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I race in there before he can address the whole calling my name thing, and I take the fastest—and coldest—shower of my life.
I was smart enough to bring my clothes in, so I toss a simple black dress over my head, run a comb through my hair, and apply a little make-up before I exit the bathroom.
He’s wearing a suit and sitting at the desk looking at his tablet.
Let me repeat that.
He’s. Wearing. A. Suit.
He’s not standing, so I can’t take in the full view, but hot damn.
Even from this angle, he looks fine as all fuck in that suit.
There’s just something about a powerful man in a suit that speaks directly to my vagina.
I clear my throat as I walk by him to grab my hair dryer out of my suitcase. “You ready for today?” I ask.
“Ready.” He’s grunting again.
“Do you need to practice your speech or anything?” I’m trying to make conversation as I set my make-up bag in my suitcase and trade it for my dryer and curling iron.
“No. Thanks.”
I straighten and stare at him, but he won’t look at me. “What about breakfast? Do you have plans, or can we do a working breakfast where I ask you a few questions?”
“They have a continental for me at the stadium.” He’s still not looking at me.
“Right. Well, okay then. Best wishes on your speech.”
“Thanks.”
I head to the bathroom to do my hair and assume he’ll be out of the room when I return, but I’m wrong. He’s still there.
“Let’s do the working breakfast,” he says suddenly when I exit, and it’s like he pulled himself together while I was doing my hair. His eyes lift to mine. “You look lovely, by the way.”
“Thanks.” My cheeks redden at the compliment. It’s just another day at the office for me. “Sure, let me just grab my purse.”
“I found a little hole in the wall diner a few blocks away. Are you okay to walk there?”
I nod, and as we head down the hallway toward the elevator, I push away the thought that this sort of feels like a date.
It’s not.
It’s more of a working breakfast than anything else, and I try to remind myself of that.
Still, walking out of the same hotel room together with this mad sexual tension simmering between us…it doesn’t feel like it’s just a working breakfast.
He takes me to Buddy’s Diner, and when I get a look at the breakfast menu, I’m in heaven. I order the Buddy Special, two eggs my way with bacon, hash browns, and toast, and he orders an egg white omelet with all sorts of vegetables.
No hash browns.
No coffee.
No coffee.
Who even is this man?
And is it any wonder that we’re incompatible and our families are enemies?
