Chapter 47: If You Let Me

Chapter 47: If You Let Me
Chapter 47: If You Let Me

EVANGELINE

The smell of what I assume is grilled meat hits me the moment I step out of the elevator.

As I cross the room, it grows stronger, and the scene I find in the kitchen ahead makes me stop in my tracks.

He’s… cooking?

For a moment, I take it in.

Standing at the stove, sleeves rolled up, he moves the spatula across the pan, his forearms exposed.

I never imagined I’d see Aleksander cooking—let alone dressed like this, in his dress shirt and slacks.

Turning calmly, his gaze lands on me, but he says nothing, as if my presence is little more than an inconvenience.

“Hungry?” he asks at last.

I blink, dragging my attention away from the exposed skin beneath the first few undone buttons of his shirt.

“You… cook?” I ask, sounding more surprised than I’d like.

“Sometimes,” he says, turning his back to me and refocusing on the stove.

I shake my head, trying to regain composure as I approach the counter.

“I’m going back home,” I declare, staring at his back.

He stops moving the spatula.

“You should take a shower,” he says, the way he avoids the point irritating me.

“No. Either way, I appreciate the hospitality,” I say, keeping the sarcasm in check.

Setting the spatula aside, he turns back to me.

“It’s still not safe for you to go back,” he states, holding my gaze.

I can’t tell if he’s saying that because he hasn’t figured anything out yet or because he has new information. But I don’t think it matters right now.

“I understand. But I don’t feel comfortable with this situation anymore.”

“Situation?” he asks, eyes narrowing slightly in confusion.

“I mean… you’re basically my boss now, aren’t you?” I say.

His expression relaxes as he understands, but he shows no reaction.

“So you already know,” he says.

“Yes. I found out… and not from you.”

“Does that bother you?” he asks. “It’s just business.”

Business?

His indifference is so irritating. He can’t just act like it’s irrelevant.

“Of course. For you. But like I was saying, I don’t think it’s right for me to stay here,” I insist.

“Do you really care about that? Do you think it has anything to do with you?”

“No. It just doesn’t feel right.”

“Then just pretend nothing changed.”

“I don’t think I can do that.”

“And I can’t allow you to leave while it’s not safe,” he says, his tone as firm as his gaze.

“You can’t keep me here forever,” I provoke, with a faint, almost dark smile.

He doesn’t respond, just holds my gaze, and for a moment, there’s something there—a dark shadow over that blue—that makes me hold my breath.

“I’m hungry,” he declares, turning his back on me, finally allowing me to breathe again.

“You should take a shower before we talk about the investigation,” he adds a moment later.

“Of course… boss,” I say, frustration creeping in, before walking away.

✽

Aleksander is sitting at the table when I come back down after my shower. He stands as I approach.

I stop in front of the table.

“Can we talk now?” I ask.

Without answering, his gaze drifts over my body. I follow it, looking down at my pajamas—a white tank top and black shorts.

“Sorry for the lack of formality. I’m running out of options,” I say, suddenly feeling too exposed.

Ignoring my comment, he steps closer, making me instinctively step back as he pulls out a chair for me.

“Sit.” He gestures. “Eat. We’ll talk after.” His words draw my attention to the plate of meat and vegetables on the table.

He served this for me?

“Thank you… you didn’t have to,” I say, a little unsettled.

“I’ll let you eat,” he says, stepping away from the table, which makes me assume he’s already eaten.

I take a step toward the chair, about to sit down, when he stops beside me. Too close for me to look at him—or even breathe properly.

“The pajamas suit you…” His words, nearly whispered against my temple, send warmth spreading across my skin. “Like everything else on you.”

Then he steps away.

My body still tense, I take a moment to process what just happened.

Was that… flirting?

No. It was just a compliment. It’s nothing.

I just need my body to understand that.

✽

When I finish eating, I gather the dishes and take them to the sink.

“You don’t have to do that.” His voice comes from the living room.

I hear his footsteps approaching.

“I think I’ve already said that,” he adds.

I glance over my shoulder at him, now standing behind the counter.

“It’s fine. I’ll just load the dishwasher,” I say, turning back to the dishes. “Did you find anything?” I ask, getting straight to the point.

Silence settles for a moment, making me think he won’t answer.

“He knows exactly what he’s doing,” he says, enough to make me turn toward him. “The number is real, but it doesn’t lead anywhere,” he continues. “It was meant to be disposable.”

“So we’ll never know who it is?”

“We’ll find another way.”

“I don’t see how,” I say, frustrated, turning back to what I was doing.

A moment later, I hear his footsteps moving away. Over my shoulder, I see him heading toward the dining table.

Intrigued, I finish loading the dishwasher.

When he returns, the clink of glass draws my attention. I turn to find a glass set on the counter in front of him.

“Drink,” he instructs.

“Do you solve everything with wine?” I tease.

“It’ll help.”

“With what?” I ask, stepping closer as I take the glass.

“There has to be something else. Anything that helps us get to him.”

“I can’t think of anything.”

He brings the glass to his lips, seeming to think.

“Where did you see him for the first time?” he asks after a moment.

“I think it’s useless… it’s practically on the other side of the country,” I say.

“Where?”

“Colorado,” I say. “A cabin in Aspen. It was a holiday… I shouldn’t have gone alone, but my friend had something come up…” I sigh. “I should’ve known it wasn’t a good idea to stay alone in a place like that.”

“You weren’t. That was the problem.”

“I never should’ve gone.”

Suddenly, he moves, circling the counter.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says, stopping in front of me—close enough to throw me off balance.

“I just… I’d rather not remember.”

“But you can’t forget.”

“I will… someday.”

“No. Not until you admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“What you felt.”

“I…” I look away, focusing on the wine in my glass. “I think I just need to go back home,” I say, avoiding the subject before taking a sip.

But when I lower the glass, his eyes are still on me.

“No.” He lifts a hand to my face, making me stop breathing. “You don’t want to forget,” he says, his thumb gently brushing the corner of my mouth. “You want to understand what you felt.”

“I don’t—”

“Yes.” He steps closer. “And I can help you… if you let me.”