Page 21 of Temporary Vows

Dad takes in the scene in one sweeping glance, and his eyes lock on my hands at Parker’s neck. I note the moment he realizes I’m seconds away from strangling my cousin to death.

Dad’s eyes bulge, and he throws up his hands. “Oh my fucking God, Dorian.”

I hold on to Parker for one more heartbeat before I release him, allowing him to drop to the ground. He doubles over in a fit of coughs and wheezes.

Dad shakes his head. “Dorian. My office.Now.”

* * *

The coffeehouse is almost empty when I finally look up from my laptop.

I’ve been here for a few hours. Now it’s late. The kind of late where the chatter is gone and only the hum of the fridges and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine fill the silence.

My cup of coffee sits untouched, long gone cold, the surface as dark as the night sky outside.

I don’t often come here more than once a week. Sometimes not even that. But I needed to get neutral ground to finish up my work. Somewhere that doesn’t smell like my father’s disappointment or Parker’s cologne.

I’m a workaholic at best. Most nights see me burning the midnight oil at Vale Global. But I couldn’t stand being in that building for another second.

My father’s words still ring in my ears. He chewed out my ass and ripped me a new one. Then he had the audacity to tell me I should be grateful Parker isn’t pressing charges for assault.

“Do you have any idea what that would do to us right now? To you?”He’d added with that look of intense displeasure.

I don’t regret putting my hands on Parker. I regret that the door was open.

I regret giving my father more ammunition for hisyou’re unstablenarrative. And I regret the victorious look Parker gave me when he straightened his tie, like he’d just watched me prove every accusation right without lifting a finger.

One outburst, and I’m the problem.

Not the cousin who came into my office promising to take my job.

Not the leak sabotaging our company from the inside.

Me.

I run a hand down my face and refocus on the spreadsheet glowing back at me. Numbers and deals. The things that make sense when nothing else does.

But my mind keeps drifting.

Drifting to all the reminders that I’m one headline away from being finished.

Movement tugs at the edge of my vision, then a flash of sandy-blonde hair.

I look up, and my gaze lands on the beautiful young woman who used to be off-limits to me walking up the stairs.

She’s coming up from the lower level, a dust cloth in hand. She wipes the banister as she climbs, her head bowed and hair slipping forward to hide her face. Then she turns to reach for the next section, and her profile tips toward me.

Green eyes.

A dust of freckles on her nose.

Those curving lips I remember far too well.

For a second, the room tilts.

Elodie Harper.

Again.