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Elliot’s waiting for me when I get home. She follows me in without a word and I dump my coat on the sofa and deposit myself next to it. “I can do this myself, you know.”
“No,” she says, “you can’t. That’s why you hired me.”
Shit. I know she’s right and that’s not what my problem is. My problem is her.
She’s acting like nothing happened between us and for some reason I can’t do that thing I do, which is just go on like it didn’t happen. Or go on like it happened and nothing changed.
It happened.
Everything changed.
I’m not sure how, because I’ve had hot sex before. I’ve had times where I’ve lost track of the time I’ve spent with a woman. But for some reason, Elliot is different. I want her to acknowledge the buzz in the air, the awareness that flares bright and hot between us. I want her to say her world changed, too.
I want to do it again.
“Elliot, listen.”
Her flick of a gaze is a warning. “I’m not sure I can make it tonight, so I figured we’d go—”
“Why? Because of the other night?”
A blush blooms on her face. “No. I just don’t know if I can.”
“It happened. Call it a moment, pretend it didn’t happen, but it did.” I get to my feet. “And this thing isn’t part time. I’m paying you a lot of money to be there.”
“Ryder, I’m not your slave.”
“I know that.” How the fuck do I keep getting things wrong when it comes to her? Anyone else and they’d be eating out of my hand. I open my mouth with her and all the wrong things come out when all I want to do is make things better.
Maybe I’ve been body snatched.
“What I’m trying to say is I need you.” I approach her, but I don’t touch. I get the feeling she won’t welcome that right now. “I need you, and I want you, Elliot. I want you there with me.”
“Ryder…”
“I want you with me because outside all of this, outside of the job I hired you for, I think you’re good for me, and I like you. And you’re also way prettier than you think.”
Those last words are inspired because yes, I mean them, but she seems to believe she’s plain and no one sees her. But I do, and I want her to know that. I want—
“Gee,” she says in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thanks, Ryder. Now that you, God of Beauty, have spoken, I’ll go to the ball. Sing songs. Believe in myself.”
“You know what I meant.”
She sighs. “Yes, I think I do, and I also think you need to pack up your shovel and put it away before you get into all kinds of horrible trouble with that hole you’re digging.”
Elliot has a point. I’m not being inspired. I’m being an idiot. I’m mangling an already mangled situation.
“Okay,” I say, “so you might not be coming tonight.” I nod. “Let’s focus on the plan…”
The event is as boring and staid as I thought. My brothers are there, and Kingston studies me, but doesn’t say a word.
“Shut up, King.”
He only smiles. That expression tells me way too many things I don’t want to hear. Like the mighty are falling, and where’s Elliot.
She’s not here. And I move past my brothers to the bar, making small talk along the way. My mother is also there, but I ignore her, too. I’m not in the mood for anything other than meaningless small talk.
“Hello,” says a beautiful woman with short black hair. She trails a hand over my suit, tucking something into my pocket. “Call me.”
