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I’m not weak.
Except when it comes to him.
How the hell am I going to get through the next three weeks?
Because I was dealing with the microcosms that keep cropping up when it comes to him. His scandal couldn’t have come at a worse time for him. Because the couple involved are famous. Worse, they’re hungry for it, and whether their marriage is real or fake, or over privately, in the papers and magazines and online it’s not. Opinion sways. That’s one reason I created the relationship for him with me.
That way I can control it. Sure, I tried to find someone, but this is better—for him.
But the way he looks, his history, his wealth, it’s all catnip to the paps. And he could spend a year as a monk and one article could keep him from reaching his goals. So I’ve got things in motion.
A soft tapping at my door draws me from my thoughts.
“Elliot?”
Crap. He’s all I need. The questioning tone I need even less. Because it’s vulnerable and confused and… And how does he do that? Flip the script?
I’m not even sure that’s what he’s doing, but it feels like it because he’s hotter than the sun and I’m…I’m me.
Someone who doesn’t fall for his kind. Ever.
Yet here I am. Hiding.
“Yes?”
“Can you open the door?”
I push myself up the door and put my hand on the knob but stop, leaning my forehead against the wood. “I don’t think that’s smart.”
He’s silent a long time and I’m half hoping he’s given up. But finally, he speaks. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Yes. No. Nothing. Everything. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does. You took off.”
“Ryder…” Thing is, he doesn’t get it, doesn’t see that something he does like he takes his next breath is huge for me. And asking if he did something wrong, I just…it’s all jagged and sharp edged. Because would he ask someone else? I can’t shake that feeling he wouldn’t have tried something if we weren’t in this situation. If he wasn’t in this situation. And that makes me stupid and weak and all the things I dislike.
“Ryder,” I say again, “you’re my client.”
“So?”
I breathe out, wanting desperately to turn that knob. Wanting to step out and just go with whatever happens.
“So, we belong in two different worlds. You like the limelight. I hate it. You…you don’t do relationships and I do. We’re working together.”
“You know, Elliot,” he says, his voice soft and close like he’s leaning against the door on the other side, and the silly part of me can almost feel him there, that vibrating awareness, that pull. “I get it.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. You’re not into me. You don’t see me that way.”
I’m going to regret my next question. “What way?”
“Like I’m long term. Like you want something deep and romantic with me.”
He has no idea and my hand starts to turn the knob when he speaks again.
“And that’s okay. It’s not me. I’m not that guy. But I like you. I’m attracted to you and there’s something between us. I’m not an idiot and this is one area where I’m pretty much a fucking genius, so I know you feel the same, and you feel that awareness. So, I don’t know. Friends with benefits.”
