Chapter 90
Larkin rose from his chair and turned toward Georgia, who stood by the door, her posture rigid and alert. His voice was teasing, almost casual, yet carried a pointed edge as he asked, “Aren’t you going to see me out?”
Georgia’s eyes flashed with sharp defiance. “No. Mr. Nash, please close the door when you leave,” she replied, her tone clipped and distant.
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Larkin smiled faintly, amusement flickering behind his gaze. “Isn’t it customary in your line of work to at least see your guests out? Or have I lost that privilege now that you’re off duty and tucked away in your dormitory? Maybe I should come to Vetro Club tomorrow–see you there instead. What do you think about that?”
Georgia’s jaw clenched, a bitter taste of indignation rising. Seriously? Is he threatening me again? How utterly
contemptible.
She ground her teeth, the familiar sting of irritation crawling beneath her skin. Every encounter with Larkin left her teeth aching from barely restrained anger.
“Mr. Nash,” she said carefully, forcing calm over the roiling storm inside, “you’re right. I shouldn’t neglect my guests just Jbecause I’m off the clock. Very well, let me see you out.”
As she stepped forward, her gaze sharpened, every fiber of her body vigilant. What’s wrong with him? He’s obsessed with kissing that damn scar on my forehead, acting like he’s healing it, but all it does is make me want to recoil.
Despite her revulsion, she masked it with a forced politeness.
Larkin’s voice softened, sincere in tone but heavy with something else. “Relax, Miss Cooper. I promise you, I’m exhausted tonight. I won’t touch that scar on your forehead.”
Georgia eyed him skeptically, searching for any hint of deceit. But he wore a genuine expression–no slyness, no falsehood, “Goodbye, Mr. Nash,” she breathed, a small wave of relief washing over her.
Before she could turn away, Larkin stepped fo
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riefly to her forehead.
Her patience snapped. “Mr. Nash! How can you break your word like that?”
Larkin cocked his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Did I say I wouldn’t touch the scar today? I didn’t say anything about right now.”
Georgia’s fingers instinctively stroked the wounded skin as she glared up at him. “You really expect me to believe that? Only fools trust such nonsense. Don’t you see why I’m so wary?”
He spread his hands in mock helplessness, an almost theatrical shrug. “You’re gullible, Miss Cooper. Don’t blame me for
your trust.”
The urge to shift, to bare her claws and scratch him where he stood, flared violently within her. If only she still had the wolf inside her, she thought fiercely.
“Alright then,” Larkin said suddenly, reaching out to pat her gently on the head with an almost paternal tenderness. “It’s late. Get some rest. See you tomorrow night.”
With that, he turned and left as effortlessly as he had come, his carefree swagger leaving a trail of unresolved tension.
A slow, triumphant grin spread across Larkin’s face. She’s starting to feel alive again. When we first met, she was like a corpse, barely breathing.
Over the following days, Georgia’s teeth clenched in frustration every time she saw Larkin waiting outside her dorm. Yet gradually, the burning sensitivity of her forehead’s wound dulled. The sting that once seared with every touch softened, until Larkin’s kisses there were no longer unbearable.
She made peace with the pain, though her jaw still clenched fiercely whenever he pressed against her skin. And when he teased her, rubbing salt into that invisible wound, she met his gaze with a fierce glare, grinding her teeth in silent defiance.
Larkin chuckled quietly. “Miss Cooper, how can you be so naïve? How do you fall for it every time?”
Georgia’s eyes widened, voice sharp. “You’re covered in blood! You said you were set up, that you were hurt–lying there,
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bleeding in front of my dorm! Anyone would believe that! Why would you curse yourself like that if it wasn’t true?”
She couldn’t fathom the extent of his deception–the performance he put on, the props he arranged–all just to draw her c loser, to manipulate her trust.
“You’re gullible. What can I say?” Larkin gave a self–deprecating pat to his backside and rose. “I’m hungry.”
Storming into the kitchen, Georgia ladled two generous tablespoons of fiery chipotle sauce onto the macaroni,
“Are you trying to kill me? This is unbearably spicy!” Larkin protested, eyes watering.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Nash,” she said with feigned innocence, voice calm despite the burning in her throat. “Must have been an accident–wrong seasoning, forgive me.”
Larkin narrowed his eyes at her, then proceeded to devour the dish under her watchful glare, sweat beading on his forehead as he swallowed each bite.
“I’m done. I’m leaving,” he declared, pushing back his chair and heading for the door.
Georgia noticed how the heat of the sauce had clearly tested his limits, yet he had eaten every bite. She wanted to ask why he tolerated it, but the question died on her tongue.
Two days before the month–long deadline, Georgia laid all the checks Larkin had given her across Charlotte’s desk.
“Him? Again? So many?” Charlotte’s eyes widened in disbelief, lifting her gaze sharply. “Georgia, what have you done?”
Five checks lay before them, each for a hundred thousand dollars–half a million dollars in total,
“Georgia, did you… I mean, did he…” Charlotte’s voice faltered with hesitation.
“No, Charlotte. Nothing like that,” Georgia cut her off quickly. “There are only two days left. Larkin gives me a hundred thousand each day, but when the deadline hits, I’ll still be a hundred thousand short. What else can I do?”
Cold sweat beaded on Charlotte’s forehead as the weight of Georgia’s words sank in. A hundred thousand dollars a day? That’s an enormous sum. What could she possibly be doing to earn that? Cooking? That can’t be true.
Her eyes narrowed, assessing Georgia with a new suspicion. “Georgia, what kind of arrangement do you have with him?”
Georgia’s heart skipped violently. She met Charlotte’s gaze, and in that moment, the unspoken truth passed between them. Knowing she could no longer conceal the reality, Georgia took a deep breath and shared everything.
Charlotte’s worry deepened, her voice soft but urgent. “That Larkin… he’s playing with you. You’re like a mouse, and he’s the cat. Georgia, don’t you see? He can toy with you however he wants. Why won’t you listen to me?”
Her voice softened. “You’ve changed, Georgia. I don’t know what’s happening, but you’re not the same.”
