He has a heart of stone... but for her he's burn the world.
Kieran Diaz has thought about one thing since he was seven years old: killing the man who murdered his father. He doesn't have time for love and that's just the way he likes it.
But when he...
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If you had told me a month ago that I would be thankful for Kieran freaking Diaz, I would've laughed in your face, but a lot really can change in a short amount of time. And you know what? For the first time, I was hopeful for the future.
He came with me when I got a tattoo of a tiny butterfly on the inside of my wrist as it symbolized the nickname my father gave to my mom and me. Kieran even let me stay in his office so I could work on my sketches without distractions from my friends.
I still wasn't cured of my fear of comparison, but I could think about sharing my work with strangers without completely shutting down— most of the time. The thought of sharing my work with my mother though still made me sick to my stomach, but I'd get there.
The most important thing was I was no longer stuck. If I just kept creating and blocked out all the voices in my head that told me I would never be as good as my mother then I could conquer the fear that had haunted me for as long as I could remember.
My relationship with Kieran had changed too. I no longer saw him as my father's employee but he was now my friend. Though the dreams I've had at night about him were far from platonic but I'm sure he still only saw me as his boss's daughter. He always gave a courtesy nod whenever we would leave our respectable apartments at the same time and he barely spoke two words to me when my mom invited him to family night dinner the other day. But I no longer saw the mysterious blonde woman leaving his apartment so that gave me foolish hope that maybe he'd be open to exploring something with me.
Like I said, foolish.
"You don't think you packed too much stuff?" Camila grabbed a rag and wiped the sweat from her forehead; she was currently in the middle of her Pilate session. "I think you packed too much stuff."
"No," I lied. I definitely packed too much stuff.
I made Kieran a tiny thank-you basket, and I was getting ready to drop it off at his apartment. There was every chance that he wasn't home and he hated gift baskets since the welcome to the Mirage giftbasket still sat on the floor even though he's lived there for months, but I felt compelled to do something for him. Besides, everyone deserves to be shown they're appreciated every once in a while. Since I didn't know much about him other than the few things I've managed to scrape together about him over the years; his favorite cologne (Bleu De Chanel) and his favorite vodka (Russo Baltique), I mainly filled the basket with ideas from Pinterest that men would like. Dark chocolate, a black Ferragamo watch, a fuzzy black blanket and even a cute black stuffed teddy bear. Kieran didn't strike me as the kind of man who liked fuzzy anything- but I hoped the basket would make him smile.
I took a deep breath before I left the apartment and knocked on Kieran's door. After knocking three times with no answer I was going to leave until I noticed the knob turn and the door opened less than two seconds later.
"Hey, I—" I stopped. Stared.
I'd expected to see Kieran dressed in a suit or casual activewear. Instead, he was shirtless with a charcoal towel wrapped around his waist.
