“Thank you. I also made some dark chocolate raspberry mousse for dessert. I’ll bring it out when you tell me you’re ready. Until then, it’s chilling in the fridge.”
“Thank you, Reign.” He takes off, and I reach for my phone. I texted Lottie five minutes ago, letting her know dinner was ready. I haven’t seen her since I’ve been home. From what I could tell, she came home and went straight to her room, where she’s been hiding out ever since. There’s no doubt the last thing she wants to do is eat dinner with me, especially after everything that happened today, but she needs to eat.
I’m about to stand from my chair and get her myself when she descends the stairs. She’s wearing one of the silk robes I had purchased for her. This one matches her eyes, a deep jade green. As she takes the last few steps down, I watch the slit of the robe ride up her tanned bare leg. My eyes travel to her waist, where the tie is cinched tightly, accentuating her petite frame, and then my eyes land on her breasts, which gently sway as she makes it to the main level.
There’s no mistake—she’s not wearing anything under that robe.
When her eyes meet mine, she says, “I was taking a bath when you texted.” Her voice is monotone, devoid of any life. Her eyes are sullen, and even though she looks tempting in that robe, she isn’t strutting with confidence like she normally does.
Breaker’s words come back to hit me hard in the chest.
You have to show her you’re human, or else it’s never going to work.
Lottie pulls out her chair and takes a seat. She doesn’t acknowledge the place setting, me, or even the food. Instead, she unfolds her napkin, sets it on her lap, and then picks up her fork and knife and cuts a small piece of pizza. I watch as her lips form an O shape and she blows on the steaming pizza.
There’s no humor, no anger, just . . . nothing . . . to her personality. It’s almost as if the bath she just took washed away any remnants of the Lottie I’ve come to know over the past few days.
The spice is gone.
The hatred is gone.
The arguing is nowhere to be seen.
She’s hollow.
Did I do that to her?
And even though she’s grated on my nerves for what’s felt like every goddamn second she’s been around, I’d take that over this Lottie any day.
I think today broke her, and that doesn’t settle well with me. I may be a ruthless bastard at times, but this . . . this doesn’t feel right.
The rules I’ve set firmly in place when it comes to business waver as I feel an inherent need to tell her what happened today, to bring back some of the life that’s vanished from her eyes. “It was an important phone call I needed to take.” My eyes fall to her, looking for any sort of reaction.
“I’m sure,” she says quietly, but her tone has an edge to it, as if she doesn’t believe me.
I don’t need to explain myself. I don’t owe her any sort of explanation regarding my work and how I conduct business, but I still find my gut churning. I want to see that fire in her eyes again.
“Aren’t you going to ask what could possibly be more important than your sister?”
She glances in my direction, those cut-down eyes moving over my face for a brief second before they return to her food. “Why would I ask that? I already know the answer.”
“And what would that be?” I ask.
“That it’s none of my business.” She sets her fork and knife down and says, “I know where I stand in your scale of importance, Huxley. Explanation is not needed.”
She pushes from the table, stands, and heads toward the stairs.
“You’re not done with your dinner.”
“I’m not hungry,” she says as she walks up the stairs, her robe billowing away from her legs.
She’s just going to leave like that?
With nothing else to say?
No fire?
No snarky comment?
No furious glance in my direction?
That won’t do.
Eyes still fixed on the stairs, my mind whirls with what to do. I’ve never dealt with emotion when it comes to business, so I’m in uncharted territory here. But I hate to admit Breaker might be right. I need Lottie to be a solid participant in this scheme, and if she’s upset, I’m not sure she’ll be willing to work with me the way I need her to.
But how the fuck do I make her happy without getting too involved?
I blow out a heavy breath of frustration and then push away from the table and charge up the stairs behind her. Not sure what I’m going to do, but I can’t let her walk away like that.