Carmen

By the time I make it to my apartment, I'm in a miserable ass mood. Riley is spending the night at Margo's place, and Archer has sent me to voicemail four times. I took the long way home, having the cab drop me off about four blocks away so I could try and somehow walk off the frustration and disappointment in myself, but nothing seemed to work. There's no one to blame but me and the stupid fucking connection I have to Corden that I can't explain. I let it control the entirety of what was supposed to be a fun night out with me, Archer, and our friends.

Stalking into the bedroom, I pull out the outfit I'm doing for my set in a few hours—a skimpy blue bra and pantie set with frilly lace and thin straps—and lay it on my bed. I pause at the full-length mirror in the corner of the room, eyeing the mini dress I had planned to seduce Archer with tonight. I wanted to forget all about my run-in with Corden at the flower shop earlier this morning, and yet I ended up worrying more about his opinion during drinks than my boyfriend's.

What is wrong with me?

When knocks sound off on the front door, I mutter a curse under my breath. My heels clatter down the hallway, and when I look into the peephole, my entire body tenses. Corden Nash is on the other side, and clutched in his fingers is... My heart freezes.

It's a Hérmes bag.

"Are you going to let me in?" He drawls.

I should kick him to the curb and tell him to get lost, but curiosity gets the better of me when I swing open the door instead. "What are you doing here?" I seethe. Dragging him by his forearm, I pull him into the apartment and slam the door shut. "No one can see you here, Corden. We agreed to keep our other lives...separate."

"We did, I just..." He rakes his hand over his hair, seeming frazzled, and I've never known Corden to be frazzled. Granted, it's not like I know him well enough to have learned his nervous tells, but he strikes me as the kind of man to never be anxious or worried about anything. "I didn't like how we left things earlier. I wanted to apologize."

"Apologize," I repeat the word slowly, allowing it to sink in. "What for?"

"For being a dick," he replies simply. "My brother and I haven't been on good terms for a while now, mainly my doing to attempt to keep him at arm's length to ensure his safety. I have a reputation to uphold when I'm around him or anyone else in his friend circle, and I'm sorry you got caught in the crossfire of that version of me."

I'm speechless when he steps around me and inspects the apartment. It's nothing lavish like he's used to, but Riley has made it feel like home here. Plants litter the window overlooking an extravagant view of more buildings—sarcasm intended. We can't afford glamorous views or an abundance of square footage, but our apartment is modern and has all the upgrades of a nice place.

"Why are you telling me this?" I finally manage to ask.

He places the bag on the counter before turning to arch a brow at me. "I meant it when I asked you to give me another chance. Things will be different now, Carmen. Or do you prefer I call you Hadari?"

"I prefer you call me neither. I told you to leave me alone."

"Without seeing my apology gift first?" He points at the bag. "Aren't you curious?"

"I don't care what's in the bag, Corden. You can't buy my forgiveness."

"Never said I could buy it, but a gift seems like a good start to mend things. Does it not?" He eyes me in an unnerving way as if he can see the very depths of my soul. It has all the hairs on my body standing on end when he jerks his chin to the bag and says, "Open it."

A demand, not a suggestion.

I tentatively walk towards the bag, but after our conversation at dinner, there's only one thing this could be, and if it's what I think it is...

Pulling out the lavish tissue paper, I grab the orange box that's as smooth as velvet with shaky fingers. A black ribbon encases it like a perfectly wrapped Christmas gift, and as soon as I undo it and lift the lid... When I pull out another drawstring bag and peek inside?

A baby pink Birkin is there to greet me.

"Corden." His name sounds garbled from the tears I'm attempting to hold back. "I can't accept this."

"Is it the right one?" He asks.

"Yes, it's the right one, but that's not the point. You could have gifted me the ribbon with the brand name and I'd be just as excited."

His lips twitch, threatening a smile. "I know," he says. "That's why I bought it for you. You deserve it." The breath leaves my lungs when he steps behind me, invading all my senses. His hands cage me in against the island, and then he bends his head down against the shell of my ear to whisper, "For the record, I don't think you should ever apologize for wanting to be draped in luxury. If you were mine, I'd gladly give you my card and let you buy whatever it is your pretty little heart desires. And do you want to know why?"

Fucking hell.

My breathing becomes labored when his hand lands on my hip. "Because you'd get to objectify me and stare at my body?" I guess.

His laugh is a huff into my skin, his nose scraping against my shoulder. I should pull away and tell him to stop, but then he utters something that has my heart stilling in my chest. "No. I'd do anything to see the smile on your face right now. You love fashion, and rather than criticize your high taste, I'd go bankrupt trying to accommodate it."

I'm dizzy when his hand sprawls on my stomach, caressing the fabric of my dress. His words ring through my head, playing on repeat like a broken record, and the heat from him holding me against his chest is almost too much to bear. It's a reminder that this can't happen between us, and not because of the lifestyle he lives, but because he lost his chance. I have too much self-respect to let him back in after he fucked up with me.

So, rather than lean into his touch, I clear my throat and step to the left, shimmying out of his grasp. "You should go," I whisper. "And..." As much as it pains me. "Take the bag, too."

Our eyes are locked in battle, neither of us breaking it until finally he dips his chin in agreement. "Can I at least visit you at The Harbor? If I can't win your affection back, can I perhaps win your friendship?"

"I won't dance on you at The Harbor again," I retort. Not when I have a boyfriend. It's going to be strictly limited to pole dancing.

"I didn't ask you to. I thought..." He shakes his head, shoving his hands into the pocket of his jeans. "I thought we'd go back to our original agreement. The Red Room. Just us. And you won't do anything you don't feel comfortable with."

"Corden." A bubble of laughter escapes before I can stop it.

"What?" He presses.

"Nothing. I just didn't expect you to be the type of person who begs."

A flicker of something dangerous passes across his face before it returns to neutral, his mask sliding back on. "I'm not the kind of man who begs, Hadari, but if that's what I have to do to win you over then so be it. I'd do anything to get in your good graces again."

Why am I considering this? I shouldn't want anything to do with him, but I can see the effort he's putting into fixing things. As long as he's aware a relationship won't be in the cards for us, then I suppose continuing our arrangement at The Harbor wouldn't be the worst thing. As much as I try to deny it, I miss his company, too. We both don't have anyone who accepts us for all that we are, and sure, we keep our double lives a secret from our family and friends, but there's comfort in knowing Corden accepts both versions of me, as I do for him so long as he stays true to his word and actually tells me what his operation consists of.

"Fine. If you want to work towards being friends then we can do that, I guess."

He smiles, and damn, he should do it more often. "Perfect. Will you be there tonight?"

"Yeah. My shift starts in two hours."

"Alright, I'll see you there, then." He spins on his heel to stride for the door, but I call out his name to stop him.

"The bag," I say, pointing to the drawstring knapsack.

He shakes his head, my heart a puttering mess. "It's for you. Consider it a...friendship gift."