Page 57 of Bloodlust

Ready.

Aim.

Fire.

"Aren't you going to ask me why I'm here?" I ask, shifting my weight on the couch opposite of Hayden's armchair. "Or are you just going to sit there?"

"I figured—" he smiles knowing he’s won this round, "—you'd speak when you were ready." Hayden tilts his head, observing me carefully with such intensity that I lean back into the cushions, almost hoping they'd swallow me whole. "Are you ready now, Camilla?" Hepauses when I don't respond. Because I can't. "Why are you here today?"

It's an excellent question. Nothing happened this time. It's been a normal week. Painfully average. Mundanity at its finest.

It's been dull.

Loud. Busy.

Frantic.

"I don't know," I reply honestly in a whisper as a heavy breath flows out of my lungs. "I needed..." I blink at him, noticing the steady rhythm of my heartbeat. "I guess I needed some quiet."

Hayden narrows his eyes speculatively. "Do you wish to sit here in silence then?"

"No," I say as the overflowing desire to crack the meaning behind the art bursts through my veins. I stand up abruptly and waltz toward his bookshelves, running my fingers along the dust-free surface of the dark wood. I look around his office, noticing for the first time how sterile and lifeless the space is between these four walls. "Do you ever plan on decorating?"

"Decorate?" Hayden rotates his body, raising a brow as he watches me circle the room. "Why would I decorate?"

"I don't know." I shrug, looking up at a watercolor painting of the Manhattan skyline that hangs above his desk. "Maybe to add some character?" I quickly glance at him. "Some personality? A brand?"

He shoots me a combative look. "Maybe thisismy brand."

"It's rather bleak and boring," I say, squinting at the familiar painting.

"Again," he says, this time with a light chuckle. "Perhaps bleak and boringismy brand."

"We both know that'snotyour brand." I toss him a coy smirk. "What are you trying to hide, Doc?"

"Nothing." For a millisecond, I catch his lip twitch, but then I wonder if it's just a figment of my imagination.Another illusion no doubt. He stands up, joining me by his desk. He looks down at me. "I've only been here for a few months, Camilla. A brand takes time to develop." He looks around the room. "Do you have suggestions for future improvements?"

"I suppose you can't carry over a Florida aesthetic to New York," I muse, licking my bottom lip as I stare at him. "We're not big conch shell fans here."

A frown mars his brows. "Florida?"

"You didn't think I'd do a background check, Doc?" I smirk. "Rookie mistake."

He lets out a labored laugh. "I appreciate your due diligence."

"Right," I hum, glancing back at the painting, the artist clicking in my head. "It's an interesting painting." I look at him. "It's by Elizabetta Lombardi, right? I remember seeing it in an exhibition six years ago."

"It might be," Hayden says flippantly. "I'm not big on art."

"No?"

"No." He clears his throat. "I purchased it from an estate sale when I first got here. Great quality items for half the price."

"An estate sale?" I ask. "As in a dead person’s shit?"

"Yes." Hayden gives me a forced grin. "As in a dead person’s shit."

"So..." I clap my hands, tilting my head as I lean against his desk. "Theoretically, you could be sleeping where someone dropped dead, huh?"