Chapter 87
Georgia returned to the quiet sanctuary of the Public Relations Department lounge, the faint hum of the air conditioning and the soft tick of the clock the only companions in the empty room. She sank into a worn armchair, the fabric cool against her skin, and glanced around–she was alone, as usual, Minutes stretched into hours, marked only by the slow, steady passing of time. The day waned, and soon it was the hour to leave, but the routine remained unchanged. Just like the day before, no tasks were assigned to her. No calls, no projects, no purpose beyond waiting.
She was no fool. Georgia understood why the silence had fallen over her like a shroud. A month had passed without any work, leaving her idle, watching the world move on without her. The unspoken message was clear–she was sidelined, frozen out. She nursed a vague theory about the cause, the edges of suspicion sharpening into certainty with each empty, day.
Without hesitation, she left the sterile office behind and made her way back to the dormitory she called home. Each step up the stairs echoed her weariness, but she had grown accustomed to this ritual, Like clockwork, she found Larkin waiting at her door, the faint silhouette of his figure stark against the dim hallway light.
This time, Georgia didn’t bother with questions or hesitation. She produced her key, fingers steady despite the familiar tension that churned inside her. With a quiet click, the door swung open, and she stepped inside, turning to Larkin with an invitation, “Come in, Mr. Larkin. I’ll make you something to eat.”
Behind her, Larkin watched silently as she moved through the small kitchen with measured grace. The soft clatter of pots and pans was the soundtrack to her routine, each motion deliberate, practiced. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth–a rare expression for a man often shrouded in cool detachment. Tonight, the mood that settled over him was light, buoyed by some unspoken satisfaction.
He ate with the same measured quietude he always did, the clink of cutlery against plate punctuating the dim stillness. When the meal concluded, a check lay waiting in the corner of the table–twenty thousand dollars, crisp and commanding.
ting forming again on her lips. “I suppose the
Georgia eyed the check with a mixture of suspicion and suriosite the food I make is more expensive than that of a Chapter Unlocked. Enjoy Reading!
Larkin’s brow lifted in mild surprise. “Why what?”
explain why, Mr. Larkin?”
“Why do you keep paying such a sum every night, waiting for me to return just for my cooking?” she pressed, her voice steady but edged with a sharp intelligence. “I know the food isn’t worth it. Don’t tell me you think it is–I want to know what else it is. What makes it worth so much to you?”
Larkin’s amusement deepened. This woman was a rare catch–not only driven by the lure of money, but sharp and clear- headed enough to see beneath the surface. His interest sharpened.
He leaned forward, his gaze locking with hers. “The scar on your forehead is an eyesore, and I’m someone who loves a challenge.” His tone was blunt but carried a strange tenderness. “Miss Cooper, let me treat that wound, alright?”
His hand reached out, fingers poised to brush against her forehead. But Georgia recoiled instinctively, the memory of pain fresh and raw.
“It’s late. Please leave, Mr. Larkin,” she said, voice firm, laced with unease.
Larkin said nothing. Rising smoothly, he headed for the door, the space between them taut with unspoken tension. Georgia stayed cautious, trailing behind with a careful distance between herself and the dangerous man who invaded her life.
“Goodbye, Mr. Larkin,” she called out, attempting to close the moment with polite finality.
But before she could finish, he pulled her back suddenly. A warning flickered in her mind, and she raised a hand to shield her forehead, but it was too late. His lips pressed warm and fleeting against her scar, a gesture both possessive and intimate, before he retreated.
Georgia’s patience shattered. She snapped, voice sharp with frustration, “Do you find this amusing?”
Her eyes blazed with anger and confusion. ‘Why does he keep pushing against my boundaries? she thought bitterly. Larkin shrugged with a casual ease, “You can tell me not to come tomorrow, Miss Cooper, I swear, if you s
to me, I
< Chapter 87
will obey.”
She clenched her fists tightly at her sides, the raw ache of need twisting inside her. Money–she needed it desperately, and there was no choice but to remain silent, hiding her pain behind a sullen mask.
Larkin’s smile curved into something knowing and predatory. He had her weakness mapped and fully exploited. Wealth was his weapon, and he wielded it effortlessly.
“Well then, since you won’t say otherwise, I’ll take that as a welcome. Miss Cooper, if I’m invited, I can’t promise I’ll resist the urge to kiss your wound again.”
Georgia dropped her gaze, a shadow passing across her features. How fiercely she wished she could slam the door on him forever. But in this cruel equation, he was her lifeline
“Mr. Larkin, you really do enjoy rubbing salt into wounds, don’t you?” she challenged, her voice barely concealing the weariness beneath.
Larkin’s eyes gleamed with cold conviction. “I’m not rubbing salt, Miss Cooper. I’m treating your wound. Any pain you feel. now is temporary. Once the scab forms, it’ll heal. Everything will be fine.”
Georgia’s mind screamed at the audacity. “How can you make torment sound so righteous? How shameless can one man be? But her hands were tied–she owed Preston a million dollars. The debt was a chain around her neck.
Larkin watched her closely, catching every flicker of her inner battle, her reluctant acceptance. Suddenly, Georgia looked up, voice steady despite the tremor beneath. “Mr. Larkin, I need a million dollars.”
His expression remained unreadable, cool and detached. Yet, boredom flickered through his eyes. The hunt had lost its edge.
Georgia’s love for money had been the bait, the hook that drew him close. Each encounter, each meal, each calculated kiss chipped away at her defenses, bringing her slowly into his web.
In this game of pursuit, money was the lure, and she was the trembling prey.
But the moment she asked outright, the thrill dissolved into something crass, vulgar, stripped of its elegance.
“It’s late. I’ll be going,” Larkin said, smoothing his suit as he prepared to leave.
Georgia pursed her lips in quiet resolve, stepping forward. “I’ll see you off.”
“No need.” His voice was cold, sharp enough to cut through the dim room. The chill in his tone made her hesitate, uncertain.
But she was stubborn. “I insist.” She shut the door behind him firmly, determined to escort him downstairs this time. He had visited many times, but she had always stopped at the threshold. Tonight, things would be different.
“Miss Cooper,” Larkin said suddenly, a smile curving his lips with a hint of impatience flashing in his eyes, “I have a million dollars–but I don’t want to give it to you. After all, your cooking was worth less than a hundred thousand just now.”
A million dollars was a trivial sum to Larkin. But Georgia’s brazen request, her willingness to barter so openly, drained the game of its allure.
When Larkin lost interest in a woman, he shed the masks of civility and revealed the icy core beneath. And respect? He never had any for Georgia. The shift in his demeanor was as stark as night and day. Had this been Laura, she would have felt the sting of humiliation deep and bitter.
But Georgia was no Laura–no woman Larkin had ever known. She was something else entirely.
