Chapter 6: Day Two: Cusp of Insanity

By the end of the second night, Ivette decided she would ignore Cian MacGregor, just as much as he’d ignored her and acted like she didn’t fucking exist.

She couldn’t stand it. Him. Who did he think he was, treating her like crap?

Yes. She had been drunk that night and. . . it was technically a one-night stand by all ramifications, but. . .but nothing! What had she been expecting? She wasn’t even sure what it is she expected to happen, but she was going crazy. She wanted him to look at her again like she was something special. She wanted him to talk to her and tell her she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t get him out of her head, her dreams. She wanted to be with him, alone, in a room.

Those treacherous thoughts made her feel like she was on the cusp of insanity.

Aaron was her first love. Her only love. Only he should occupy her thoughts—and maybe work too—but where Cian was involved, her brain flew out the window. Aaron didn’t matter. Her engagement was inconsequential. Work was irrelevant.

Only Cian mattered.

And he didn’t even care.

She didn’t handle being ignored well. Her irritation was getting the better of her and her years of training to keep her feelings at bay were horribly failing.

It was why she was at the bar, chunking different mixes of alcohol down her throat. Anything to stop thinking about him, even if it meant getting drunk.

Why he had chosen to appear for this event after ditching it six times was a mystery Ivette didn’t want to resolve for fear of what she might find. It was bloody convenient, for him. Had he known who she was when he approached her that night at the bar? Had it all been a game to him? What did he want? What was the end game? To ruin her name? To ruin her engagement and the merger along with it?

Ivette didn’t know what to think, but it couldn’t be a coincidence.

She was in the process of downing her glass when she saw Cian walk past with Rosalind, who refused to leave his side for even a second. From the way the woman kept grinning at him from ear to ear, watching him underneath false lashes and giving him doe eyes, Ivette was willing to bet two billion bucks and her villa at Atherton that they were banging.

She hated the way she felt. She hated him.

And she was going to give him a piece of her mind.

Alcohol was good that way. Lowering her inhibitions and sharpening that edge everyone seemed to think she could do without.

She toppled the bar stool over as she leaned over it and her vision hazed a bit. Perhaps, it was a bad idea to talk to him again, when she was this drunk, but tell that to her body that was already moving to the other end of the bar where Scotty stood with his PA.

A poem came to mind at the image and Ivette huffed a bitter laugh.

Cian and Rosalind, sitting on a tree. . .

Gross.

Didn’t even fit.

Ivette’s eyes drifted about the room and she blinked several times before she could get a clear picture. She spied a maroon tux that matched her claret form-fitting gown that stuck to her curvy frame like a second skin. Ooh. Aaron. She waved and wiggled her eyebrows at him, giggling and snorting.

He frowned and his beautiful blue eyes she had once found entrancing narrowed to the glass in her hand.

Smart ass, she wanted to say to him, but he was far away, and Cian was a few feet away.

She stopped beside him and dropped her glass on the pub table with a loud thud that caught the attention of the duo, and that of the woman they were speaking to. “Miss King, you look stunning as always,” The jeweler, who liked the alias, Madame Francoise, better than her real name—whatever that was—said, and her purple-painted lips stretched into a serpentine smile.

Ivette’s gaze snagged on the full shot of. . .she wasn’t quite sure what mix that was but she grabbed it anyway. “I know. Can’t say the same for you though.”

Her words were slurred but the woman got the message and her smile faltered. A bit.

Rather than reply Ivette, Madame Francoise smiled shyly at Cian MacGregor. “You must excuse me. I am due for an award.”

The only award she’d get this year, Ivette didn’t say.

But she did laugh and the woman’s glare could freeze mountains. She stormed off, visibly angry and the surrounding crowd kept tossing glances her way. Ivette only lifted her glass as if to toast.

“Ms. King,” Rosalind said, inserting herself between Ivette and Cian. “Should you need to speak to my—“

“Fuck off, Rosalind. He can tell me to leave himself. Isn’t that right, Mr. MacGregor?” Ivette said, giving him an acid-sweet smile.

The man chuckled, low and soft. “It is fine, Rosa. I will speak to Ms. King. Do excuse us.”

Rosalind cut Ivette a furious glare but she obeyed, disappearing into the crowd, only to settle on a stool to monitor Ivette’s every move through the pair of glasses perched on her pointed nose.

“Rosa?” Ivette asked.

Cian shrugged. “I doona think you approached me to speak of my personal assistant.”

Ivette harrumphed and chugged the shot. It was the same mix she had taken from him that night, and it was just as vile. She reined in her wince and wiped her mouth. “You’ve been ignoring me.”

“And you have been drinking, lass.”

Lass.

Somehow, that word had wormed its way through Ivette’s soul, causing strange emotions to course through her.

“Here I was thinking you’d forgotten all about me.”

A full brow lifted and with it, an amused smile teased his lips. “You are hardly forgettable, lass.”

Ivette lifted her gaze to his, breath tightening. As if he hadn’t just knocked her off balance with that sentence, Cian added, “Congratulations. On your engagement to Mr. Maxwell. You make quite the couple.”

Ivette went still, staring at him. He stared right back and a light bulb went out in her head. “Why were you in Seattle?”

His slender fingers traced the rim of the glass and Ivette’s thoughts traveled to those moments when those fingers had traced her skin. She swallowed. “I heard quite a lot of the Emerald City and thought I’d pay a visit.”

Ivette raged. “That’s bullshit. I find it convenient that you showed up right after my engagement was broadcasted for the entire world to see, seduced me, disappeared the morning after, and now you’re here? Cian MacGregor? Do I look stupid to you? You knew exactly what you were doing that night. It’s your game, isn’t it? Merging King Corp and Maxwell Industries would be too much trouble for you and no doubt toss you out of your spotlight. This was your game. Seduce King Corp’s heir and you’re no doubt here to ruin my engagement with that little fact that we fucked on my engagement night.”

“You what?”

Ivette swiveled with record speed to find Aaron staring at her with stormy blue eyes. His rage was palpable, yet, his face was like granite as he said, “What did you say?”

The effects of the alcohol receded a little bit and Ivette’s eyes widened in horror. “Aaron—Ron, I—“

“Is. It. True.” Each word was deadlier than the last and the walls began to close in on Ivette. Her eyes stung as she beheld Aaron.

“No,” Cian started behind Ivette and she turned slightly, wondering what on Earth he was playing at. There was nothing in Cian’s brown eyes as he said the words that damned Ivette to hell. “Though, I love her version of the story, that isn’t quite it. She came on to me, pleading like a deprived lover, and chivalry is my best attribute yet—“

Ivette lost all sense of reason, all sense of calm, all sense of self, and as she turned, her fist connected with his face, his nose. “You’re a fucking bastard!”

She didn’t care that the entire hall was watching them now. She didn’t care that there was blood dripping down from Cian’s broken nose, down to stain his ivory suit. She didn’t care that the press was probably televising her moment of weakness and that it’d go viral before she even set foot out of the Evolution.

She didn’t care about any of that.

His words wounded her deeper than anything else had in her entire life. It had cracked something within her that she didn’t know existed. His words had fractured something essential within her.

That night, she had been at her lowest. . .and highest. She could blame it all on the alcohol but she knew deep within her that Cian MacGregor had lit her up from within. He’d made her feel alive. Different. Carefree. Special. Truly special.

And he’d just called her a whore for it.

She’d never wanted to hurt anyone the way she wanted to hurt him now. Tears slid down her cheeks and she swiped for him again, slapping him twice.

The man did nothing. He only watched her with an unreadable expression and it infuriated Ivette even further.

She raised her arm to hit him again but Aaron grabbed her by her waist, tugging her away from the prickly bastard.

Even then, she fought against Aaron’s hold, wanting to finish what she started.

Soon, her mother was by her side, whispering to her to calm the fuck down. Her father was telling Aaron to take her out of the hall.

But Ivette’s eyes remained on Cian, even as Aaron pulled her away from the thick of the crowd that had formed around them.

Cian didn’t look away either.

Didn’t even bother wiping blood from his nose. Didn’t look at the journalists asking him questions. His gaze remained on her, unwavering.

Ivette didn’t know what to make of that.

Not that she cared anymore.

She had more pressing issues to worry about.

Like Aaron, who was currently leading her out of the hall and past the press shoving mics in their faces and demanding explanations for Ivette’s outburst.

Aaron, mercifully, said nothing as he forged ahead, leaving behind a path she could follow.

Fear.

Ivette was truly scared for the first time. She knew Aaron well enough to prepare for the oncoming onslaught. His silence was one to fear. He was either thinking up plans that would cause her a heart attack, or a storm was brewing. He unlocked his blue Divo, reaching around to open the door for her.

“Aaron,” She pleaded as he held the door, waiting for her to get in.

“Get in, Ivette.” He said, voice calm.

Ivette. He’d called her Ivette. He was mad. Ivette obeyed and he slammed the door after her, hard enough to make her jump. Once they were far from the Evolution and had gotten the press of their tail, Aaron spoke.

“Is it true?” His voice was deathly soft. Could’ve fooled her if she didn’t see his white-knuckled fists gripping the stirring wheel tightly.

“Aaron, please, hear me—“

“DID YOU FUCK HIM OR NOT?!”

“Yes,” Ivette cried. “I am so sorry, Ron. I—I was drunk and—“

“Don’t.” His jaw ticked and he slapped the horn twice. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Ivette. You and I know how well you can hold your alcohol.”

Aaron breathed hard and when his eyes met hers, there was devastation there. “HOW COULD YOU??!!” He bellowed, fists slamming into the steering wheel as he swerved through the traffic, breaking different traffic rules at once.

“I’m sorry, Ron! I really am.” Tears swarmed her vision and her voice cracked. She couldn’t reach him. She couldn’t reach him with words. Not when he was like this.

So she reached for him, wanting to hold his hand like she did whenever he was mad, but he flinched. What she’d done. . .she deserved his anger. His hate.

“Don’t touch me.” He said tightly, right before he suddenly stopped the car.

“Get out,” Aaron said. Ivette’s breath hitched. He was breaking up with her.

“Aaron, please,” She begged.

“Get the hell out of my car, Ivette!”

Ivette’s lips quivered and tears slid down her cheeks, but she pulled at the handle and stepped out of the car. She wasn’t done shutting the door when Aaron drove off, leaving her on the dark streets of Queenstown Road.

And it started to rain.