Page 92 of House of Payne

For now, letting them believe she works at the club is better for everyone involved, including her.

The food is cold and bland as I wolf it down, following it with a steaming mug of espresso. I debate whether or not to hunt down Noah’s friend and put his face through a wall. Men like Steven shouldn’t be allowed to get away with such things.

For the rest of the day, I hole up in my office in the club, so I don’t see London. I push my feelings deep down where they can’t distract me. And I tell myself we’re both better off for it.

I remind myself of why London is here when Katia comes in with a progress report on the mayor. I repeat the reasons to myself when Carlisle comes in and we discuss loan repayments. I even think of it again when I catch a glimpse of London through the crack in the door, and I have to keep myself from dragging her into my office.

I can still taste her on my tongue.

If I focus, I can almost smell her perfume.

It’s irritating the shit out of me because I don’t want to have these thoughts.

I intend to fuck her many more times before her contract is up, but not if it means getting this worked up every time.

I need to squash the feelings I’m developing.

I’m not a damaged monster who needs to be redeemed by her love, and I’m not looking for London to save me.

I like my life, and all these feelings do is complicate things.

They’re a nuisance, and as the day drags on and my need for her grows, it only steels my resolve.

Remember what’s at stake. It isn’t a stupid crush. You can’t afford to be distracted,not with an empire to run and your father breathing down your neck.

He would never let me hear the end of it.

Nor would anyone else.

I’m already under enough scrutiny, especially with the Everetts and Fizpatricks breathing down my neck about the location.

Hours later, after I’ve snapped at anyone who crossed my path, I force myself to step out of the office. I’m nursing a drink on the main floor when I see London. I grip the glass tighter and ignore the twitch in my stomach. Thankfully, she doesn’t approach me. She keeps her head down, ducking in and out of rooms she cleans.

Miss Deveroux says something to me, but I’m not listening.

At the end of her shift, London leans across the bar to say something to Miss Deveroux, and I think their eyes land on me briefly. A few moments pass before London sidles up to me and signals for a drink. Slowly, I turn to face her, but she isn’t looking at me.

“Whatever you’re looking for, you’re not going to find it.”

London curls her fingers around the wine glass. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I lean sideways, so my mouth is in front of her ear. “Yes, you do. Don’t fucking pretend you’re not sitting here because of me.”

London turns to me and raises an eyebrow. “Am I not allowed to sit here and have a drink?”

“You can, but that’s not what you’re doing. You’re fishing, but you knew what you were getting into before last night. So, if you’re here to make me feel guilty, it won’t work.”

A flash of surprise moves across her face. “Make you feel guilty about what? We both wanted last night to happen. You never lied about who you were or what you wanted.”

I turn to face her. “But?”

London shrugs and breaks our gaze. “There are no buts. Like I said, I knew what I was getting into. I came to you, anyway.”

I toss back the rest of my drink and narrow my eyes. “Your ex and father are fucking morons. I’d be on my knees begging for your forgiveness if I were them. You could’ve walked away and left your father to deal with his mess.”

London’s grip on her glass tightens. “They don’t know any better, and you’re not like them, so I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Damn straight I’m not.” I stand up and roll my shoulders. “I’m not stupid or ungrateful.”