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I’m about to tell him that when I notice Evan turning to leave. I blurt out quickly to stop him. “I want to be there. What time will he be here?”

“Nine. I’ll make you a coffee while you get dressed. Do you want any breakfast?” he asks, his tone softening in a way that makes my stomach do somersaults. When he talks to me like this, it’s easy to forget he’s mad at me.

“Maybe just some toast, please, if that’s okay? I will grab a quick shower and come down.”

I think it looks like he’s nodding as he turns to leave. “Meet you in the kitchen,” he replies, before leaving the room and pulling the door closed behind him.

With a groan, I flop back onto the bed, pulling the duvet over my head, so I can drown out the world for just a few more seconds. Even though I’ve had more than my fair share of meetings with Desmond over the last couple of years, I’m not going to lie and say he still doesn’t scare the shit out of me, because he does. Though it’s not like I’m confronting him by myself—I have Evan by my side, which is a really weird feeling.

Get your ass out of bed, Tee, I snap at myself, remembering that I don’t have a whole lot of time before Desmond arrives. I’d like to have drunk at least half my coffee before he gets here.

Rushing around, I quickly take a shower and get myself ready for the day. I don’t have time to dry my hair, so I towel as much of the excess water away as I can, and pull it into a long braid down my back. I don’t bother with any make-up, and just use a little moisturiser instead.

I pull on my favourite pair of jeans and a baggy black T-shirt, as well as some comfy, fluffy socks, and head down to the kitchen. As soon as my eyes land on Evan, I feel severely underdressed.

He’s wearing his usual all black suit that I now know he sees almost like a uniform. Straight black trousers, pressed so perfectly you can see a seam line down the front, crisp black shirt, and matching black jacket. His shoes shine so bright, I’m sure I could see my reflection in them.

There’s not a slightest bit of colour on him, making him look even more sexy. His pretty pink lips stand out against the monochrome suit.

If I were to wear all black, I’d look like an anaemic vampire, as my skin would appear impossibly pale compared to all the darkness. Yet with Evan, somehow it makes his skin appear more sun-kissed. He’s a walking anomaly, and I can’t stop staring at him.

He clears his throat, clearly to get me to stop fucking looking at him. As I take a seat on one of the stools opposite him at the kitchen island, a blush spreads across my cheeks. With a smirk, he slides my favourite mug over to me, steam billowing above it.

“Here’s your coffee. Do you want jam on your toast or just butter?” he asks, as he jumps off his stool and turns towards the toaster, just as it pops to say it’s ready.

I lift the coffee to my lips, taking a small sip so I don’t burn myself. “Just butter, please,” I reply, as he walks to the fridge and pulls out the butter.

He begins spreading it onto the toast, cutting each slice in half. When all four slices are buttered and cut, he places them onto a large plate, and slides it into the middle of the kitchen island. “Help yourself,” he says with a nod, as he picks up a piece of toast for himself.

I watch as he brings the slice to his mouth, taking a bite. He licks his lips to catch any crumbs and butter that may be stuck there, and I’m fucking salivating, but it has nothing to do with food. I didn’t think it was possible for him to look sexier, yet he seems to manage it.

His lips tilt into a smirk, and I know he can tell what I’m thinking. Cocky asshole. I quickly try to change the subject, to claw back a little piece of dignity. “Does Desmond know why he’s coming?”

Evan’s face darkens at the mention of his father, looking more menacing than I’ve seen him in a long time. “No. He just thinks I want a meeting with him.”

I know what I’m about to say next will most likely piss him off, but I have to voice my thoughts, anyway. “Don’t get me wrong, I think this is a conversation we need to have… I’m just wondering if it matters.”

His eyes fly up to meet mine, his brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

I let out a small sigh. “Well, we’re already fairly certain Desmond is responsible for causing us to split. I guess I’m just wondering what we’re going to gain by asking him why he did it. We know he did it so he wouldn’t lose his heir. Hearing him confirm that isn’t going to change the past.”

Evan shakes his head, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t still confront him. He ruined both of our lives, and we have a right to hold him accountable for that,” he snaps.

I hold my hands up, hoping it’s enough to placate him into calming down. “I agree, he should be held accountable. I’m just not sure what it will change.”

Evan nods slowly, taking in what I said. “My father has been on thin ice with me for a while, and this is the last straw. I’ve spent my whole life following his every command, but now I’m in charge, and he needs to know he can’t manipulate me anymore.”

“I think that’s a much better reason for this meeting. Don’t go in there full of hate and anger. Just tell him how you feel, and what you want to happen moving forwards,” I reply calmly, trying to keep the already precarious situation from bubbling over.

This thing between Evan and his father is ongoing. He’s been following him his whole life, and has never had reason to question his motives. Though lately, he’s found out his father has been less than genuine in nearly all aspects of his life, and I don’t think Evan knows who Desmond really is any more. For someone who has been trying to emulate that man for as long as I can remember, I’m guessing that’s a hard pill to swallow.

We’re just finishing off the last of the toast when the doorbell rings. Evan has already seen Desmond approaching on the security cameras, so he doesn’t pull his gun, or have mehide while he answers the door like he usually does. He greets Desmond formally, as do I, and we move into the sitting room.

Evan wanted to do this in the upstairs meeting room, to keep things more formal, but I told him we shouldn’t. Whether he wants to admit it or not, this is absolutely a personal meeting, and he needs to approach it that way.

“Can I get you a drink, Desmond?” I ask politely as he takes a seat in one of the comfy armchairs.

“Just a glass of water would be lovely, please, Teigan,” he replies, giving me a smile.