"You have my cat!" Vivienne cries, reaching for the animal in my arms. Relief and joy shine on her face and it nearly stuns me for a moment. She's never looked at me with anything besides a mixture of contempt and annoyance.

"You stole my fucking cat?"

Ah, there it is.

For a reason I have yet to decipher, I twist so she can't grab the cat from me. Her jaw drops in indignation and her eyes blaze. 

"Viv, can we talk?" David chooses this moment to begin to make his case, and I shrink away from the feeling of him at my back. The cat twists in my hold, growing aware of all the people surrounding us, and begins hissing in the general direction of her ex.

I feel a zing of satisfaction.

"Why are you here?" Vivienne's face goes cold as she looks at David.

My satisfaction dissolves.

In this moment, I only know that I do not like her looking at him. I find I don't even enjoy the fact that she's clearly frustrated by his presence. That a man like David has elicited any kind of reaction from her—especially a negative one—feels universally wrong somehow. 

"Are you aware that old woman has been using your kitchen?"

Her hair whips against her cheek as she turns to me in shock. And I could almost express a similar feeling. Because there is no rational reason I would willingly interject myself into this situation.

Although I did stop taking my sleeping pills, it takes several days for a medication to completely leave your system. Not to mention the added effect of the brain fog that has come upon me more intensely recently due to my lack of sleep. Insomnia is a vicious cycle I can't recall ever being free of.

So, there really are several plausible reasons for my behavior.

I keep telling myself that as Vivienne looks at me as if I started speaking another language. 

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You may want to check that the oven hasn't been left on."

That woman looked old enough to be forgetting things. Like leaving ovens or even faucets on.

"Miss Vivienne," the landlord whispers, "are these men bothering you?" He looks at her with open affection, like he'd do anything she asked. It's the same way her patrons at Pulse look at her. What sort of spell does she go around casting on people?

And why do those people oftentimes seem to be men?

"Viv..." David, forever dedicated to his dramatics, gives a monstrous sigh that I feel on the back of my neck. "I desperately need a few minutes of your time—"

"What you need is to back up before I put you in the ground," I interrupt, making sure he can see on my face how literally I mean it. His eyes bulge as he backs up. My shoulders relax infinitesimally, but I'm suddenly aware of all the bodies around me in a new way. Like the breath from their lips and the heat from their skin is a tangible thing, and it's red-hot and it's burning me.

"Oh my God," Vivienne mutters to herself. "David, I honestly don't want to speak to you. Just—"

"Viv," he gives a patronizing half laugh. I hear a squeak from my chest and look down to see the cat glaring at me. I loosen my hold. "I really just want—"

"No," she snaps. "I'm not interested. You came uninvited to my house, so this is about what I want. And that is for you to leave."

She turns away from him, done. David's face reddens at her dismissal, and he glowers at all of us before trudging down the hallway. Next, she directs a megawatt smile at the landlord. "Amir, thank you for your help. I'll see you tomorrow? I'm trying a new recipe tonight so I'll bring some goodies down."

He smiles at her softly before leveling me with what I assume is supposed to be a warning look. I meet his eyes and he practically trips over himself trying to leave us. Then it's just me and Vivienne.

But she doesn't go anywhere. She just stares at me. And it's a bizarre thing. My natural disposition repels all contact that I wouldn't be interested in having anyway. I haven't ever have to do much to ensure that I remain alone, the way I like it. 

It's strange to have someone still there. 

"And you," she sighs. I find myself suddenly transported to another moment, waiting for her to get that look in her eyes, too. The alarm, the panicked hurry to be somewhere else. To leave. But it never comes. "You follow me. And stop making death threats in front of company. Nobody knows if you're fucking joking."

My next breath makes my chest ache. 

She brushes past me to her door, practically making the hallway her runway. It seems entirely unnecessary—the effortless beauty and ease she exemplifies in everything, down to the purposeful swing of her hips.

I've seen it all before.

I grit my teeth and follow her like I have absolutely nothing better to do. Like I wasn't already going to before she decided she has the authority to order me around. I'll just deposit her cat back where it belongs and entertain her complaints for long enough to ensure she stays off my back.

Locking her door behind us, I turn to find her regarding me thoughtfully. "That's a sight I never thought I'd see," she nods at her cat snuggled in my arms. "He hates being touched. Hardly even lets me carry him."

"Maybe because he has several untreated conditions, by the looks of it."

Her eyes thin. "I take him to the vet. Regularly. In fact, we have an appointment in thirty minutes, so you and I are going to make this quick."

I set the creature on the couch, wincing in disgust at the cat hair left over on my clothes. This is why my desire to own one died with my childhood. I brush the mess off briskly, going to her kitchen sink to wash my hands. When I'm finally done, she's waiting with arms crossed and brows raised.

"By all means, make yourself at home. Can I get you anything else?"

Choosing to ignore her sarcasm, I give her a nod. "Go ahead. Talk."

Eyes blazing, she's clearly struggling to hold back from tearing into me. Some part of me wants her to try.

"If you and I will peacefully coexist, there will be some rules," Vivienne declares. "Some things need to change. For example, I don't want to come home to you starting fights outside my front door."

"I'll start what needs to be started."

"Or stealing my cat," she continues, ignoring me. "You leave my shit alone, got it?"

The way she talks to me...

"You tell it to leave me alone, then." I look at her cat, who—as if on cue—takes a flying leap from the couch to the table, completely missing the mark and knocking an avalanche of books to the floor. 

The thing is clearly mentally disturbed. 

When I look back to her expecting to see another fiery rebuke poised at the tip of her lips, something on her face has changed. Her eyes are sharp. "Are you okay?"

"...Excuse me?"

"You look like you haven't slept since I last saw you. And the last time I saw you, you were literally half dead." She leans forward, peering at me closer. "Wow. You look like shit."

A breath pushes out of my half open mouth, and I smooth my hair back from my face although I know it's already perfectly in place. There she goes again. 

"Did you have any more rules, Vivienne?"

Something in me that I do not want to acknowledge is brewing at the way she does that. Lays down the law so... confidently. Nobody has ever raised a finger in opposition to me. Yet she does that and more practically in her sleep.

"Mm. No," she sniffs, suddenly losing interest in me. She begins to pick up the books from the floor, organizing the rest on her coffee table. Belatedly, I observe my surroundings. Vivienne's living space is bright and full, right on the line of cluttered, and I can immediately spot at least ten safety hazards. 

I map out three ways someone could easily break into her home in under three minutes. The fact that she has a balcony is not working in her favor. 

She starts fluffing the blankets and pillows on her couch. As if she's forgotten I'm here.

I check my watch. "How far is your vet?"

"You know, I'm actually curious about what happened the other day," she says with her ass stuck straight up in the air. I couldn't notice what she seems to be doing down there if I tried. 

When she straightens, she brushes that long hair from her high cheekbones. The lighter streaks look like caramel drizzling through dark chocolate. I've never liked chocolate. Too sweet and overwhelming. Her nails are long and pink, lips matching. She's extremely put together for a vet visit.

"Why were you waiting outside my apartment covered in mud?"

Cold overtakes my body as I realize what she's referring to. "I was not waiting. I was passing by."

"More like passing out," she mutters. "Which is another thing. Is that something I should get used to? Because I'm not going to make a habit out of dragging your unconscious body down hallways."

Something pricks at my chest. I don't like the thought of that. The reminder that I was so incapacitated around another person. The more I think about it, the tighter my skin feels. Until I'm doing everything I can to not lash out and prevent that from ever happening again.

"Anyway," she pushes her cat into its carrier and grabs her keys. Completely unaware—or uncaring—towards my dilemma. "What were you and David talking about? And why did you have Nik?"

I follow her outside, waiting while she locks her door. "Your cat escaped from your apartment and slipped into mine this morning." I'm reminded of the mess waiting for me and irritation heats my skin. "It terrorized my home."

She hums in a way that makes me doubt she's even listening to me.

"Hence my reason for calling that old woman's cat-sitting abilities into question—"

"Stop calling her an old woman," she rolls her eyes, finally getting the door locked. Does she normally stand unguarded at her door for such a long stretch of time? "Her name is Mrs. Chambers. She does have a first name but I don't know it, and it's been years at this point so it's too late to ask."

She starts down the hallway and I'm forced to follow.

"So, you do not even know her first name, yet you give her free access to your home."

She cuts me a sharp look as we enter the elevator. "She's an old woman. She's harmless and lovely and owns five small, evil dogs. Of course I trust her."

"I thought you said we shouldn't call her an old woman."

Vivienne sets down the cat carrier with a huff as we begin descending. Standing so close to her, I catch a whiff of cinnamon vanilla as she flips her hair off her shoulder. It's just like her, overwhelming and inordinately in your face. Biting at every one of your senses, demanding your attention.

"You're annoying," she mutters. "Why are you following me, again?"

"You asked me two things. Last time, you were particularly agitated when I wouldn't answer your questions."

"Hm," she hums thoughtfully as we step out of the elevator. "I was. Go ahead."

"Your ex-boyfriend was—"

She jolts to a halt, glaring at me. "He's not my ex-boyfriend, Massimo."

I feel the urge to loosen my collar suddenly. Ignoring it, I give her a look.

"You don't know anything about him or the relationship we had," she huffs. "Please spare me your holy judgment."

That gives me pause. Am I judging her?

Yes. Definitely. I have no idea why a woman like her would go for a man like David. I don't like it when things don't make sense. I know I'm too smart to be stumped on silly matters.

"I know more than you think. It's all quite obvious, Vivienne. Especially when the man is bragging about how he has access to your location on his phone."

She rolls her eyes. Again. Turning and walking through the lobby without another word. I finally cave, adjusting my collar before continuing to follow her.

"He does not have my location. I don't give that shit to anybody except one of my friends. There's no reason for a random hookup to know where I am." She carelessly tosses the words over her shoulder at me, causing curious eyes to follow her.

I tense, not liking that. It's not smart to draw needless attention like she does. Before you know it, complete strangers have deduced things about you they have no business knowing, things they can use against you. I have never enjoyed being around people like that. I can't typically afford to.

Not an ex-boyfriend, but an ex-hookup. The distinction matters to her, stupidly. It may as well be the same.

"Well, he seemed to have it." I catch up so she's no longer shouting her business to the entire world.

"Impossible," she dismisses. "You probably just misunderstood. He's weirdly confident sometimes and it can be misleading. Anyway, why do you even care?"

Care? Baffled at the idea, I frown. "I was dropping off the creature and David started talking to me as if I were his therapist. I would prefer not to be informed of such things, but if there are random men lurking outside my home, it is my business."

She gives a dismissive sound, clearly growing tired of the conversation. "The creature's name is Nik, by the way. I don't understand why you refuse to acknowledge him as the domesticated, cute little baby he is." Her words end in a little coo for the animal, who glares out at the world from his carrier like he's plotting its demise.

"I would hardly call it domesticated or cute. Little, yes. In fact, it does seem slightly malnourished."

She unlocks her car, and I actually stumble to a halt behind her. This is her vehicle? This beaten-up thing?

"It is a he," she snaps. Noticing the tense of her jaw, I see she's tightly wound today. More than I usually make her, that is.

She bends to deposit the cat carrier in the backseat, and once again, Vivienne's ass is practically in my face. And I am forced to acknowledge the way the front of my pants tighten at the stretch of her leggings, the perfect round of her hips. Suddenly, the air has become thicker and I'm swallowing the impossible pill that I'm not incapable of feeling attraction towards another person. 

It has been a long time since I was last affected like this by a woman.

A very long time. 

"... and what makes you think you know how to take care of a fucking cat?" She's in the middle of a rant I have missed the beginning of thanks to the bizarre reaction my body is having. "I'm on top of all his visits, shots, and medications. I buy him the best food."

Her crossed arms emphasize the swell of her breasts beneath her sweater, which my brain has now decided to notice. I force myself to remain still, curbing an urge that has started burning deep in my bones, so strong and hot that it's like it never left.  

"And I don't even know why you're acting like you care about him. Or animals in general. You probably killed kittens for fun when you were a kid."

If she knew how ironic that statement was, I doubt she'd be standing in an empty parking garage with me right now.

No, I never did end up indulging in that particular pastime. But there are other ways abnormal children display their deviance. I just found ones that weren't already in the textbooks.

"Well?" she demands, not phased at my lengthy silence. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Her hair is a mess again. It's so lustrous that it falls everywhere like spilled silk, uncontrollable. Just like her.

"That cat is definitely not healthy. You're clearly not taking care of it in the way you should."

I say it to move past everything. The weight of noticing things like the way her hair falls, the slender curve of her thighs, that thin strip of dark skin at her navel that looks like brown velvet. I could not care less about her cat or what she does with it. It's just easier to focus on her anger.

"I know how to take care of my damn cat," her jaw drops as she takes the bait. "The vet knows of his issues, and I know how to bring up my concerns. I'm not one of those people who buys pets without understanding the responsibilities it takes. He was old and sick when I got him. Nobody else wanted him." Her eyes darken in sadness, and she gets a far-off look. "If I hadn't adopted him, he would still be there, alone and rejected just because he's closer to the end of his life and might be a little more... ugly than the other cats."

Or a lot.

Abruptly, she cuts off, clearing her throat. I find myself wishing she would have continued. I have never seen someone so passionate about the lives of old, useless animals—much less a woman like her.

Just when I think I have her pinned, she displays another dimension that doesn't make sense. 

"That all may be true," I say. "But you cannot convince me that cat is healthy. Your vet is not doing their job."

Her jaw tenses, skin flushing. Competition flares in her eyes. "Come see for your fucking self then."

"Is that an order, Vivienne?"

"Oh fuck all the way off," she spits, slipping into the driver's seat. "Don't make judgments if you're not prepared to see them all the way through, Massimo."

I eye the vehicle that looks like it was put together in somebody's backyard three decades ago. Real exhaustion tugs on my limbs for the first time that I can remember, and I know that if I were to try, I could probably get a few hours of natural sleep. I also have an entire apartment to put back together.

Yet, I find myself slipping into her passenger seat.

She adjusts her mirrors, not sparing me a look, and we pull out. Quickly, I become aware that her car doesn't just look old. It sounds and feels old. The sunroof seems to be permanently open, the engine rattles every time she accelerates, and the brakes grind. I can practically feel the springs of the seat beneath me.

"Do you—"

"If what you're about to say isn't kind and uplifting, don't say it," she interrupts, bringing us to a jerky stop as we encounter some traffic.

She knew I was going to make a comment on the car?

"How do y—"

"Nope."

"Vi—"

"Uh-uh."

I'm lost for words for a brief moment. People have lost their heads for interrupting me once. What am I doing with this woman?

"Vivienne."

She side-eyes me, and unless my own eyes are playing tricks on me, a small shiver tracks its way down her spine. This could be due to the fact that she's decided to open the windows halfway despite the temperature outside.

"Do not interrupt me. Understand?" She says nothing, and I jerk my head to the window controls. "And close those."

She ignores me, rolling her lips into her mouth, and my breath quickens. What is it with this woman? Somehow, I've spent more time with her this afternoon than I have anybody else consecutively—except my brothers. Yet I don't feel that hot, itching urge to retreat back to where I know who I am. To solitude and quiet.

I shift uncomfortably. In fact... what I do still feel is that pesky desire culminating in the familiar pulsing heat and heaviness in my groin. I still haven't recovered from her bending over earlier, and somehow, her argumentative words and that sharp glare only prolong the feeling. Practically reducing me to a hormone-driven teenager. 

"Do it, Vivienne."

She shivers again, and I begin to at least close mine. She overrides the action with the button on her side, and then we're fighting for control. Like children.

"Stop it," she says. "We can't close them."

Slowly, I retreat my hand. She bites her lip, wincing slightly as I turn my full attention to her. "What do you mean we can't?"

"My car has this... thing," she starts, and I immediately know I'm going to hate this. "If I'm ever in stand-still traffic, I need to crack the windows or the car will gradually fill with carbon monoxide. It's fine."

"Fine?"

"That's what I just said, yes," she huffs. I don't miss the way her body immediately tenses. "I've taken it to the mechanic. It's an old car but it still runs."

"Still runs," I repeat, and finally, the traffic lets up. "And I am sure it will still be running when it sends you careening over a cliff."

My head knocks into the side of the roof when she swerves, pulling off to the shoulder of the road.

"I know it was my idea you join me," she snaps, and there is definitely something wrong with her today, "and I admit that was probably a form of self-sabotage. But if you don't stop critiquing every area of my life, I am going to find the nearest cliff and purposefully drive both of us off it. I know how to live my life. I don't need you or anyone insinuating I can't."

Silently vowing to never get in a car with this woman again, I peruse her expression. Tight jaw and pursed lips, eyes shuttering back some vulnerable emotion. Vivienne goes at everything with her entire being, and my chest goes cold as I realize I can read her emotions. She's... hurt? It could be by something I've said, or it could be... 

Her family. She was just visiting them in the city. From what I know of Tommy, Zahra, Joseph, and Chloe Lee, they are all well-accomplished members of a high society that Vivienne expresses no interest in. I imagine they treat her as somewhat of an outcast. And I imagine—no, I know—that Vivienne has perpetuated that image they have of her through the choices she's made.

But still, it bothers her. Clearly.

I absentmindedly rub at my chest. My own emotions are confusing enough. Figuring out someone else's has always been my own personal hell. They're too trivial, complex, and ever-changing. I both hate her for making things so obvious and am intrigued to see what else I can read off her.

I knew you were at least somewhat human.

She told me that. And from the look on her face, I could tell she believed it. 

Sudden disgust curdles my gut. If she were going to try that, I'd think she'd at least be smart enough to choose something more convincing. Brought back to earth, I remind myself that I know the kind of woman she is.

"Don't let anyone insinuate that, then," I say, wanting the conversation to end. "And prove your point by getting us to our destination without causing a collision."

We drive the rest of the way in silence. As we pull into the parking lot, I realize how scratchy my throat feels from all the talking I've done. When is the last time I've conversed like that? With anyone?

Vivienne gets out and dips into the backseat for her cat, but I remain frozen.

What am I doing?

She slams the door shut. I would think it a petty act of anger if I didn't already know that these old doors require an inane amount of force to remain shut.

I pull out my phone, dialing a number. She disappears inside as the call connects.

"Yes, boss?"

"I have a new task for you," I tell my soldier. "David Jones. I want you to get me everything you can find on him. Get into his personal devices. Freeze everything. And remove any and all access he has to a woman named Vivienne Lee. Text me when you're finished."

I hang up and follow her inside.  

♛ 

Coming next: Nik has a playdate with Mom and Dad, something explodes, and we may or may not see a dead body. 

I'm lowkey overwhelmed at the interest in this book. Thank you both silent and vocal readers! Ily for reading this dumb story I write to escape reality lol.

- G