Twisted by McIntire Emily

Author:McIntire, Emily [McIntire, Emily]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Emily McIntire
Published: 2023-02-06T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Julian

I should be in the office, doing my actual job of running a multibillion- dollar diamond conglomerate, something that I haven’t done enough of ever since Yasmin took center stage in my life.

We’re close to launching two new lines of jewelry, one for Christmas and one for Valentine’s Day, and since Ian isn’t at the office fielding the incessant questions and approving on my behalf things that I don’t have time to focus on, there are mounds of emails and meetings piling up while I ignore them to be with her instead.

Take right now, for instance, when it’s barely past five p.m. and I’m sitting in my family room, my body warmed by the crackling of the fireplace, as I watch her get drunk off my expensive whiskey.

“What are you looking at?” She squints at me, taking another sip.

I relax in the oversize chair, bringing my own glass up to my mouth. “You.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, throwing herself back into the couch. “You do that a lot.”

“What?” I ask. “Look at you?”

“Mm- hmm.” She closes her eyes, leaning her head against the cushions. “You never used to, not when I would have cared anyway. But now it’s like…I can feel you staring and all I want is for you to disappear.”

I frown, although I’m not sure why her words bother me.

Her gaze jolts open, her face turning toward me.

“So serious,” she mocks. “You know, Baba used to say if you frowned too much, your face would get stuck that way.”

“Fascinating,” I drawl, taking a drink of whiskey and reveling in the burn as it blazes down my throat and settles in my chest.

“I could see you being a grumpy kid, I won’t lie,” she muses. “Got any pictures to dispel my theory?”

“Enough,” I snap, not wanting to talk about my childhood.

She sticks out her bottom lip, scoffing and rolling her eyes. It’s an immature thing to do, and my hand tingles, imagining what it would feel like to spank her ass and make her sorry for the disrespect. I take another sip instead, trying to shake off the feeling.

It goes silent after that because I definitely ruined the moment, and I’m about to leave her to continue drinking on her own when she speaks, her voice quieter than before.

“How do you remember then?” she asks.

“Remember what?”

“You know…” She waves her arm around. “All the good stuff.”

I drain the rest of my glass and set it down on the end table beside me. “I’d rather forget.”

Her brows furrow and she tilts her head, a curious gleam coasting across her eyes. The depth of her stare makes me uncomfortable, like she’s peeling back layers that I didn’t mean to expose and trying to find the broken little boy that’s buried underneath.

She won’t find him there. He disappeared with my piece-of- shit father.

“I love taking photos, but I haven’t done it for real in years,” she says absentmindedly.

“I’ve seen you with your camera several times,” I note.

“Yeah, but it’s not the same.”

“A picture is a picture.

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