Page 86 of Velvet Corruption

When I finally went downstairs with my hair wrapped up in a towel and wearing a fluffy bathrobe over my pajamas, Alek already had two mugs out on the kitchen island, two empty wine glasses, and a bottle of Prosecco sitting between them.

"I stopped by that bakery you like,” he said, voice clipped, like he was determined to stay on script and not acknowledge the part where I’d vanished into thin air for the second time in as many weeks. “They were closed, obviously, but I called in a favor.”

That was Alek. The kind of man who called in favors from bakery owners when he was mad at you. I eyed the box suspiciously but took the thermos, testing the warmth in my hands. “This coffee?”

“Tea,” he corrected. “Chamomile. Decaf. Since you apparently have no regard for your own well-being, I figured I’d at least try.”

I swallowed, hating how that landed in my chest. “Alek—”

“No.” He shook his head, finally looking at me, and his expression shifted. I saw the exact moment he put it together, the way his gaze dropped to my still-damp skin, the wet bandages on my hand, the oil I hadn’t managed to get out of my hair, the bruises beginning to form along my arms. His entire body went still.

“What the hell happened to you?”

I turned away, needing a second to think. “I fell.”

“You fell?”

“Yeah.” I tightened my grip on the thermos. “Into some water.”

Alek made a sharp, disbelieving sound, stepping closer. “Try again.”

I exhaled hard. “Alek—”

"I’m starting to think the Boston Harbor thing wasn’t a joke," he deadpanned, but his voice was thin, his eyes locked onto mine like he was waiting for me to break first. “And I can smell the saltwater from here, not to mention the dirt and the…what is that? Industrial oil? So, either you developed a sudden, passionate love for late-night swims in disgusting water, or something happened that you’re not telling me.”

I hesitated, too long. He knew me better than anyone else. And right now, he was watching me like I was a live wire, like he could hear the buzzing under my skin. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “Was it Kieran?”

My breath caught, just enough that I knew he saw it. Alek sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fuck.”

I swallowed. “It’s not what you think.”

“It’s exactly what I think.” His gaze flicked back to my arms, his jaw tightening. “Jesus, Ruby.”

I shook my head quickly. “No. No, he saved me.”

“He saved you?”

“He was…there. When I was in trouble,” I said. “He’s been there when I was in trouble.”

Alek took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. “I can’t fucking believe--”

“It’s over, Alek. It’s over, okay? I told him I never wanted to see him again. I told him I’m taking down the Callahans. Whatever was going on there, I promise you, I stopped it tonight.”

Alek stared at me, long and hard, then finally, exhaled. He didn’t look any less frustrated, but he nodded, just once. I’d take it. “Okay. I’m not…look, I’m here for a reason.”

“Okay…”

And then, as if he needed to physically change the subject before he did something regrettable, he handed me the box. “Here.”

I took it warily, putting the thermos down on the kitchen island.

“What’s this?”

“Cake. It’s cake. We’re eating cake.”

I raised my eyebrows. “We’re…eating cake?”

“It’s what people with self-preservation instincts eat after something traumatic. And you deserve an apology. I was a jerk to you. I'm not your father," he said. "You can do what you want. Really. I'm worried about you, about your campaign, fuck, about it all. But you didn't deserve that. Anyway, they couldn't fit 'I'm sorry I shouted at you, anger is my trauma response' onto the face of the cake so you just get a fun colorful sorry.” His voice was light, but there was an edge to it. “And since I’m assuming you didn’t stop for dinner on the way home, you’re eating it.”