Wicked Torture (Stark World 3)

I nod, and he draws a breath.

He's going to offer, and I'm going to accept, and then I'm going to celebrate by ordering gingerbread pancakes with my migas at Magnolia, and Ares can just kiss my not-so-healthy ass.

I'm about to usher Noah in so that all of that doesn't have to happen on my porch, but he speaks before I can step out of the way.

"I'm sorry, Kiki," he says, as I try to process those words. "We're going with someone else."

6

As far as Noah was concerned, his miserable fucking morning turned into a miserable fucking afternoon. And, unfortunately, that status didn't show any signs of improving now that the end of the workday was drawing near.

Then again, why would it? It's not as if he was going to do anything for the rest of the night except remember Kiki's horrified expression as he'd tossed a hand grenade through her front door.

All day, he'd been replaying that scene in his head. Over and over and over again.

Him, trying to be calm and rational as he gave her the bad news.

Her, going completely pale before lurching forward and slam

ming the door so hard that it almost broke his nose. Now, he had an abraded wrist and a sore ankle from leaping backward, then scraping his arm as he blindly reached out to catch himself. He'd missed, and he'd winced with pain as he stumbled off the low, stone step that served as a front stoop.

Not his most graceful moment. And his wrist hurt like a mother, but he supposed he deserved it. He should never have gone in person. He should have called her like he'd called the other candidates.

But, damn him, he'd wanted to see her again. Because this time, he knew, would be the last time.

Fuck it. With a violent shove, he pushed back from his desk and stood up. He looked out the window and imagined that he could find her out there. Maybe she was right below him, setting up a microphone at some bar on Sixth Street for a performance later tonight. Maybe she was still in her house, out of view, but tucked away beyond the spread of green on the far side of the river.

Wherever she was, he knew that right now she hated him. Why shouldn't she? God knew he hated himself.

With another violent curse, he turned back to his desk, then picked up the manila folder with the resumes of the two consultants he was still considering. He and Stark had selected the final three candidates, but then Damien had left, telling Noah that, as the front man, he needed to pick his own team.

Damien was right, of course. And Noah had made the first move by eliminating Kiki. As for the rest, it shouldn't be this difficult. Noah should have made his decision by now and then texted Damien to give him the final word, but he kept vacillating. It wasn't a question of selecting the best candidate. It was a question of which was the better of two inferior candidates.

The best was Kiki, hands down.

But that was a determination based on her skill set and proposed plan, and that was only one factor in a much larger equation. An equation that included almost a decade of pain, hurt feelings, and inevitable distractions. An equation that had the two of them working together practically round-the-clock for three months.

Frustrated, he shoved the folders into the canvas and leather messenger bag he used instead of a briefcase. It was only five, and he never left the office this early, but he was feeling trapped. Maybe the walk home would clear his head and magically hand him a decision.

He punched the intercom on his desk. "Carina, I'm heading out. Tell reception they can transfer calls to my cell until seven."

"Of course. But--"

"After that, I'm shutting down." Still distracted, he released the button and headed for the door.

"Mr. Carter." Her voice rang out from the intercom speaker, and he frowned. He was halfway to the door, and she was right outside his office at her desk. Easier to just step into the waiting area. "What is--"

The question died on his lips. It was Kiki. Standing right next to Carina's desk, her posture stiff and formal as her brown eyes looked accusingly at him.

"Ms. Porter just arrived," Carina said, shooting him a sympathetic glance. "But since you're on your way out, perhaps I should schedule an appointment for next week?"

"Oh, hell no," Kiki said, the formal stance sloughing off to reveal a woman he remembered only too well. They hadn't fought much, but when they did, it was loud and raucous, and always followed by intense make-up sex.

Somehow, he had a feeling that wasn't the way today's encounter was going to wrap up.

"I want an explanation, Noah."

"Mr. Carter?" Carina's eyes were wide and her hands flat on the desk, as if she was about to lever herself up and leap into the line of fire.