Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
I pull away slowly from the kiss. “Come on. Get your shoes.”
Her brow furrows. “I’m not dressed to go out.”
I smirk down at her. She looks beautiful even if only in a flannel button-down and a faded pair of jeans. “Then I’ll wait. You can change and we’ll go wherever you’d like, jailbird.”
“You make me feel like a jailbird more now than I have in a very long time.”
Tension fills the room again. All I want is to put all of this behind us. The tumultuous and terrible things she’s experienced. The growing threat that I’ll handle along with the rest of the team. I want her to have a life like any other person who isn’t a client of The Firm. As close as a socialite like her can get, anyway.
I can almost see it. A life beyond secretive conversations and conservatorships. I can practically envision her, happy at my side for whatever life throws at us.
The silence goes on for a beat too long, as if Ella is going to argue with me. The expression on her face looks like she’s on the verge of spiraling. Of getting caught up in the meaning of us and The Firm and why I call her jailbird.
“Are you mine, Ella?” There is no negotiation in my tone.
She seems to return to me. “Yes,” she says.
I lean in close to her mouth and nip her bottom lip. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir.”
No matter what’s happening between us, there’s always a dark twinkle in her eyes when she responds to me that way.
“You’re always my fucking jailbird. Now go get changed.”
ELLA
The tip of my black stiletto heel taps against the base of the table. The anxiousness is not quite leaving me. We’ve never been like this. At odds. Given the power dynamic between us, there isn’t a damn thing in my favor.
I’ve never felt this kind of vulnerable with Z. An unsteady exhale leaves me as he places our drink orders and the waiter leaves us in the private back room to ourselves.
Three of the four walls are furnished with hundreds of bottles of wine. It’s as if we’re in the middle of a beautifully lit cellar, ready for a romantic dinner below a black iron chandelier designed to look like a classic candelabra.
The room itself is intimate and the smells of savory seasoning and sweet wines stirs my appetite, even with the nervousness of knowing Z is keeping something from me.
His strong hand settles on my thigh, his thumb running back and forth where the emerald silk velvet of my dress meets my bare skin. It’s a simple designer dress with a deep V-neck and long sleeves, yet it ends mid-thigh. I haven’t worn something that hugs my curves like this in a very long time, let alone something so decadently expensive. His black suit is custom tailored and high end.
To anyone peeking in, I’m certain we would appear to be a power couple. Especially given how he’s acting as if there isn’t a damn thing wrong.
It was a long and quiet drive, but that hand of his has barely left me. It’s as if he thinks he can contain me so long as he has physical possession of me.
Truth be told, it is comforting and he’s not entirely wrong. But my mind won’t let go of it. The wheels in my head turn and every possible horrid scenario fills my mind.
“Settle, Ella,” he murmurs. I’m half surprised Z ordered me wine, but that only adds to the racing thoughts. Is it because he intends on telling me something that he thinks I’ll need alcohol to absorb?
No, no, that’s the opposite. Damon made it clear as did Zander, when my spirits are low, I should avoid alcohol. It can no longer be a coping mechanism. Not in any way.
I swallow thickly, turning my attention to the candles lit on the table. That means then, that he’s not going to tell me whatever it is that’s happened.
“Do you think I’m weak and that’s why you can’t tell me?” I ask him again. I know that must be why. He could still carry my burdens, even if he told me what they were.
“You are not weak. I will tell you once I’ve decided it will benefit you.”
I nearly ask who he thinks he is to decide what is and isn’t good for me and the audacity of that thought has me reaching for the prosecco. The sweet drink is chilled perfectly; the bubbles crisp and refreshing.
Thankfully, we’re interrupted by a young waiter presenting the chef’s specials and a list with the fish of the day.
My appetite comes and goes as I ruminate on the possibilities. With a gentle squeeze, Z comforts me and orders for me as well, but it’s not enough.
Just as the waiter leaves us, one hand on his skinny dark red tie and the other holding the menus, I prepare to lay it all out for Z. To tell him with finality that I can’t be left in the dark on issues that pertain to me.