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I stand and watch him get in his car and drive away.
This isn’t for show or to stall going into the building I don’t live in. It’s because I’m almost hyperventilating. Little rivers of desire and excitement are sparking and flaring into life all over me, and I’m not sure my feet work. I’m not sure I can breathe. I’m not sure I can get on the subway without being arrested for looking like I just had hot and dirty sex.
Can you get arrested for that?
I lied to him. I lied about the show. I lied to me. He might have done it to teach me some kind of lesson, or because he was bored, or maybe he thought a show might be a good idea.
But I did it because I like kissing him.
I like kissing him more than I’ve ever liked kissing anyone.
I might be in very big trouble.
Because even if he liked me back—which I doubt, but if he did—then there’s nothing for us but a dead end. One of my own making.
One out of the very thing he crushes people like me over.
Lies.
Chapter Eleven
Hudson
Over the next few days, I keep things strictly professional.
I have to, anyway, I have a tricky deal I’m pulling off and Scarlett needs to be able to keep up with my schedule and anticipate my needs.
She has a way of working that’s intriguing, unusual, and it works. She calms people by talking and then charming them into forgetting whatever thing it was they wanted from me, and she’s actually good at organizing things for me better than I would have, which is saying something. It’s not the way I go about things, but it’s logical in its own way and I’m not messing with it. Or her.
I’m definitely not messing with her.
Shit. That kiss… I’d only meant to warn her off or tease her and I hadn’t expected it to be so mind blowing.
I don’t like using that term, but it fits.
Turning my chair, I stare out the window at the deep blue sky from my office. The sun streams in like there are no cares in the world. But that’s a stupid thought and I dismiss it.
What I can’t dismiss is Scarlett and that scent; Scarlett and the dark honey hair and hazel eyes; Scarlett and those soft lips and hot kisses. What’s worse is I can’t dismiss her smart-ass mouth and surprising intelligence.
It’s not surprising she’s smart. I knew that when I first met her. What’s surprising is the way her intelligence works, like she’s plugged in a little differently.
It’s alluring.
And fuck. I like her and I have to stop.
She has secrets, though, and I can’t decide if they’re ones everyone tends to have, or if they’re big and going to fuck me over.
“Mr. Sinclair?” I look up, startled at Georgina.
She hovers nervously. You’d think the woman hadn’t been working at my personal reception desk for the past eight years. “I knocked, but—”
“Sorry, lost in work.” I look at her. And wait.
“Mr. Jenson is here.”
“Send him in.”
My father’s lawyer walks in a few minutes later. He’s an older man, and dressed expensively and conservatively, the way a rich man like my father would want his personal attorney to be. Subtle class that never overshadows.
