Chasing the Flame

CHAPTER NINE

ETHAN

The most beautiful women are the ones who don't even know it.

POV

What the hell was wrong with me now!

I never thought of a woman this way. I must've been completely insane paying her that much to work at my apartment when I clearly didn't need her help. Every decision I made felt out of line, irrational, but somehow I couldn't stop myself. It wasn't just about needing company—it was about her. The way she carried herself, so quietly, so unintentionally graceful. I couldn't stand not having her around, but I couldn't admit it either. It was all-consuming.

The truth was I just wanted to see her face and all her amazing reactions. It wasn't about the work, it wasn't about needing someone to help me—it was her. From the moment I saw her at the restaurant the other day, something shifted. That was when I began observing how fragile she seemed. It intrigued me—her softness, her quiet vulnerability. It irritated me, made me restless, like I needed to break through that gentleness and see what else lay underneath.

I needed to go out, cool off some steam. Maybe I was bored. Maybe that's why I couldn't get her off my mind. My thoughts kept wandering back to her—her eyes, the way she smiled, the subtle tension in her posture. It gnawed at me, frustratingly so, like I was trapped in my own damn head, searching for something I couldn't even define.

Maybe I should call Andrew! Ooh no! He'd definitely have a good laugh, and that would haunt me for the rest of my life. He'd turn this into some kind of joke, make it into something it wasn't, and the last thing I needed was more confusion.

'Should I call her using my office cell phone?'

Ooh no!! I'll look too desperate. Desperate. Me. It sounded ridiculous, but deep down, I knew that's exactly what it was. Desperation, longing, whatever you wanted to call it. And it made me hate myself a little more for feeling this way.

After about 10 minutes, I decided to call her. I couldn't take it anymore—the indecision, the questions spinning in my mind. I needed to hear her voice, to know she was still there, still within reach.

After the third ring, she picked up, her voice a little shaky, like she was unsure or nervous. Somehow, that just made me feel worse.

"Miss Stafford, my driver would pick you up in 30 minutes. You should be done by then." I hung up before I could let her speak, before I could betray the neediness crawling up inside me. I didn't want her to hear it in my voice—the hesitation, the struggle.

She arrived at my mansion in about an hour, looking gorgeous—a word I didn't use lightly. That serrated gown she wore accentuated her curves in ways that had me clenching my fists in frustration. I should've known better.

Damn! Was she trying to torture me? There was no way she could be oblivious to the effect she had on me, and yet, she always seemed so unaware, so modest. It was maddening.

She wasn't even my type, so why did I find her outfit amazing? Why was everything she did making me question myself? My type was strong, independent women who could hold their own in any situation. Kimberly was...different. But maybe that was the problem. Maybe her difference was what pulled me in, against my better judgment.

I didn't know why my heart hammered foolishly every time I was around her—it had to be because I found her very eccentric. Something about her was out of place, offbeat in a way that made me want to keep watching, to figure her out. She wasn't just another woman. She was something entirely other, and that scared the hell out of me.