Not-an-asshole Erik: However, I recognize that some of the recent things you’ve gone through have been traumatic. As such, despite my initial reactions, you deserve kindness. What happened to you was wrong, Helena. If you promise not to break any more things, I can arrange for you to have a cot in my room and you can stop sleeping in the same room you were attacked in.
Tears sting my eyes. I can't believe what I am reading. My fingers are flying, trying to type out a thank-you-I-don’t-deserve-this text when the dots reappear.
Not-an-asshole Erik: Oh, and when we get to the shore, you are replacing my books.
I let out a sob and a laugh at the same time.
Me: You’ve got a deal.
No response. That addictive fire ignites in me once again.
Me: Sooo… how long do I have to wait until I can come back?
Seen. No response. I tap my fingers on the ground and allow the phone to lock.
Not-an-asshole Erik: Helena, I’m working. I can’t be distracted by you anymore today. You can go in whenever you wish. In fact, it better be clean before I get there.
I grin from ear to ear, grab his comforter from that horrible, uncomfortable bed, and dash across the hall.
It may be a bad idea to put myself close to him. It feels like playing with fire, but I am tired of the lingering cold.
Maybe a bit of fire is what I need.
15
Distractions
ERIK
Rubbing my palms against my eyes, I groan into my hands. This day is dragging on, and I’ve been staring at the same bill of goods for the past two hours. No matter how hard I try to focus on my work, my mind keeps returning to the infuriating female on my ship. I cannot get her out of my head.
She’s supposed to be cleaning up the mess she made in our room—inmyroom—while I get some work done.
But instead, here I am. Sitting in my office, thinking about her.
This lack of productivity is infuriating. I pride myself on being a hard worker and completing things on time. I run a tight ship, and my men respect me for it.
Not for the first time since I sat at my desk three hours ago, I glance at my FaePhone. Swiping up, I stare at the last text Helena sent me. It’s accompanied by a selfie of her holding a glass globe filled with swirling white flakes. Her pink eyes stare at me through the phone, her brows raised as she intently studies the globe.
Princess: Why do you have this? It’s not very terrifying
I’ve just been staring at the message since it came in. Time after time, I’ve tried to type out a response, but nothing seems to be right. In the end, I just decided not to respond. After all, what would I say?
Oh, hey, Princess. That globe you’re holding? Yeah, be careful with that. It’s the last thing my mother gave me before she was brutally murdered.
That is not going to happen.
We are drawing nearer to the Gates of Hell with every passing moment. Where I’m supposed to kill Helena and dump her body.
A roaring fills my ears as potent, overwhelming rage rushes through my body. I clench my fists as visions of lifeless pink eyes flash before me.
The more time I spend with Helena, the more I realize I am screwed. Totally, completely, one hundred percent screwed.
It’s not like the female is perfect. Far from it, in fact. She is maddeningly exasperating. Helena is rude, obnoxious, spiteful, and makes me angrier than I have ever been in my entire life. The problem is—and it is a problem—she is also smart, beautiful, spirited, and full of life.
In the short time I’ve known Helena, she has blown me away with her perseverance despite the crap life has thrown her way. She pushes me in a way no one else has ever dared. She doesn’t see the Pirate of Death when she looks at me. She just seesme.
Helena has breathed life into me.