His to Consume

Drunk Again

Lena's pov

I drove home in a stupor, my brain rewinding the entire conversation. When I finally reached my apartment, I was emotionally drained, mentally drained, and even physically drained.

I placed my keys on the countertop and fell back on the soft couch, hiding my face within my palm.

Grant's remarks reverberated in my head, as if even he knew it. "I can do it again."

He was overly cocky, overly self-assured. And why wouldn't he be? Grant Wells was used to making things happen. That was how he was.

But I was not that kind of girl any longer. I was not that foolish shovel who believed in his talk and fake assurances.

That was the deal, however. I was also capable of fending for myself. Or at the very least, I was trying to.

Nonetheless, his shadow in my life ingests me as an unhealed sore. Every time I felt that I was almost recovering, he would appear and scratch the healing skin, exposing me once again.

Trying to catch a breath, I also attempted to eliminate the thoughts. There was no use in it, anyway.

I felt my phone vibrate, reached for it quickly expecting it to be the message from Damien. It wasn't.

It was a new message from Grant.

Grant: "You should learn to trust me, Lena. It will work out better for the two of us."

I looked at the message in disbelief, rage surfacing in me.

Me: "Trust you? After all the crap you pulled? Don't hold your breath."

Grant responded almost instantaneously.

Grant: "You'll see, Lena. Sooner or later, you will."

I tossed my mobile phone on the couch, my hands trembling.

What was his strategy? What was it that he hoped to achieve?

And more importantly, why did he think he could 'woo' me once again?

I did not know. All I knew was that I would not allow him to win.

Not this time.

The following days passed quickly in a blur. I immersed myself in work hoping it would help me forget about the mundane. However, no matter what I did, I couldn't shake off the presence of Grant Wells.

He was ubiquitous; his name flashed in newspapers, his firm was the talk of the town, his picture appeared in lots of articles and news alerts that I never subscribed to.

And worse of all was Damien.

He had not been in contact with me since the day of our dispute, and the distance between us felt too loud. I wanted to reach out to him and try to make it all better, but the difficulty lay in not knowing where to even begin.

How was it possible for me to try and make sense of a situation that I did not entirely even comprehend?

A week passed by, and I found myself in front of Grant's office once more. I had not intended to return here, but something in me had broken.

This was no longer his story to tell.

I banged on the door, and on its opening, a secretary stared back at me in disbelief, looking a little taken aback. "Lena," she spoke. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No," I said firmly. "But I need to see him."

She reluctantly chewed on the decision and said 'yes' shaking her head in agreement. "Get a hold of yourself," she told me, eager to hurry in.

In a moment, she came back. "You can go in," she said at the door.

I walked into the room, my heart racing.

Behind the huge desk sat Grant, his arms clasped together. He looked up when I came inside, a grin creeping onto his features.

"Lena," he said, his voice as warm as summer. "Fancy meeting you here."

I did not bother with niceties. "We need to have a discussion," I announced, my tone resolute.

He extended his hand toward the chair opposite his desk. "Please, have a seat."

"I'll stand," I replied sharply.

He adjusted in his chair, the smile still ever present. "Very well," he said. "What would you like to discuss?"

"What is it that you are after Grant?" I inquired forthrightly without needing pleasantries. "First, what are you even doing here? Why did you put money in my firm, for what and most importantly, who do you seek to help?"

The grin was wiped off his face and was replaced with a look that was sober. He stood and circled the desk but halted several feet from where I was.

"Already told you," he said in a low voice. "I don't like competition. And I always get what I desire."

I felt nauseous but fought to ensure he did not read in my face the impact of his statement.

"You can't just waltz back into my life and expect me to fall for you again," I said, my voice quivering with rage.

He inched further forward, the intensity of his gaze raking over me. "Can't I?" he asked her in a whisper.

"No," I said with finality.

He grinned once more, a self-assured, nearly predatory one. "We will see," he said.

And just like that, he turned around and strolled out of the room, leaving me still there looking more baffled and irritated than before.

The war with Grant Wells had in earnest commenced. And I do not think I was ready for it.

I got back to my office, and recollecting the events of the previous hours, felt rather beaten up emotionally. My meeting with Grant had put me on an emotional high, but I could not afford to indulge that high. I had work that helped me cope with every upheaval that was in my life, the work that all the self-pitying sagas I told myself revolved around.

When I pulled out my chair to sit down at the desk, Damien was already standing at the door. He had a neutral expression, but the urgency in his eyes suggested otherwise. He walked into the office and shut the door behind him.

"Lena, it's high time we executed the agreement with Apex," he enunciated with a business-like tone.