I DON’T CARE

IVY 

My sweaty palms stay glued to my side, and my eyes are plastered on him. I cannot look away no matter how much I tell myself that I should. 

He hates my guts, I mean absolutely nothing to him. So why is here right now, stopping Harold Grant from giving me the slap of a lifetime? 

Knox towers over Harold who’s only as tall as I am in heels. His grip on the older man’s wrist is so tight, I fear he might fracture his wrist. He does this so effortlessly, without breaking a sweat or popping even a single vein. 

Harold’s eyes widen, like a deer being struck by headlights. 

“Mister…mister Mortimer.” He addresses Knox by his middle name. 

“I had no idea you had arrived.” He’s stuttering, to my surprise. I never knew Harold Grant had respect, regard, or fear in him. 

He tries to pull his hand away, but Knox’s grip only tightens. I see the fear that flashes in his eyes. 

“Do you have no respect for your guests, Harold Grant?” The disdain in Knox’s voice sends a shiver down my spine. 

It appears I’m not the only one. Harold Grant breaks into a nervous laugh, as a small crowd gathers around us. 

No. 

God no. 

“You don’t have to worry, mister Mortimer. She isn’t a guest,” When his eyes land on me, they narrow into slits. 

“She’s just a scrawny little brat who connived with her family to steal from me.”

For a second, I can’t breathe. I want nothing more than for the ground to open up and take me in it, take me with it, whatever the fuck it needs to do to spare me from the public humiliation Harold Grant is about to unleash upon me. 

My tears sting the back of my eyelids. They want to be let loose, but I can’t allow them. Not here. Not in front of everyone that matters in this city. 

Harold Grant is not nearly finished with me. 

“She must have snuck back in here to crawl into my bed so I could continue to give her money. You must believe me when I say I’m surprised. I never thought she could be so desperate.”

No. 

I bow my head and keep my eyes on the ground, blinking as hard as I can to fight my tears. 

He’s lying. 

He’s a bloody liar. 

All eyes are on me from every corner of the hall. Goosebumps rise to the surface of my skin. Intense heat and immense cold rush through me at the same time, it’s hard to tell which grips my chest and slowly strangles my heart. 

Of all the pairs of eyes on me, one cripples me the most—Knox Reid’s dark eyes traveling from the crown of my head to the sole of my feet. 

I cannot tell what the look in his eyes means. Disgust? Disdain? Pity? I’m used to the first two, the last is an emotion I’m not used to receiving. 

“You must have seen her tape online!” Harold screams loud enough for everyone to hear. 

My eyes shoot open as I look up at him. 

Did he just…?

I stagger backwards. 

“Tape?”

“What tape? What is he talking about?”

“Who is she?”

I look around the room as it starts to spin. My blurry vision searches for my best friend. Sierra. 

Where the hell is she when I need her? 

“I would never invite someone such as herself to a gala like this. She’s a leech, and that’s what she’s here to do, leech on me.”

The murmurs grow even louder. People take out their phones and start to take pictures, or search, or…

God. 

Why did I ever come here? 

“You might not have invited her, but I did.”

That silky baritone silences every murmur in the room. He commands the attention of every single soul with just one sentence. 

I whip my head towards him, then to Harold. 

The older man goes pale, like he’s been slapped across the face. 

“I…you…” he breaks into a dry laugh. “That’s…mister Mortimer, I don’t…”

“Let me make one thing incredibly clear, Harold Grant,” Knox cuts him off, and takes one power step forward. Harold almost trips on his own foot. 

The tears I fought so hard to keep at bay stream down my cheeks now. 

Why is he doing this? 

He pauses merely an inch away from Harold and leans forward. The shorter man swallows hard, cowering under his stare. 

“I’m only here to donate to your charity because I believed you were a man of honor. But I see you now, Harold Grant, you’re nothing but a twat.”

The room bursts into shocked gasps. 

Strong and lean fingers interlock with mine. I look down at them, and up at him. He’s holding my hand, but doesn’t look at me. 

I try to swallow the lump in my throat. Do I disgust him that much now? Does he see me as a harlot who goes after older men for money? 

“Mister Mortimer, I…”

Knox’s fingers tighten around mine. 

“You can forget about my donation, Harold Grant, or any further business together.”

Wait. What? 

Every muscle in my body stiffens as I stare at Knox. 

Does he mean that? 

No one has ever stood up for me before, not for as long as I can remember. And he’s…cancelling business for…for me? 

He leads me away from the crowd who makes a path for us to walk through. With every step we take, my heart hammers against my chest. 

I can’t take my eyes off the corner of his face. I don’t know what to make of this man. 

Harold suddenly appears in front of us just as we reach the door. He’s panting heavily, sweat pouring from forehead. His pot belly must have given him a hard time running. 

“Forgive me, mister Mortimer. It was terrible judgement on my part. Ehh, you know how these things are. We’re business men, older men, and these girls…you know how it gets.”

Knox’s jaw hardens. 

“No, I don’t. But I can tell you what I know, Harold.”

Harold pats the sweat off his forehead with the back of his right hand. 

“Please, Mortimer, we can…”

“If you want a penny from me, you’re going to have to apologize to my guest.”

This time, it’s I who grips his hand firmly. It’s all I can do to stop myself from falling to the ground. 

Is he joking? 

Harold grunts. 

He leers at me. 

“Forgive me, Miss.”

My tongue feels like it’s been tied around my vocal chord. 

“I believe your apology should be just as loud as your disrespect, perhaps even louder. I’m afraid the grunt just won’t do.”

He’s not joking. 

Harold doesn’t wait to be told a third time. He grabs hold of my free hand and looks into my eyes with as much remorse as he can fake. 

“Forgive me, Miss. I am terribly, terribly sorry.”

I part my lips to speak, but no words come out. 

Knox does the talking for me. 

“I’ll think about your proposal, Harold. Have a goodnight.” That’s all he says as he pulls me out of the venue, leaving a stunned crowd behind us. 

I feel like I’ve just awoken in someone else’s body. A princess, maybe. I never thought a day would come when Harold Grant would apologize to me. 

He has terrorized me almost all through my teenage years, appeared in different places and scolded me for being there like he owned me. The creep had his eyes on me since I was a child, grooming me up to his perfect little bride. He made growing up hell. 

For the first time in years, I feel…free. 

Knox stops beside his car and lets go of my hand. 

He opens the car door, and I look around. 

“Where is Sierra? We can’t leave without her.”

He scoffs. 

“I don’t know.”

I raise a brow at him. 

“You don’t…” 

The chiming sound in my purse steals the rest of my words. I take out my phone, and there’s a text from Sierra.

I WENT OUT WITH THIS REALLY CUTE GUY, SO DON’T WAIT UP FOR ME. 

One glance at Knox, and I see the pain that flashes in his eyes. He probably saw her leave without saying a word to him. 

“Get in the car, Ivy.”

Of course, we’re back to the status quo. 

I pull the door open and get in beside him. My heart is racing so fast, I keep on replaying everything that happened at the event over and over again. 

Finally, when I’ve found the courage to speak up, I turn to look at him. His eyes are fixed on his phone screen. His hard, chiseled jaw is slightly illuminated by the light from his screen, and his lashes…

Stop it, Ivy! 

I clear my throat to speak. 

“About Harold…”

“I do not need the specifics, little Ivy,” he looks up at me. “I do not care.”

The words hit like a slap. After everything he just did—standing up to Harold, making him apologize, risking his business deals—he doesn’t care?

Something in my chest forms claws and grips my heart.

Stop, Ivy. Don’t say anything. Do not utter another fucking word—

“What do you mean you don’t care?”