Page 42 of The Burdens We Share (Satan’s Angels #3)

Ivory

My soft pink heels click on the tiles of NexGen Securities’ building.

I’ve of course been here before, when Dallas surprised me with the trip to Texas that we took together, but I haven’t been back since.

Dallas and I have fallen into our busy schedules.

I’ve been back on set working my little butt off to film and Dallas has been working non-stop and catching up on a lot of things he couldn’t do while he was stuck babysitting me for the last few months.

That is not to say that I haven’t seen as much of Dallas, because we make time for each other.

Most of it so happens to be at night though.

Which brings me to why I’m here in the middle of the day with takeout to surprise him. I got to leave set early because the directors omitted an entire scene that I had a heavy part in. They want to replace it with something else, and while they work on that, I took the opportunity to slip away.

I continue my mission all the way to the heavy doors of Dallas’ office, and I make a fist and raise it to knock, my knuckles rapping on the dense door.

There’s a gruff grunt on the other side that sounds annoyed and I smirk as I realize that Dallas most likely thinks I’m a random employee or secretary coming to annoy him.

“What do you want, I’m busy?” His sharp response comes from the other side.

I push the door open, using all of my strength because holy shit it is heavy, and peek my head inside to find Dallas with an extremely annoyed and angry expression on his face.

Boy, would I hate to be his employee? When his eyes take in my face and surprise appearance, his anger dissipates and a small smirk pulls the corner of his lips.

I feel a swarm of butterflies in my stomach at the way that he looks at me.

“Too busy for a lunch break?” I ask, a warm smile on my lips because the sight of him just does things to me.

He rises from his desk and slowly walks around as I fully enter and let the door fall shut behind me.

We walk towards each other and he meets me halfway into the room before he removes the bag from my hands and leans down to kiss me.

It’s a chaste kiss, but his lips linger on mine as if he wants more. I know I do too.

Dallas looks down at the bag in his hand and raises a brow, “You brought lunch? I thought you were stuck on set all day.”

I shrug, “I was, but they decided to change the scene I was working on so I got to head out early. I wanted to surprise you.” I look around his office, my eyes locked on the papers scattered all over his desk.

Suddenly, I feel guilty for not telling him I was coming.

“Sorry. I know you’re busy. I probably should’ve texted first. We don’t have to have lunch together, I don’t want to distu-”

He presses a finger to my lips, shushing me. “Do not finish that sentence. You have never and will never disturb me.”

I exhale in relief. “Okay,” I whisper, a blush taking over my cheeks.

Dallas takes a step back and uses his chin to gesture at the leather couches, “Sit. I’ll get napkins.”

I grin to myself as I obey his command, plopping down on his couch as I begin unpacking the containers from the bag. “No need. I came prepared.” I remove paper napkins along with cutlery and place it down on our containers.

He has an amused look on his face as he seats himself beside me and reaches for my container. He lifts the lid and peers inside, “You want some?” I ask.

Dallas shakes his head, a stern look on his face, “No. I wanted to make sure your meal was adequate.”

I sigh to myself and suddenly the mess of emotions that I’ve experienced when it comes to food, my personal insecurities, and my image come back like a tornado blowing through a straw house.

I’m trying so fucking hard. I really am.

But what they don’t tell you about recovering from something like that is that every day is a challenge.

You get so caught up in eating less, not eating at all, and overdoing it with exercise that it becomes a habit, and just like any bad habit, it’s hard to break.

I’m grateful to Dallas because he cares so much about my well-being and he wants to see me healthy, but I get pretty embarrassed at the idea of what he must think of me.

I lower my eyes and keep my mouth shut. I catch sight of him opening his container from my peripheral and hear the plastic wrapping of the cutlery being opened.

I take my own fork and container and stab a piece of chicken.

I just look at the food on the fork and frown at it.

I’ve been doing so good with eating and getting better.

I think sometimes I’m just my own worst enemy.

“Hey,” Dallas whispers beside me. I continue messing with the food, but I don’t bring the fork to my mouth. I give him a dry look and force a smile. “What’s wrong?” He asks, concern in his voice.

I shake my head, “Nothing.” I force enthusiasm into my voice so that he drops it, but I’m a fool for thinking he ever would. I know him better than that.

He frowns at me, “It isn’t nothing. What’s wrong?”

I sigh before coming clean, “Sometimes I just get embarrassed about the whole thing. Especially with you.”

Dallas’ eyes give nothing away as he stares at me in silence for a moment. I instantly regret my honesty because he isn’t responding. Why isn’t he responding?

His voice darkens, “I make you feel embarrassed?”

I shake my head and reposition myself so that I face him directly. “No, it’s not like that. I don’t know. I just-” I struggle for words. “I- the thought of you thinking differently of me because of this kills me a little.”

“Why would I ever think differently of you?”

I shrug, “Because I wanted to be Cami so badly that I nearly died in the process. Because I’m weak.”

His frown deepens and suddenly heat fills his eyes, “Ivory, you are not weak. You never were and you never will be. What you went through is something that many women go through and to be honest with you, I’m not surprised it happened.”

My eyes widen, “What?”

“I’m not surprised it happened. You’re a celebrity.

Everyone’s eyes are always on you, picking you apart, putting you back together.

When you’re in the public eye, these things are ten times worse.

And to add to that, you aren’t just a regular celebrity.

You’re a model and that makes the pressure worse.

” His voice is gruff as he grits his teeth, “It also doesn’t help that you had Nara as your agent. ”

I flush under his eyes and he softens his voice as he reaches up and tips my chin up with his fingers, “You are beautiful in every fucking way, Ivory Aslan, and I am so sorry that the world made you feel anything but.”

I don’t say anything back. Instead, I close the distance between our lips and I kiss him so hungrily because there are no words to express how he makes me feel.

I was a fool for ever feeling embarrassed.

I was being insecure yet again. I’m working through it and I have this perfect man to thank for it, to guide me through it.

I kiss him until the air escapes my lungs and I’m just running on fumes. He breaks the kiss and smirks against my lips, “Breathe.”

I chuckle as he kisses my forehead. “Make me a promise.” He whispers against my skin.

“Anything,” I whisper back.

He lowers his eyes to meet mine, “Promise me that you will never put yourself through that again. That if you start struggling, you’ll come to me or one of the girls.”

I nod and that agreement is powerful. I’m taking full control of my own life. “I promise.”

A flash of relief flickers in his eyes before sadness seems to take over. “I never want to see you like that again, Ivory. You have no idea what it was like to watch you fall like that. To have to see you in the hospital.”

I frown, “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, “I don’t want your ‘I’m sorry.’ I want your ‘it will never happen again.’”

“It will never happen again,” I raise my chin and say those five words with so much confidence, so much conviction, that I know he believes them, but more importantly, I believe them.

He seems satisfied with my response because he smiles at me and reaches for my container, placing it back in my hands before reaching for his own.

––––––––

I SIGH AUDIBLY, RAISING my feet and resting my heels on the corner of his desk as I wait for him to come back. Dallas stepped out about thirty minutes ago because Harvey called with some emergency meeting for the sharefolders. Or was it shareholders? Oh, who the fuck cares, it’s one of those two.

I’ve been occupying myself by touching everything in Dallas’ pristine office.

I even find that I get amused at the thought of him losing it overseeing my fingerprints on his glass desk.

The man is neurotic and can’t stand a mess.

We really are a perfect match, you know?

He’s obsessively clean and I make a mess of everything.

I’ve touched pretty much everything, and I haven’t found anything interesting.

His computer screen is on with some spreadsheet with a ton of numbers I can’t decipher.

My eyes linger on his computer screen. The computer is the only thing of his I haven’t touched.

I smirk as I sit up straight and scoot closer to the desk.

I sort through his tabs, finding nothing interesting.

I look down at the apps he has and find a minimized screen idling next to his trash.

I click on it out of curiosity and when the screen maximizes, I suck in a sharp breath and feel the color drain from my face.

There, in front of me, is the face of my tormentor.

Connor Mulligan stares back at me from some kind of digital file.