from the across the street—when a big shadow appeared in my peripheral vision.

Vicious.

He was soaked, wet to the bone, standing in the blowing sleet, glaring at the entrance door to the gallery, rubbing his palm over his ice-covered hair.

I sucked in a breath and wheezed. Had he been standing there the whole time? His clothes were heavy with water and his cheeks no longer tinged pink from the cold. He looked blue. Shivering. Freezing.

“Go.” I nodded to Brent, pointing at the cab. “I’ll catch another one. I have to deal with this.”

“You sure?” Brent pulled up his coat hood to shield his head from the sleet. He didn’t appear too eager to discuss my love life with me in this weather. Rightly so.

I used my hand as a visor to shade the sleet from my eyes and nodded. “Absolutely. He’s just a high school…friend.” The lie felt sour in my mouth. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Brent gave Vicious another curious look. He must’ve looked like a complete loon to him. After a brief beat, Brent disappeared inside the taxi and it drove away, red lights dancing as they chased the night traffic of New York.

The sleet was stabbing at our faces as we stood in front of each other, but I didn’t say a word. He looked at me helplessly, a lost puppy, and I wondered how I hadn’t seen it earlier. The complete and utter nakedness of his feelings. The pain. The ache. All the things that made Vicious vicious.