Chapter Nine

Aiden

My phone chimes as I halt my car in Dad's parking space. I glance down at it, a surly expression on my face. It's a message from Mr. Neil. He's following through on his promise, forwarding Hermione Watson Pierce's dossier to me.

 My gaze flickers to the bouquet lying sideways on the seat next to me. I had high hopes for tonight's evening, but they were promptly dashed with her lack of appearance. Her disregard for me is noted loud and clear.

I pick up my phone, leaving the bouquet in the car, and get out. I lock the door and make my way inside. 

So, this is what being heartbroken feels like. I should be heading to purgatory now to repent for the numerous hearts I've scarred in the past while dating aimlessly. 

I continue on my way towards my room, kick off my shoes with the back of my feet, undress, and step into the shower. My clothes litter the path to the lavish bathroom in my room. I kick them out of my way and turn on the shower.

Water rains down on my head, and I stand there like a log of wood. My mind is blank. Her message cuts deep. I've dealt with rejections in the past, but Hermione's rejection slices into a deeper place in my heart. 

I blank out to stifle the pain, wincing against the burning sensation in my chest. I turn off the shower before the bathroom floods into my room. I grab a towel and work it through my hair.

I squeeze my eyes shut, conjuring a fantasy of how the evening could have gone if Hermione Watson Pierce had deigned to grace me with her presence. 

Yes. Deigned. This girl is obviously way out of my league. With her impressive certifications and accomplishments at a relatively young age, I pale in comparison. If not for my father's influence, I wouldn't stand a chance with her, let alone marry her.

Enough with the self-degradation. The sensible part of my mind snaps at me. Focus on the girl.

 I was prepared to lay my charm thick on her and try to burrow through her thick layers. And no, I wasn't looking forward to sex with Hermione Watson Pierce on our first date, which is typical of me. Hermione is different. I want to connect with her on a deeper level.

"Fuck!" I shove my hand through my hair. I am deeply infatuated with this girl. She might be the one. My heart stills as I contemplate the idea, thoughts swirling in my head. 

I've always had an issue with commitment, but with Hermione Watson Pierce, I'm already thinking of forever. It's crazy. But it's intriguing.

I wrap the towel around my hips and step out of the bathroom. The drains are efficient; there is no flood in my room. I plop down on the comforter after I've changed. I did the cleaner a favor and tucked in my laundry well after dressing up.

 I pick up my phone and go through the file on Hermione that Mr. Neil sent to me. I linger on her picture for some minutes, memorizing every detail of her face.

"It will be so much better to capture these details in person," I mutter dryly, holding a throw pillow to myself like a lovestruck idiot. 

Which I am. Cupid's bow gave me no room for resistance, its effect fully taking over.

 I run a quick check through her dossier. It's past time that I should have shown up for dinner, but I intentionally skipped it. 

One, I'm hugely interested in learning about Hermione Watson Pierce. Two, I'm purposely avoiding my family tonight. They will no doubt ask about the outcome of my date with Hermione.

Lachlan and Beatrice will sneer at me, relishing my disappointment too much. I can't give them the satisfaction of seeing how affected I am by Hermione's missing our date. 

Dad will no doubt criticize me, even though it isn't my fault that Hermione didn't put in an appearance at our scheduled date. It isn't as if I would go to her workplace and carry her caveman-style over my shoulders to the dinner set for us. 

Speaking of her workplace, I check the address of the Watsons' hospital. I furrow my brows as the news I half-listened to drifts back to memory.

Hope flares in my chest when I connect the addresses to be similar. Perhaps she didn't intentionally miss our date. It must have been chaotic at the hospital. They are the nearest health institute closest to the accident scene. 

A weight I didn't realize was there before rolls off my shoulders. I wonder what Hermione is doing now. She must be working late into the night, trying to save lives. A smile begins to curve my mouth as I fantasize about her handling the situation with her usual air of confidence and dexterity.

But a knock on the door jostles my thoughts away. My gaze snaps to the door just as a female attendant steps in. 

She greets me with a polite nod, wringing her fingers nervously. "Uhm, sir?" 

"Yes," I say, giving her my full attention. She stays close to the door, looking like she'll bolt out of the room if I so much as move an inch. I want to say, "I'm not going to eat you."

This one appears to take my reputation as a rake seriously. Unlike the popularly held opinion that I chase everything with a vagina, seeking to plunder and leave devastation in my wake, I'm not the devil they paint me to be. 

I won't take a woman against her will, and I have standards too. These maids should cut me some slack and stop acting as though they want to fall at Jesus's feet, weeping for cleansing at the sight of me.

"It's dinner time," she says. 

I wave my hand dismissively, and she flinches as though I shot her. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Have it sent to my room. Tell Dad I'm feeling under the weather if he asks about me." 

"Okay, Sir," she squeaks, yanks the door open, and scurries out of my room. 

I catch the barest blush on her face as she leaves. Someone might be sporting a crush on me, I detect. Too bad for her; she's not the type of woman I make moves on. Even if she was, my focus is solely on one woman. 

But the plot twist is that she hates my guts.