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His eyes flare with hunger and my stomach coils. I try to summon the energy to do something about it, but another yawn tears through me.
“Not tonight—I want to, but—” I yawn uncontrollably.
He smirks, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I will fuck you however you want, wearing whatever you want, anytime you want.”
My body flushes with heat before another yawn overtakes me.
“Let’s get you to bed.”
I wake up and remember the night before. The way Ben twirled me on the dance floor, shutting down the place with a slow dance between just the two of us.
I didn’t have the energy to do anything more than pass out last night, but this morning, I’m wired.
A smile tugs at my lips before I roll over to find the bed empty and cold. A note is sitting on the pillow where Ben’s head should be.
My sleeping beauty—I tried to kiss you awake, but my lips couldn’t break the spell of sleep you were under. Next time. X Ben.
I clutch the note to my chest, and my heart swells as heat fills me. He wants me. I want him. We can make this work.
Sliding my phone over to me, I take a huge breath and send him a message he won’t see until he gets home.
Phoebe: What are you doing six weeks from now?
Chapter Twelve
Ben
The night ended, and reality came crashing back to me. I’m feeling more like Cinderella than I ever thought possible. Just like her, it didn’t matter how much I wished the night would go on forever.
I’m in my office and wishing I was still on the dance floor. My weekend in Connecticut ended all too soon and time still hasn’t given me a chance to catch my breath.
I glance at the picture on my desk from the last night I saw Phoebe. By the end of the night, her hair couldn’t be tamed. Her red curls are flowing around her in the picture where her arm is draped over me as she laughs at something I had said.
Lani captured the memory, and I had her send it to me so I could frame it right away. I’m glad I did, or that night would feel like a dream. It’s been a month, and after daily texting and calls with Phoebe, our communication has dropped to zero the last few days, and I don’t know why.
I have to push my frustration aside for now, though.
I’m on the phone with Gerald Rodriguez, doing my best to figure out why we can’t wrap up this project. He’s one of the most prominent high-end builders in Washington and if we don’t figure out a way to keep him as a client, our reputation will take a big hit.
Normally, I talk to one of Gerald’s assistants, but he’s annoyed and just as ready for this project to be over as I am, so he’s talking directly to me. My nerves are high as I choose each word carefully, knowing that he has the power to squash Trees of Steel just as we’re getting our footing here.
“I think there’s something wrong with your software.”
I want to get defensive and tell this guy there’s nothing wrong with the software. It’s the same company we’ve used for over a decade, updating and upgrading as we went along. But then he points out an error on the scale and I see why nothing’s lining up.
My stomach twists and I take a huge breath. “Mr. Rodriguez, I see the mistake. My biggest apologies, sir. I will get this fixed and sent over to you ASAP.”
“Good, good.” He clears his throat. “I enjoy working with you boys and I’m glad to see you are open to change.”
I get off the phone with him, thanking him instead of snorting and telling him I’m never open to change. If I was open to change, I wouldn’t be in my thirties still following my brother’s dream.
But with deadlines looming—and this project past its deadline—I can’t think about that. Instead, I flick through old emails and find one about an update to the drafting software. It’s to fix the exact bug plaguing this project—what do you know?
I go through the motions and send the updated files to Gerald.
It’s early enough in North Grayslake Phoebe should still be awake. I send her a text and settle into my chair, imagining the way she felt in my arms.
The ball was executed so wonderfully she had people coming up to her all night, gushing about the great time they were having.
