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Someone bangs on the fucking door.
Ezra sighs and leans his forehead against mine.
“Just ignore it,” I say quietly, running the tip of my tongue over his lips.
He shakes his head and pushes himself to his feet. “I can’t, sunflower. It could be important.”
I raise myself to my elbows and glare at him. “More important than me?”
“Of course not, Maya. Don’t make a big deal right now; I’ll just see what they want and turn them away.”
He walks to the door and rips it open, ready to tear into whoever is on the other side. I can’t see his face, but judging by the tension in his shoulders, it’s clear there’s something he can’t put off.
I sigh, blowing a stray strand of hair out of my face.
Great, I’ll have to finish myself off.
When he’s done, he comes to the bed and gives me a quick kiss. “I have to go, but I’ll be back soon.”
I wave him away. “Don’t worry about it. I’m used to coming second to your work.”
He flinches like I’ve just smacked him in the face. “That’s not fair, Maya. You know you mean the world to me.”
“Okay,” I say curtly, picking at my nails indifferently.
I’m not looking at him, but I can see his face fill with sadness.
Before he leaves, he says, “I have something I want to talk to you about the next time I see you.”
I could just be projecting, but his tone sounds angry, which means he probably just wants to talk about me fucking his friends.
Fine. If he wants to start a fight, I’ll happily oblige him, because I don’t know what more I have to say or do to prove to him that he doesn’t own me anymore.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN
MAYA
Ezra never came backlast night to finish what we started, and he hasn’t sought me out at all today, so I can only assume he’s still in his feelings.
Whatever. If he’s going to throw a tantrum, I’ll let him.
I’m left to my own devices, in my own company. I tried talking to Vic last night, but he made up some excuse to leave the room. It hurt, being dismissed after everything we’ve done. I get not wanting to upset Ezra even further, but this is fucking ridiculous. It’s the same as it was a year ago, when literally no one but Donovan would talk to me, and I don’t even have him anymore. I don’t know where he went, but I’m glad he got out when he could. He was too good to be in this life.
I leave my room and walk down the hall, stopping by the kitchen to grab an apple. The entire house is silent, and I wonder if everyone is in the basement. I don’t want to know what they’ve been doing down there, so I go to the opposite side of the house. Ezra calls it his “work wing,” since his office and conference room are in that part of the house.
The conference room is actually just a dining room, but Ezra needed a meeting area, so he had walls built and installed large, ornate French doors. I push them open and tiptoe inside.
The rectangular table that sits in the middle of the room is black, much like everything else Ezra owns, and ten chairs sit around it: four on each side, and one at either end. A large screen is mounted on the wall opposite the doors, and that’s where Ezra sits when he has his meetings.
Do criminals have meetings? Or are they just gatherings to discuss who their next target will be, or what their next business venture will be?
All of the walls are covered in black foam panels that cover nearly every inch of wall space. Even though the only people who have access to the mansion are people Ezra’s given said access to, he doesn’t want to risk possible outsiders listening in on his conversations.
He can be a bit paranoid sometimes.
Next to the conference room is the living room. I’m surprised when I walk in and find that the couch—a large white beanbag-style couch that I’ve seen on so many people’s social media feeds—still sits in the middle of the room, right in front of the fireplace. As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to have it. It’s expensive as hell. Ezra, despite enjoying the comfort of the couch, never understood the appeal of what’s essentially an oversized beanbag chair. But he bought it for me anyway because he knew how badly I wanted it.
This room isn’t the most decorated, with only a couple of small side tables with lamps, a coffee table, a huge, mounted TV, and Ezra’s pride and joy: his Steinway.
