Chapter 20 Twenty
IDALIA SOLENE
The espresso machine hissed loudly behind the counter. The sound cut through the low hum of the busy New York coffee shop as I stood by the glass window, watching the yellow cabs blur past on the wet street outside. Steam rose from the metal grates in the pavement, mixing with the cold, gray morning air.
I looked at the heavy diamond watch on my wrist. Zara was exactly twelve minutes late.
My jaw tightened.
I hated lateness. I hated small failures. I was the lead cardiothoracic surgeon at the largest hospital in the city. I held human hearts in my hands. I dictated life and death. I should not be standing in a crowded line, doing my own grunt work, waiting for a black coffee.
My phone vibrated in the pocket of my white wool coat. I pulled it out. The screen showed a secure, encrypted message from Cassian Vale.
The digital wall holds. Devereux’s lawyers are hitting dead ends. They found nothing.
Staring at the black text, my lips spread in a smile. A sharp, cold sense of victory sliced through my chest. I had won. I spent millions of dollars to bury my past, and the money had done its job. Thane Devereux was powerful, but he was currently hunting a ghost in an empty graveyard.
I slipped the phone back into my pocket. My pulse was beating entirely too fast. It hammered against my ribs. I frowned. I questioned my own physical reaction.
Why do I care if he fails? I asked myself. It is just about safety. It is just business.
I told myself the lie, but my racing heart told the absolute truth. I cared because I wanted him to suffer.
“Idalia Solene.” The barista called my name, interrupting my reverie.
I walked to the counter. I grabbed the hot paper cup. The black coffee was scalding. I turned around and started walking toward the glass exit doors. And that's when I remembered something, so I looked down, reaching into my pocket for my phone again to send Cassian a reply.
I rounded the sharp corner of the pastry display.
Smash.
I walked directly into a solid, heavy wall of muscle and bone.
The collision jolted my teeth. The paper cup crumpled in my fist. The plastic lid popped off. Scalding black coffee splashed violently through the air. It hit the front of my white silk blouse, burning my skin. The rest of the dark liquid splashed heavily across the front of a custom-tailored, charcoal-gray suit.
I gasped at the sudden, burning heat. And before I could recover, I lost my balance. My
heels slipped on the polished tile floor.
Before I could fall, two hands shot out. They grabbed my elbows with unyielding, brutal force. They steadied me instantly.
The air vanished from my lungs. The smell of the coffee shop faded. I was suddenly suffocated by a scent that belonged to my darkest nightmares. It was expensive wood, dark leather, and something uniquely, heavily
Thane.
I looked up and stared directly into a pair of icy, piercing blue eyes.
Thane Devereux stared back down at me. His heavy jaw was locked tight. The physical heat of his large hands radiated straight through the sleeves of my coat, burning my skin much worse than the spilled coffee. The static in the air between us was massive. It felt like standing directly under a live power line.
"You usually prefer a scalpel, Doctor," Thane said. His deep voice vibrated in his chest, sending a physical shockwave into my hands. "Today you are using caffeine as a weapon?"
I ripped my elbows out of his hard grip and took one step back, putting some distance between us and kept my face entirely blank.
"You are in my way, Mr. Devereux," I said smoothly. I looked down at the dark brown stain ruining his expensive clothes. "That seems to be a habit of yours."
Thane did not blink. He looked down at his chest. He looked back up at my face.
"My suit is ruined," he stated. His tone was low and flat. "This was custom-made in London."
"Send the bill to my office," I replied without missing a beat. "I am sure your accountants can find room for it between the bribes and the lawsuits."
He took a slow step forward. He used his massive height to loom over me, intentionally invading my personal space. The other customers in the shop stepped back, giving us a wide circle. They felt the danger.
"Are you always this careless?" Thane asked. He tilted his head. He watched my lips as I breathed.
"Only when billionaires stand exactly where I need to walk," I shot back, looking at the thick pulse beating slowly at the base of his neck. I hated how much I noticed it. I hated how handsome he looked when he was annoyed.
The sharp cut of his dark hair, the aggressive line of his jaw. The way the ruined charcoal shirt strained tight against his broad chest.
"You have a very sharp tongue, Dr. Solene," Thane said quietly. He did not raise his voice, forcing me to lean in slightly to hear him. "It does not match your profession. Healers are usually gentle."
"I cut people open for a living," I told him, keeping my eyes locked on his. "I use a bone saw to crack human ribs. There is absolutely nothing gentle about my job, Mr. Devereux."
"Clearly," he murmured. His icy eyes dropped to the dark coffee stain on my white silk blouse. The hot liquid made the fabric cling tightly to my skin. I saw his jaw clench. He looked back up to my eyes. "You owe me a suit. And you owe me an apology for the assault."
"I do not owe you a single thing."
"I demand a lunch," Thane said. It was not a request. It was an order. "You ruined my morning. You will sit down with me to settle the debt. Call it a business professional courtesy."
I let out a short, cold laugh. "You want to have lunch with me over a spilled cup of coffee? Are you that bored in your glass tower?"
"I want what is owed to me," he said. He did not step back. The heat coming off his body was overwhelming. "Today. Noon."
"I refuse," I said sharply. "I have a dying woman's chest to open?"
“And you still won't treat my mother.”
“I still will.”
Thane’s eyes turned a shade darker. The reminder of his mother’s failing heart hit him, but it did not break his focus. He was a predator locked onto his prey.
"You refused to operate because she was stressed," he challenged. "Are you making excuses today?"
"I operate on my schedule. Not yours." I tightened my grip on my expensive leather handbag. The tension between us was an invisible wire pulled so tight it was ready to snap. "I am not going to lunch with you today."
"Then next week," he demanded. He refused to lose the negotiation.
I stared at him. I weighed my options. He was a man who did not understand the word no. If I kept refusing, he would keep pushing. He would show up at my hospital. He would show up at my office. I needed him out of my face right now.
"Fine," I snapped. I kept my voice cold and entirely detached. "Next week. My assistant will send you a time and a location. Do not be late."
"I am never late," Thane said.
He finally took a step back. The suffocating physical pressure lifted slightly.
I did not say goodbye. I walked around him. I pushed the heavy glass doors of the coffee shop open and stepped out into the freezing New York wind. My high heels clicked sharply on the wet concrete pavement. I kept my head high. I walked with absolute authority.
But inside my wool coat, my hands were shaking violently. I hated him for what he did to me five years ago. I hated the arrogant, entitled way he spoke to me. But more than anything, I absolutely hated myself for the way my skin tingled where his large hands had gripped my arms.