To Steal a Darling

Chapter 3

Alexander

Why I wasn't mad, I'd never know. I'd gotten madder about less, but here I was, laughing breathily about getting the shit knocked out of me.

I'd rolled the office chair across the room, situated in front of the full-length mirror with a tissue wrapped around my finger. I dabbed at the blood that was halfway dried beneath my nose, and once that was mostly cleaned up, I focused on the lip.

My ears perked when I heard the bathroom door open from down the hall, her shoes thudding against the marble floor as she neared the office. She was moving slow, but when she scuffed her feet to a halt, I spun around in my red chair. The ends of her hair was wet, probably from leaning over the sink to wash her face, but she was clean save for a scratched, bruised lip.

"I'm sorry for...uh...how do I put it?"

My grin turned toothy. "You didn't break my nose, so there's that." I stood, tossing the tissue into the trash can nearest my desk before walking up to her. Her head dipped back to look up at me, lashes heavy over her face as she studied me. She was a fiery little thing, I could tell. I didn't want to be on the other end of her anger. "My lip, on the other hand, is royally fucked."

Her focus darted to my lips for a fleeting moment before she smirked. "You can handle it," she said quietly. "Everybody needs a little bit of character."

I hummed, the accusation buried in her tone making me giddy. Oh, if she only knew. "Are you insinuating that I don't have character? That I needed to be roughed up?"

"Accusations don't get you very far. So, no, I'd never imply such a thing."

I watched her eyes glimmer with mischief before she tore her gaze from mine, twisting around to look at the art pieces hanging along the hallway walls. They weren't my favorite–nowhere near it, actually–but they were good enough. Too abstract for my liking. She walked up to one of the plaques and read over the artist's name and date.

"Are you a collector?"

"Dealer." I picked at the sleeve of my jacket, straightening the rose cufflink that held it together.

"Oh. So you have money."

I smirked, looking at her through my lashes. She wasn't giving me the time of day as she ventured further down the hall, studying the next one over. I followed slowly. "My family does, rather."

"Oh...so, you have daddy's money?"

Ouch. I sucked in a breath and scratched the back of my head. "Life insurance and an inheritance can get you pretty far."

Kennedy tensed, twisting on her heel and stared at me with those wide hazel eyes. She looked like a deer stuck in the headlights. "I'm–oh my god. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I said quickly and joined her at the piece she was in front of. "This was my dad's business. I never really wanted to run it, but when he passed, I didn't have much of a choice. So you're looking at the proud owner of three prestigious art galleries in Chicago." And, more. But I wouldn't bore her about my family's ventures.

"When my dad died, I got a six pack of beer and a note telling me not to fuck my life up."

"Hope it was good beer." I wiped some dust off the plaque. "The rest of the family get wine?"

"I hate beer. And, no, my sister got sixty grand and the house."

"They say parents don't pick favorites."

"Mine did," she said after whistling. "Anyways. I think I've spent enough of the night insulting you. I'm sorry, again, and thank you for helping me with my ex-psycho."

Kennedy's lips tugged into a trembling smile, nodding her head once before twisting toward the main gallery and shuffling toward it. "Kennedy?"

"Hmm?"

"Wrong way."

She froze before course correcting and saluting at me. "Thanks, cap'n."

I cocked a brow, inhaling as she passed me by. She smelled like lavender and lemon, her scent welcoming. Calming, even. It could only make a guy wonder...
"What are you doing around a guy like that, anyway?" I blurted.

Again, she screeched to a halt before turning at the same time I did. Her eyes darted up and down my torso before she opened her mouth, huffed out, and then snapped it shut. "Well. I don't...I don't know? I've known him for a while."

"And I've known the meth dealer down the street since middle school. Doesn't mean I stick around to see him destroy his life." I saw a defensive flash cross her gaze, but when she hunched over I knew she wasn't going to fight it. I cocked my head, holding up my hands in surrender. "I'm sorry for prying. It was something I was asking myself when I saw you scurrying down the street. Blame it on the concussion but I had to ask."

"Concussion?" she screeched. "You have a–" she paused at my laugh, pursing her lips into a thin line. "Right. Jokes. Ha...ha."

"Haha," I repeated each syllable as monotonously as her, taking a step closer. "Do you always get anxious and trip men down alleyways?"

Her cheeks ripened like an apple when her nostrils flared. "I'm not anxious," she snapped. "I just don't want to get sued for assaulting Batman over here."

"Batman?" I tittered.

"Yes, Bruce Wayne," she bellowed and waved her hand around the hallway of the gallery. This was our private collection, too–I don't think she wanted to see our main gallery in the arts district. "Not all of us have daddy's money to go to court."

"Want to know what I think?" I countered, leaning in to talk low. Her face laxed, brows knitting together as she stood still. She was barely breathing when she parted her lips to gasp.

"W-what?"

"I think I make you nervous."

There it was. That defensive spark shadowed her gaze. "Well, you did almost kidnap me."

"Almost is the key word there."

Kennedy smirked, lips darting to my lips again. For a moment, there was nothing but shared silence as her doe-eyes dragged across my face before catching mine once more. "Goodnight, Alexander."

A breath slipped past my lips, eyes hooding over as I watched her back away. She tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear before twirling around and finding her way to the exit. I leaned on the wall between two large paintings, selfishly memorizing the way her hips swayed to the silent tune of desire.

I was bad for Kennedy. But, boy, did I want a taste. To play with her fire.

Unfortunately, I was a pit of oil waiting to explode. I surely didn't need that type of temptation, and she didn't need that sort of danger.

"Kennedy?" I blurted, despite my better judgment. She didn't turn fully to look at me, but she didn't need to. I pressed my phone to my ear to dial Marcello. "My driver will take you home. It's late."

A smirk, and then her flame faded out of existence as she slipped past the door.