I wrapped my fists around the headboard, my breath was heavy as I groaned. The image of a pair of black eyes staring back at me from across the room was vivid in my head. My mind as if shut it down instantly. A pang of something tense filled my heart. Sweat trickled down my chest as it heaved with a mix of pleasure and yet disappointment. I opened my eyes abruptly. The heat, the mindless pleasure had served its purpose. Or at least, it should have.
The woman beneath me slim, and thoroughly satisfied traced a teasing finger along my neck. Her painted nails cool against my skin grabbed my attention; pulling me out of my trance.
"You seemed angry," she murmured, her voice sultry, curious. "I hope I helped."
My eyes flickered down to her. She looked at me with a faint smile dancing on her lips. The same beautiful face everyone had, the same red hair like everyone and the familiar need in the eyes.
I pulled away and sat straight on the edge of the bed. I grabbed my shirt from the nearby chair and slipped it on with ease, not bothering to meet her gaze again.
"Don't cross the line," I barked back. "Take your money and get out."
There was no argument. There never was one. She was used to men like me—powerful, detached and cold. She slipped out of the bed, gathering her things as I finished dressing. She didn't say goodbye. The door clicked shut behind her. A sigh left my lips. I stepped up, rolling my shoulders gently.
As I buttoned up my cufflinks and slipped into my blazer, a realization settled within me, like the release had not been enough. The tension still simmered beneath my skin, refusing to let go. I couldn't hold the irritation that had not left my body since last week. Something had been making me act out of lines a lot and somewhere deep I knew what it was. I knew it was the night I had seen Elena again after 5 years. After I had believed nothing worse could happen, she returned. She had been calm, poised; too calm and too poised. Nothing like I remembered her.
I ran a hand over my face.
Get a grip on yourself Johnathan.
It was late, but the night wasn't over yet. I had better things to than to waste my thoughts on her.
I walked outside, the car waiting for me as expected.
****
The bar Liam had picked was one of our usual spots; quiet enough to talk, yet secluded enough to keep prying eyes away. It was the kind of place where men like me and him could exist without the weight of our last names. Here everyone was like us, uninterested, closed off and usually quiet. The place was dimly lit, with a dine in. I walked through the glass doors on a corner and took another small turn to the first left.
Liam was already seated at a corner booth, sipping his whiskey when I entered. His big built spread neatly against the couch. His legs crossed and one arm held the back rest like he owned the place. He did actually. He tilted his glass in acknowledgement and I took a seat opposite of him, lifting up the drink already ordered for me. I sipped a small portion, the bittersweet taste spread on my tongue. I gulped gently trying to savor the warm feeling that was making its way down my throat.
Liam smirked without looking up. "Took your time, didn't you?" He swirled the amber liquid in his glass. "Let me guess. Busy being an asshole to some poor woman who thought she had a chance with you?"
I exhaled sharply, signalling the bartender with two fingers. "She knew the deal." He knew I didn't commit after what had happened last time yet always had to say something about my business.
"Ah, of course." He let out a low chuckle.
I shot him a glare, but he only grinned wider.
The bartender slid another glass of whiskey in front of him. "You wanted to talk about something or just waste my time?"
Liam leaned back, tapping his fingers against his glass. "Word is, Elena Zhao's back in town." There was a kind of amusement in his eyes that lay somewhere between sympathy and humor. His black eyes shone with something more than curiosity.
My fingers wrapped painfully tight against the glass in my hand. I took my eyes away from his face and inhaled a breath. Asshole. Once again, the image of her brown eyes across the hall and as she stood next to me assessing me like she had never done before. Something about her remark still lingered. 'I am grateful, aren't you?'
Liam huffed a laugh. "Nothing? No witty remark?" He turned to face me fully, studying me with his stare. He had known me since the day we were born. Worse was he knew Elena equally well. The three of us had grown up together. I knew the things I shouldn't have, and he knew things he should never know. He had his ways to find every torturous piece of information that existed. "She must have looked good." His smile widened.
I scoffed. "She looked unbothered."
He raised a brow. "And that bothers you?"
"It pisses me off," I admitted, my voice came out sharper than I had intended. "She walked in like she didn't know a damn thing. Like we weren't always supposed to end up here." I took another sip, my jaw tensed.
"She plays the part well. She acts carefree, untouchable. But I know her. She's not that good of an actress." I claimed. My eyes met his with a knowing lingering between us. With my words, danced a truth to the rhythm of the past.
He tilted his head. "Or maybe she actually moved on." His smile faded into a seriousness that rarely showed on his face.
"Good for her," I said flatly.
He whistled lowly. "And it doesn't bother you at all right?"
I exhaled, setting my glass down. "I don't care what she does. She could run again if she wants." I looked at Liam and somewhere within, a pang of irritation rose again. Like it never left. "But she won't." A finality danced in my tone.
Liam studied me for a long moment before grinning. "You say you don't care, but you sure as hell talk about her like you do."
I didn't reply. I did not need to. His statements were as empty as his smile that he wore every second of the day. We both knew well, what really was the truth. Me and Elena could never be more than what we already were, a chaser and a runner.
"She had a chance to make things better. But she just makes me hate her more and more with the act of indifference and naivety she wears." I added as I ran a hand through my face. My brows furrowed together into a scorn. She had returned, and she had returned at the worst moment.
"There is something you aren't telling me and I can tell just by how annoyed you are. Is this about the inheritance?"
Like he pressed a sore nerve, my irritation rose further.
"Forget about it. What about the Callhan Project with those American company?" I asked and with that, everything disappeared into nothing. The conversation turned to the usual discussions, his laughs and humour and a part of me felt a little normal, a little at peace.
But on the back of my mind, father's words echoed, sharp.
It was always meant to be her. It was always supposed to happen.
I had been informed, not asked. It had never been a choice, and yet, she had looked at me like a stranger that night in the hall.
Like she wasn't aware of the strings that had always tied us together.
I had spent years burying everything that had ever connected me to her. My resentment. My memories. The reckless desperation she had once thrown at my feet. And now, here she was, walking into my life again, pretending she didn't know, didn't feel it.
She had moved on.
And yet, somehow, she still managed to be the most infuriating thing in my life.