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“I wasn’t. That is so far from what I was trying to do,” I said defensively.
“Yeah?” he asked doubtfully.
“Yeah. Don’t you get it? It’s because of my father that his father is dead. His father worked for mine. My father got him killed. Every night I lay in bed thinking about Leo and all of the things my father has done. It suffocates me.
“My entire life is built on the pain of others. It blinds me. I need help. I was asking you to help me, Dillon. Can’t you see that?” I said with tears rolling down my cheeks. “I just wanted you to help me.”
My heartfelt plea hit Dillon hard. The anger melted from his expression. Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around me and held me until his eyes glistened with tears.
“I just wanted you to help me,” I repeated, my voice choked with emotion.
“I will,” Dillon whispered in my ear. “You can count on me.”
I slowly pulled away from Dillon’s embrace, my cheeks wet with tears. I felt vulnerable and exposed like never before.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, embarrassed by my show of emotion.
No longer able to look at him, I tried to look away. Before I could, Dillon held my chin drawing my gaze back to his. Our eyes locked, and I found myself drowning in his pure, unwavering compassion.
As we stood there, the intensity of our connection, and the lingering air of vulnerability between us, built. Gone were my defenses and sarcasm. In its place was an uncontrollable longing for him.
Dillon’s thumb gently brushed along the tear-stained trail on my cheek, sending shivers down my spine. Unable to resist the emotional pull any longer, we both leaned in, our lips drawing closer.
It was a knock on the door that shattered our fragile moment. Pulling us back from the precipice of a passionate embrace, our intimate connection evaporated as someone knocked on the door again.
“I should get that,” I said when it became clear that whoever it was wasn’t going to leave.
“Probably,” Dillon agreed as shaken by our almost-kiss as I was.
Gathering myself, I entered the living room and crossed to the door. I was ready to rip off the head of whoever it was when I opened it and found,
“Eris, what are you doing here?”
“I’ve been trying to reach you for days. You haven’t been returning my texts or calls. I even went to your office, but you weren’t there,” she replied while pushing her way inside.
“Why are you here?” I questioned with alternating concern and irritation.
She opened her mouth to answer when Dillon stepped past the kitchen door. Spotting him, she froze staring at him with venom. But, as quickly as it happened, she brushed it aside and cheerfully said,
“We have a wedding to plan. There’s no way I’m going to do this on my own.”
My heart sank at the reminder of the tangled mess our lives had become.
“I can’t take part in that right now,” I replied, my voice strained.
Undeterred, Eris turned her attention back to Dillon.
“Would you mind getting me a drink, Dear?” she asked condescendingly.
Dillon stalled, asking, “What type?”
Eris sighed, feigning disinterest. “I don’t care. Champagne if you have it.” Then, with a forced laugh, she added, “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
As Dillon disappeared into the kitchen, I braced myself for whatever tirade Eris was about to unleash. As I watched, the confident, casual smile she wore vanished. Replacing it was a deadly-serious glare.
“Remy, allow me to be clear. If you don’t start acting like the man I deserve, my father might begin to think you aren’t living up to his deal. And who do you think he would blame for that?” she asked before bouncing her eyes toward the kitchen.
“Are you threatening someone?” I demanded, my blood boiling ready to explode.
