Page 16 of A Ruthless Arrangement
I stand up and nod. “Yes, but?—”
She doesn’t even let me finish, which is surprising. She doesn’t seem the type to be rude like that, especially not with someone she’s scared of. “Great. See you soon.”
She turns and all but flees the coffee shop, yanking open the door with a bit more force than necessary and nearly running into someone that’s making their way inside. She apologizes and ducks her head before power walking down the street, back towards the hotel.
I stand there in some level of shock. I’ve shot people for interrupting me like that. Granted, it’s usually a deliberate attempt to disrespect me. This doesn’t feel like that at all.
I shake my head and grab my drink, making sure my phone and wallet are in my pockets before following her out. I see Liam already trailing her from across the the street, and Jack moves in to follow behind me.
She’s walking fast, and Liam has to jog for a bit to keep up with her. He turns and shoots me a look over his shoulder.What the feck happened?
I’m asking myself the same question.
What are you running from, sweet Amy? Because it’s not just me.
8
Amy
Everything is soloud,both in my head and out of it. The coffee shop wasn’t a good idea. It’s too loud and chaotic when I was already stressed out and upset. And then throwing my futurehusbandinto the mix and…I was a mess before we even sat down. Nervous about meeting him, about speaking with a man so lethal and powerful…and then everything just kept going wrong.
I know he was toying with me, teasing me, perhaps even making fun of me. Everything he said seemed to be some kind of criticism on where I could improve. All while the coffee shop kept buzzing with activity, the coffee machines screeching in the background.
I knew I was out of my depth, but now I realize just how far that went. He expected me to be some sort of brat, demanding his money and crying and complaining if I didn’t get what I want. I thought I presented myself well, but apparently not well enough.
The realization that he already had an idea of me—an incorrect one at that—was enough to push me over the edge, until it felt like my world was falling down around me. Usually, once people had an idea of me, no matter how I act and provethem wrong, they don’t change their minds. I doubt this man, who’s used to being in control, would be any different. I sense an ego about him that probably won’t admit when he’s wrong. So how will that work in amarriage?
And then there’s the fact that he didn’t deny that he’d kill me and my family. In fact, he kind ofreinforcedit. The stakes are high, and it seems he’s determined to think ill of me. To get me off of his back and make me out to be something I’m not.Just like everyone else. But the only difference is, he’s a vicious and dangerous man that can hurt me. Will he get tired of my perceived offenses and kill me if I annoy him enough, even if I’m not intending to be anything but respectful and courteous?
I’m overwhelmed. Part of this arrangement hadn’t felt real until he was sitting before me, talking about marriage and killing me and hisbusiness.Calling it that felt like calling a sharka minnow. Except I’d far rather risk swimming with a shark than testing Kerry Alasdair’s anger. A shark would have more mercy.
I can barely focus on where I’m going as I walk, dodging people and wincing at the screaming noise of the city. All of the honks, shouting, and car noises crescendoing in a chorus of madness. It makes my head buzz and my body tremble. My chest feels tight, and I wipe my face with my sleeves, brushing away the silly little tears that leak, the physical manifestation of my overwhelm finally spilling over.
A quiet life.That’s what I’ve always wanted.Peace.A little house in the country, working from home, walks in nature, dancing in the rain. Not having to be around anyone so I could be myself without fear or reservation. Being around people means constantly questioning myself and whether I’m saying the right thing or not.
And yet I’ve fallen into living the opposite.
I push the doors of the hotel open, stepping in and keeping my head down as I hurry to the elevators. There’s a group ofpeople getting in, and they hold the door open for me, but I smile politely at them and shake my head, wanting to go alone. I couldn’t be around a group of people anymore, not even for thirty seconds in a cramped elevator. They look confused, but let the doors close.
My heart is racing. I’m on the verge of outright sobbing, and it’s miserable. I try to focus on keeping my breathing level, but it’s difficult.
This is dumb. So dumb. The dumbest thing ever. I literally just went to a coffee shop and talked with a dude. I shouldn’t be reacting like this. It’s ridiculous.
I obviously knew it’s a lot more than that, but it’s humiliating, even if no one notices. I didn’t want to give my future husband anymore reason to think I’m a spoiled brat, nor did I want to make a fool of myself in front of everyone in New York City.As if it wasn’t clear enough that I didn’t belong in this swanky hotel, I become an emotional mess and cry in the lobby like a baby.Do rich people even have emotions? If they do, they certainly don’t let them overwhelm them like this—to point of embarrassing themselves in public.At least I don’t think they do. The ones I’ve seen are always so refined and poised.
Unless something doesn’t go their way, and then they yell at workers and throw a tantrum.
Okay, so maybe they do make fools of themselves and are emotional messes. But their outbursts are socially acceptable.Mine aren’t.
But then again, what part of meissocially acceptable? Not much. That’s kind of the point of my diagnosis.
A new elevator finally arrives and I hurry into it. I press the button for my floor and pray for the doors to close before anyone else comes.
But, as if summoned out of my thoughts with a determination to make my life a living hell, Mr. Irish Demonhimself catches the door and steps in. His eyes narrow as he observes me.
It’s awkwardly silent as he presses the button and steps back.I want to crawl out of my skin and leave it behind.His cologne is light and fresh, something expensive I’m sure. It smelled slightly fruity and amber-y. It’s light enough that I didn’t smell it until we’re now in close proximity and in the confined space of this elevator. Somehow, it reminds me that I’m not like him. Bath and Body Works has been the only thing I could afford for most of my life, even if I had braved going to buy them.Talk about overstimulation. That store is a sensory nightmare.
He’s quiet for a moment as the elevator moves. Finally, his deep voice speaks, and I wish he wouldn’t. I was starting to be able to pretend that he wasn’t there. “I didn’t mean to upset you, love.” Even though I know that term of endearment is common where he’s from, it still makes my stomach flip like I’m on a rollercoaster.
