Ronan
“Thank you, Agatha. It was delicious,” I say, setting my fork on the plate and leaning back in my chair as my housekeeper comes over to clear it from the table.
“I’m glad you liked it, Mr. Kade.” When she scoops up my plate and silverware, I catch a glimpse of her watch and grimace at the reminder that it’s well after midnight.
“I really wish you wouldn’t insist on staying so late. I’m perfectly capable of heating up my own dinner.”
She laughs on her way to the kitchen. “Oh, I like the late hours. The boys are all grown and out of the house. It gets lonely there by myself.”
“Make sure Tyson walks you to your car.”
“Of course, Mr. Kade.”
She cleans the dishes in the sink, the gentle sound of her ministrations calming my nerves as I swirl the bourbon in my glass and stare out the giant window overlooking the city. When she leaves, it will be too quiet.
I think she must know that I find comfort in hearing her work because she busies herself for longer than she needs to, wiping down counters, sweeping the floor, preparing my morning coffee so it will start brewing by seven.
“See you tomorrow, Mr. Kade,” she calls from the entryway.
“Night, Agatha. Drive safe, please.”
“I will. I promise.”
I hear the sound of her keys as she picks them up off the center table by the door.
“Oh, Mr. Kade,” she calls toward me, and I turn to her expectantly. “Eric wanted me to remind you about his benefit for the organization tomorrow.”
“At the harbor?” I ask.
“Yes, sir.”
“Perfect. Tell him I’ll be there.”
“Thank you so much, Mr. Kade.” With that, I hear her shuffling out with her coat and bags, always trying to juggle so much at once.
When the door closes, the apartment is bathed in silence.
It’s deafening.
There’s something weird about silence, as if it holds me hostage. It won’t let me move. Won’t let me put on music or the TV. And it certainly won’t let me sleep. Instead, it forces me to be alone with my thoughts. Cruel, cruel silence.
But at least tonight, my thoughts are filled with a sweet face. Round blue eyes and blushing red cheeks. I can’t get the nervous look Daisy wore up on that stage out of my head.
After I left the club, I came straight home. Agatha was here, my meal prepared and waiting for me. And she can tell me she waited up for me because she doesn’t like the silence, but I know the real reason. Agatha knows what today is. She was waiting for me to get home, because there is no one else to.
It’s kind, but I wish it wasn’t my widowed housekeeper.
I should have taken Daisy on a date. It makes me feel pathetic to admit it, but I should have. Even if for no other reason than one night of company.
One night that could potentially become a month or a year. Until it starts to feel like she loves the luxury I provide a little too much. Then it will inevitably end—painfully.
But hope, that stubborn fungus that seems to grow wherever it can, has me thinking that maybe it wouldn’t.
No, stop. Don’t go down that road.
I suppose I should get some sleep, but I can’t seem to force my mind to quiet enough to relax, so I don’t even bother trying. Instead, I grab my phone off the table and my jacket off the hook as I head toward the front door. After stepping into the empty elevator, I press the main floor button instead of the garage. Sometimes I go for drives at night to relax, but other nights, I enjoy a quiet stroll around the city. Tonight is one of those kinds of nights.
The cold air bites at my neck, so I button my jacket as I pass through the door of the lobby. It seems we have one last cold snap before spring quickly becomes summer.
“Need me to call you a ride, Mr. Kade?” the doorman asks.
“No thanks, Tyson. Going to enjoy a midnight stroll instead.”
“Enjoy, sir.”
It’s quiet, but not the same quiet as my apartment. In there, it’s loneliness, but out here, the sounds are like a melody—peaceful and harmonic. Cars driving by, crosswalk signals, music in the distance.
The streets are relatively safe in this part of town. Upscale apartments and boutique-style businesses line the streets.
A few blocks down, there’s a bar. The distant sound of voices echo through the empty streets. It’s a comforting sign of life, night owls having their fun while the rest of the world is sleeping. I’ve always loved the night life—not that I go to bars like that anymore.
In my younger days, I would. After my world fell apart, I took comfort in binge drinking and casual sex to distract me and blur reality, so I didn’t have to feel the excruciating things I didn’t want to feel.
That was all before I discovered the lifestyle, which sort of happened by accident. I was in my thirties, wasting my life away on a vicious cycle of money and sex when I started sleeping with a woman who had a taste for being tied up and submitting her body to me. That was when I discovered that I, too, had certain tastes—a taste for pleasure and domination.
So, I started to seek out more women who had similar cravings.
Soon, it became less about sex and numbing the pain and more about focusing my attention on something that actually made me feel useful and needed. I found my purpose again.
Then, nine years ago, Salacious opened and for the first time in nearly twenty years, I had a semblance of a family again. Friends, like Emerson and Eden, didn’t make me feel so different for what I liked in the bedroom. They gave me a place to truly be myself, without judgment or ridicule. I had almost forgotten how fulfilling a family like that could be.
Deep in contemplation, I continue my walk. Instead of staying straight and heading toward the bar, I turn to the left, approaching a city park after a couple more blocks. Across the street is a gas station that stays open late. The owner’s name is Sherie, and her husband died last May, so I try to stop in more often to see how things are going.
Sherie is behind the counter when I walk in, the doorbell chiming and alerting her of my presence. She looks up from her book and smiles at me with a warm greeting.
“Ronan,” she says with a tilt of her head. “Out late again?”
“Can’t sleep,” I reply groggily.
“You can never sleep.”
“It’s true. How are you holding up here?” I take a quick look around the store. It’s in good shape. Nothing that seems to be in dire need of repair.
“Everything is good. Business is great this time of year,” she says. “But I’m not ready for spring break. It’ll be so busy.”
With a chuckle, I nod. “I’m sure it will. You’ll let me know if there’s anything I can—”
The door opens behind me, and I turn to see who’s coming in so late. I do a double take before I recognize the thick blonde braid draped over her shoulder and those round blue eyes staring up at me like a deer in headlights.
“Ronan?” she shrieks, standing frozen in the doorway.
My brow furrows as I turn toward Daisy. I glance behind her, waiting for a boyfriend or husband, hoping that she’s not walking into a downtown gas station alone at two a.m.
But there’s no one. Not even a car parked out front.
“Daisy?” I ask, confounded to see her here at this hour.
“What are you doing in a gas station?” she asks incredulously.
I glance down at my watch. “It’s two in the morning. Are you here alone?”
“Um…” she stammers. “I need hot water for my tea, and Sherie lets me have it for free.”
I spin around and stare at Sherie with confusion, then back at Daisy. “Making tea in the middle of the night?”
“It’s chamomile. It helps me sleep—Wait, why am I explaining this to you? I can go wherever I want,” she adds with her head held high.
My jaw clenches, and I force myself to breathe before snapping at her for being so naive. “Why can’t you make hot water at home?”
Daisy’s eyes dance back and forth between me and Sherie. Then she composes herself. Shoulders back, as if she’s forcing herself to be strong. “None of your business.”
It’s almost cute the way she says that with her soft, breathy high-pitched voice. Or at least it would be cute if it wasn’t so goddamn frustrating.
She brushes past me and walks directly to the coffee station, grabbing a large cup and filling it with steaming hot water, then covering it with a plastic lid and holding it to her chest as if to steal its warmth.
I watch in silence, trying to piece together this random turn of events. I mean, I like when people surprise me, but this girl is throwing me off at every turn.
“Night, Sherie,” she says. Then she turns her serious eyes on me, glowering at me as she says, “Night, Ronan.” With that, she marches out the front door without another word, leaving me staring at Sherie with far more questions than answers.
Daisy is right. It’s none of my business. But since when has that ever stopped me?
Sherie shrugs at me and I know she’s not about to disclose any of the girl’s secrets. So I turn toward the door and watch Daisy crossing the dark parking lot toward the street, alone.
What the fuck?
My feet move on their own. I’m practically chasing her out the door and across the parking lot. She’s huddled in a thick sweatshirt and a pair of tight black leggings that leave very little to the imagination when it comes to the shape of her ass.
I’m at a loss for words as she strides alone toward the city park. She can’t be going there, can she? She’s getting dangerously close to a shifty-looking white van parked under a giant oak tree. What on earth is this girl up to?
“Daisy,” I call from across the street. She turns toward me just as she reaches the white van. Her expression is tense, lips pressed together and shoulders raised up as if she’s nervous.
“What?” she replies, sounding exhausted.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Good night, Ronan. Just go home.” With an exasperated sigh, her shoulders sag away from her ears, and I can’t believe what I’m seeing when she pulls open the sliding door of the van and climbs into the back.
It’s open long enough for me to make out a small platform bed piled with heavy blankets. The fight in me dissipates. She can’t really be living in there, can she? Does Emerson know about this? He’d never let his employees struggle like that.
I cross the street in a hurry. When I reach the van, I bang on the window.
“Daisy, open up,” I bark.
“I said good night, Ronan,” she calls from inside.
“Get out of the fucking van,” I bellow, my teeth clenched. I thought I could keep my cool, but I guess I was wrong. Apparently, I’m incapable of remaining calm at the moment. I’m too appalled, and to be honest, more than a little fired up.
A moment later, the door slides open and she’s staring at me with an angry expression. “Who do you think you are?” she argues. “You think because you’re a man, you can just boss me around?”
“Are you sleeping in your van?” I ask, ignoring her antagonizing question.
She leans closer, those baby blue eyes piercing me with anger. “It’s. None. Of. Your. Business,” she snaps, punctuating each word.
I’ve lost control. It’s long gone. I act on impulse as I snatch her by the waist and hoist her over my shoulder, turning as if I mean to carry her home like this.
“What are you doing?” she screams.
Clearly, this won’t work. I’ll be thrown in jail within minutes if I try to abduct this flailing young woman and bring her to my apartment. I drop her onto the ground, so she’s standing just in front of me.
Get your head together, Ronan. What the fuck is wrong with you?
When she rears back her hand to slap me, I grab her by the wrist before she makes contact.
“You’re fucking crazy if you think I’m going to let you sleep out here.”
“I’m not homeless,” she replies. “Lots of people live in their vans. It’s like…a mobile home. I’ve got a bed. And I’m safe.”
“You think walking around at night, letting people see you get into that van, is safe? A man could easily break the windows and hurt you.” I’m seething at this point.
“The only one bothering me is you,” she replies coldly, letting her eyes slide over to where my hand is still holding her wrist.
Am I overreacting? Am I wrong for wanting to stop this girl from sleeping in a van on one of the downtown streets?
Daisy is no one to me. Why should I care what she does?
I should walk away right now.
Except I can’t.
There is something holding me to this spot, keeping me tethered to her and this situation.
You can’t fix everything, my wife used to tell me. And she was right, but it would never fucking stop me from trying.
“I have plenty of room at my place. You can even park your van in the garage to keep it safe.”
She practically flinches, staring at me as if I’ve offended her. “Are you crazy? I can’t go with you.”
“Yes, you can, and you are,” I reply impatiently.
“Are you going to throw me over your shoulder again?” Her mouth is set in a straight line and it’s kind of cute how confidently she’s arguing with me—like she’d actually win.
My jaw clenches and I fight the urge to do exactly that. It would make me feel better, but it would only piss her off and I could never get her to stay. Instead, I lean in and look her in the eye. She seems a bit surprised by my proximity, her eyes going wide and the tension in her shoulders melting away.
“Daisy, I’m just trying to help you, okay? Let me help you.”
Her lips part as she struggles to find her response. “I…don’t need your help.”
“You don’t have to need it. Take it anyway.”
I watch her gaze dance back and forth between my eyes before she finally forces herself to swallow and I see the fight die in her.
“This park is no place for a woman to sleep alone. I couldn’t rest knowing you’re out here. So just come with me tonight.”
Her brows are pinched together when she asks, “What do you want…in return?”
“Nothing,” I reply without hesitation.
“You don’t need to lure young women to your apartment to get laid, do you?”
I laugh a little at that. “Not really.”
With that, she lets out a heavy exhale. I notice her glance behind me at her van before sending me a quick nod. “Fine. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll go.”
“Thank you,” I reply.
“You always get what you want, don’t you?” she asks as she moves toward her van, sliding the door closed and then facing me with a stern expression.
For a moment, I wonder if it’s some sort of twist of fate that brought us together twice in one night. If there was something more powerful at play when I left my apartment to walk the streets, without knowing she’d be walking them too.
I don’t bother letting my eyes drink in the long, slender shape of her legs or the stubborn expression on her face. I refuse to get attached to the idea that Daisy and I are anything more than acquaintances, because I know better. She’s right. I don’t have to do much to get women into my bed, but I’m dreaming if I think I can get one like her to stay.
Getting my heart broken is painful enough. But getting mine broken by a woman like Daisy might kill me.
So, I lie. And with a smile, I nod. “Yes, I do.”
