Tangled Emotions

Elliot

I wasn’t proud of it, but jealousy had a way of sinking its claws deep into me. It wasn’t just about Susan working with Manuel Fernandez—it was the way the guy looked at her, like she was some kind of muse he’d been searching for his whole life.

And I knew that look.

I’d worn it the first time I realized Susan Hart wasn’t just another woman. She was the woman.

I stared at the reports on my desk, but none of the numbers made sense. Hell, I couldn’t even focus. All I could think about was the way Manuel leaned in a little too close during meetings, his dark eyes lingering on Susan like he had every right to.

The office door creaked open, and Adrian sauntered in, a cocky grin plastered on his face.

“You look like hell,” he announced, plopping into the chair opposite me. “What’s eating you now?”

I didn’t answer right away, just poured us both a drink from the decanter on my desk. The burn of the whiskey wasn’t enough to chase away the frustration gnawing at my insides.

Adrian took a sip, then raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. It’s about her, isn’t it?”

I shot him a glare, but he wasn’t wrong.

“She’s spending too much time with Fernandez,” I muttered, leaning back in my chair.

Adrian chuckled. “Ah, the infamous Manuel. Didn’t think you could get jealous, bro.”

“It’s not jealousy,” I snapped. “It’s… concern.”

Adrian’s grin widened. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

I downed the rest of my drink and slammed the glass on the table. “He’s not just an artist. There’s something off about him. And Susan—she’s hiding something.”

Adrian sobered up at that, leaning forward. “You think it’s serious?”

I hesitated. Do I? Susan wasn’t the type to stray. But something about the way she avoided talking about Manuel, the way her eyes flickered when his name came up… it gnawed at me.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I’m going to find out.”

Later that night, I showed up at Susan’s apartment unannounced, the same way I always did when I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

She opened the door, her expression flickering from surprise to exasperation.

“Elliot, what are you doing here?” she asked, stepping aside to let me in.

I didn’t waste time. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew Fernandez before he agreed to the campaign?”

Her eyes widened, and for a second, she looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“I didn’t think it was important, and I didn't know I knew him.” she finally said, her voice steady.

“Didn’t think it was important?” I repeated, my temper flaring. “He’s practically glued to your side, Susan. And you expect me to believe there’s nothing going on?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, her jaw tightening. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“The hell you don’t!” I snapped, closing the distance between us. “You’re mine, Susan. And I’m not about to let some artist swoop in and—”

She cut me off with a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “This isn’t about Manuel, Elliot. This is about you not trusting me.”

I stared at her, the anger simmering beneath the surface giving way to something raw and vulnerable. “I do trust you,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “It’s him I don’t trust.”

For a moment, the tension between us hung thick in the air. Then, without warning, she closed the gap between us, her lips crashing into mine with a ferocity that stole my breath.

Our bodies collided, all anger melting into a fevered need. I lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the nearest surface—the kitchen counter—before tearing at the buttons of her blouse.

She gasped against my mouth, her nails raking down my back as I pressed her against the cold marble. “You’re too impossible,” she whispered, her breath hot against my ear.

“You’re mine,” I growled, my hands roaming her body like I needed to remind her of exactly who she belonged to.

Clothes hit the floor in a frenzy, and soon, nothing else mattered but the way she felt beneath me, the way her body molded perfectly to mine. We moved together like we were made for this—made for each other—and as we reached the edge, I whispered her name like a prayer.

When it was over, we lay tangled together, our breathing heavy, our hearts racing.

But even as I held her close, a nagging thought lingered at the back of my mind.

What if Manuel wasn’t done yet?