Evie Rose

My heart lurches as a middle-aged man takes a pale-pink iced cupcake from her stash. It has swirls of buttercream. I glower as he bites into it, anger and jealousy burning in my throat.

That is for me.

I’m across the room and in front of her in a second. She blinks up into my face.

“What are those?” I ask abruptly.

I mean to have a bit more tact and open my mouth to say something more, but then she turns her unexpected weapon on me.

Fuck, her smile. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. She’s like I’ve been living in black and white, and suddenly there’s colour.

I stare at her.

I’d never realised until now how brave it is to smile. How being happy and positive is leaving yourself so totally vulnerable. I’m probably twice her age and three times her size, and I don’t let people in by smiling like that.

She’s just standing in front of a man who scared and threatened everyone in this room, and instead of bowing her head or looking as nervous as she should be, she’s smiling. As though it’s easy.

I admire it.

“Cupcakes.” Her voice is high but lyrical. “Would you like one?”

I am not a cupcake sort of person. I am not a person for sweet treats. I like whisky that tastes like burnt Scottish soil having a reunion in a morgue.

Apparently, now, I like her.

It’s not that she’s young and beautiful, although that definitely helps. It’s that I’m suddenly achingly aware that taking care of this girl would fill a need I had no idea about. A gap in my chest that I hadn’t even recognised was in the space that I always assumed had my withered, charred excuse for a heart.

I don’t know how to love her as she deserves. I haven’t a clue how to make her love me. Both those things feel very important, and I can’t believe I’ve neglected them as skills.

There’s a pause while I’m flummoxed by unfamiliar feelings, and I’m still scowling. Which is maybe why a young guy pushes in from the side.

“This is Mr Blackwood.” He pronounces my name like it’s “God”. “He doesn’t want your pathetic little cakes.” He’s barely more than a boy, and wears a shiny suit that likely cost him more than he can afford.

She jolts like he’s smacked her, and her smile falters.

“Of course not. I didn’t think he would.” She begins to pull away, her expression going from sunny to hurt in a second.

I’m so busy looking at her, I don’t anticipate the disaster.

“Miss Matthews?” Mr Blackwood’s curt tone breaks through my disbelief.

My head snaps up, and I’m lost in my boss’ blue eyes. Again.

“Could I trouble you to write down that address for us, Miss Matthews?” he drawls. “I wouldn’t want to disturb your daydreaming, but perhaps you could do your job, please.”

It’s hardly the worst thing he’s ever said to me. Mr Blackwood is notoriously grumpy.

“This address?” I reel off the one they mentioned, and my boss’ eyes narrow.

His brothers laugh, but I hold Mr Blackwood’s gaze.

“Oh, she just owned you, Sev,” my dad says.

But I’m watching my boss. There’s something inexplicably proud in his expression. Like he’s impressed.

“Very good, Miss Matthews.”

Tension sizzles between us for one second, then two, as Vito speaks, and I really am not listening this time. I’m looking into Sev Blackwood’s face and the only thought in my head, is how? How did he know?

He growls at me regularly, and I’ve always assumed he didn’t like me, and that my crush was totally one-sided. But I’m wondering now. I live in a property owned by Mr Blackwood, and I have since I started working here.

There’s only one way my boss could know I hurt myself dancing on a table, since I don’t look like the kind of girl who does that. If he saw it happen.

only see her once during the rest of the workday, and I snap at her, “Why aren’t you having that eye sorted out?”

I am an unmitigated arsehole.

And when I open my phone to the surveillance app after the little blue dot on the tracker shows me she’s at home, I breathe a sigh of relief.

I settle down with a glass of Scotch and my tablet to an evening of my favourite pastime—stalking Maisie.

It’s more fun to follow her in person, but it’s a weekday night, and my brothers have only just finished giving me shit. I wonder what my girl is doing?

I flick to the surveillance app with a smile, and anticipation in my heart. I love watching her read, or…