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And his brother is watching us both a little too closely for my liking.
“You don’t want a car? To get home?”
“No. I do not. Not a car.” I’m panicking and I shouldn’t be. Shit.
Hudson cracks a small smile and takes the coffee from me. “I’m not getting you a jet or a helicopter. Seems a little excessive.”
I scowl and cross my arms. “I don’t feel comfortable getting in a car.”
What I need is to take a shovel with me to make digging these holes easier.
“They’ve had them for years now. Safe enough,” Ryder says with too much cheer. “Surely you’ve been in one.”
“Shut up, Ryder,” Hudson says. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“I’ll give her a lift—”
“I’m fine.” I take a big step back. “I—it’s a lovely morning, so I’ll walk.” To the train. And I throw a small thanks to whatever deity is watching that it isn’t raining. I look at Hudson as a sleek car pulls up as he takes a sip of the coffee. “Can we talk? Later?”
“Scarlett.”
The warning note throws me, and I realize how my words sound. Or, rather, how he interpreted them. Asshole.
Hudson’s so handsome, so sure I meant another romp in bed. Which I didn’t. I wouldn’t turn it down, but… As I look at him, if it was to come up, I know I should. He is handsome. The best looking man I’ve ever seen, which is saying something because his brother is also gorgeous. But Hudson is different.
“Talk talk,” I say.
“If I have time. You know my schedule.”
I sort of want to scream. There he is, this news sitting there, hand delivered by his brother, and he’s so closed and untouchable, like he often is, and it hurts and I don’t know why.
“It’s just I figured if there’s more riding on this, then we should. Talk. If you have time.”
“Sure,” he says, but he’s not paying attention to me, not really.
The sun is already warm and there are people walking their dogs and this is about as bucolic as New York gets, so I make my goodbyes and take off.
At least getting to Brooklyn in the am is much easier than the other way. But the car would have been a boon. One I couldn’t risk. If I accepted, then he’d know I’d be going to Brooklyn and not a short ride to the other side of the park.
Once home, I jump in the shower again and dress like I’m some matron aunt going into corporate battle. And I grab a slice of bread and race out again and make it to the office before ten am.
I throw myself into my work. There are calls and emails and suits to send out and pick up and all the little bits and pieces. Through it all, I try to concentrate.
The day passes both slow and fast. I’ve been feeling sick to my stomach the entire time. It lurches and turns when all that happened slams into me. And when I’m not thinking about the whole meaning of his brother’s words, it churns away, anyway.
I haven’t been able to check my phone, but I know there are a number of messages as before I turned it off there were little icons showing me emails and missed calls and texts. Lunch is something I forget about as I work through that hour, and the only good thing which might not be a good thing is I don’t see Hudson. He’s busy until early evening.
Being a billionaire isn’t yachts and sun and swimwear models, it’s hard work, at least for my billionaire. I mean my pretend billionaire. He’s a billionaire, but he’s not mine, that’s what I mean.
And…all this work has saved me thinking too much about that insanely phenomenal sex that when flashes come to me, I melt and feel the need to fan myself.
I end up staying until almost seven, which isn’t unheard of when people work for Hudson Sinclair—it seems to be part of the job, actually, but not for me when he’s not here. I think it’s guilt.
The evening is a little cooler than the day, and I switch on my phone as I head out. By the time I’m disembarking the elevator in the grand foyer of the building, I’ve been bombarded by messages from my brother and it seems he’s beside himself about something. I shoot him a text and then I jump in a cab and head to the Lower East Side to meet him.
I get off the F train at Delancey and Essex and make my way to the little bar. It used to be a dive, but now it’s tapas and wine.
Danny is looking at his phone at a little table in the back, a brooding, dark expression on his handsome face as he hunches down, ignoring his wine.
