Mostly at the world, for the way things had turned out in general.
I rung the penthouse doorbell, half-expecting it to be answered by a butler. But this was no butler.
She stood there, in this all-white outfit, these flowy pants and top made out of some kind of silky material that almost shimmered, the way the light glinted off it, making her look other-worldly somehow. A look of surprise flitted across her face when she saw me.
He stood in front of me- the fighter. The man who’d run into me in the casino, held me in his arms. The one who'd delivered the beating in the fight, that took my breath away, kept me on the edge of my seat, my hands clenched tightly as I watched him fight the way a man fought when he didn't care whether or not he lived or died.
Even when I'd seen him in the casino the first time, in slacks and a collared shirt, he was rough, there was no doubt in my mind about that. His business clothes, the ones that hung on him like the most ill-fitting garments in the world. They didn't suit him. He was cut from a different cloth.
He was out of place there in the warehouse, too. I recognized the drive, the intensity I saw there, the darkness in him. But whatever was driving him, it was a compulsion, something that didn't quite seem to fit him even though he was obviously skilled at it.
Now, he stood in front of me, dressed the way he was that first time in the casino, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up on his forearms, revealing the expanse of tattoos that covered the length of his arms. I briefly wondered what he might look like completely out of the dress clothes, then put the thought immediately out of my mind. This was not the type of man I needed to wonder about naked, this man with the darkness in his eyes.
"You," he said. If his words had not, his expression would have betrayed his surprise. He did not appear easily able to hide his emotions.
"Me." I opened the door wider, not bothering to hide the smile that played at the corners of my mouth. I wasn't sure why it made me happy to see him here. I didn't need him here. I didn't need any complications in my life, not now.
He cleared his throat, and the look on his face passed, a more professional demeanor taking over. "I'm here to do the software installation. I'm Joe. Joe Holder.”
"They called you Hammer at the fight," I said. "I heard them."
He looked down at the ground, his head low, almost as if he was embarrassed by the name. "Yes," he said. "It's what they call me."
“I'm Meia," I said. "Come in." I gestured to the open expanse of room, and he walked inside. I saw him try to keep his gaze from wandering over the suite. It was hard not to look; it was impressive, even to someone like me who was jaded from being around money so long now.
"Wow."
"Yes," I said. "It's...something."
I watched as a puzzled look came over his face. "Are you the...owner?"
I shook my head. "No. That honor belongs to Aston."
"I met him," Joe said. Joe. This man standing here before me, this man in the ill-fitting shirt, was definitely not suited to be called Joe. The name Hammer, even if it was only a fighter nickname, fit him much better. It seemed to fit with who he was, with how dangerous and explosive he might be.
"Yes," I said. "He was displeased that you couldn't be bought."
"I get the feeling that he's used to being able to buy everything he wants." Hammer looked at me, his eyes intent, his gaze focused on me. For or a moment, I thought that what he was saying might be an accusation of some kind, an indictment of my willingness to be for sale. But then his face flushed, red rising to his cheeks, and I realized that he was embarrassed. The thought made me feel good about him somehow, as if someone who would be embarrassed by the potential misstep like that couldn't be entirely bad.
"Not everything," I said. "Even if it might seem like he can."
Hammer opened his mouth to say some something, then closed it again. He shook his head. "I just need to see where your computer is," he said. When his eyes locked with mine, I felt heat flood my core, and then a flash of embarrassment at the sensation.
"Follow me." I led him to Aston's office and watched him as he began to open his briefcase.
"I just need to attach this drive and upload the software real quick." He paused when I didn't move, and his face flushed again. Did he think I was standing here, watching him work in Aston's office, intentionally treating him like the help? A man like him would find that insulting, I knew that.
A man like him. I didn't know what kind of man he was. I had the sudden impulse to tell him what I wanted to say a moment ago, that I could not in fact be bought. I wanted to tell him that the reason I was here with Aston was for a greater purpose, a purpose bigger than myself. I had never felt shame about what I had done in the past. Guilt, yes – but shame, no. I had not chosen this life. I had been forced into it. And the men who did that were responsible for the monster I had become.
But standing there in front of him, hearing him intimate that I had been bought by Aston, in that moment I felt shame. In that moment, I felt regret. This man, the one I knew nothing about, had the ability to make me feel that way.