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“What do you mean no?”
I’m so glad the desk lies between us. It’s a cool afternoon, but cloudless and the light coming in through my window in my office lights his face and he’s perfection itself. And I know I had to say no.
This is going to hurt, but it’s for him as much as it is for me. “Ryder, you’ve worked so damn hard, and you have become different in a way, but that big a change for real isn’t happening overnight or in four weeks, not really. And you…you don’t really want me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Ryder, you’ve bonded with me. It happens.”
His eyes narrow and he slides his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “So you fuck all your clients?”
“It’s a special service,” I snap. “No, only you, and I shouldn’t have done that, but you’re a very hot man and I was stupid.”
“Stupid is one way to put it.”
Shit, I’m mangling this. “What I’m trying to say is what I’ve been saying all along. You bonded, and you only want me because there are no other women.”
“Okay. I’m sure you’re right,” he says suddenly, like it doesn’t matter, like he wasn’t wanting more. And maybe he’s just relieved I stopped the nonsense. “Friends, right?”
I don’t want to say no way in hell can I be friends with him, but I smile. “Friends.”
“I better get back to work.” He turns and heads to the door. But Ryder stops and spins to face me. “Oh, yeah, one thing, tomorrow night’s that big event. It’s a Sinclair fucking fundraiser. I don’t even know what for. Probably a host of good causes. All in my father’s honor. One last outing for us. You’re coming, right?”
“Sure.” This thing’s in my calendar. No way am I letting Ryder go by himself. Not that I think he can’t handle it, because actually, I do. But because I’m selfish and weak and want that last big night with him where a small part of me can pretend we’re together.
“Thank God. I hate those things. High end, conservative, rich—wall to wall—the kind you haven’t yet seen. Well, maybe you have, but not on this scale. There’s no art or weird old rich people in amazing outfits with fuzzy pink dogs on their heads.”
Suddenly I laugh, that old lady at the art show coming into my head. I liked her. She didn’t give a fuck about anyone or anything. “I can bring the dog hats.”
“I don’t think they’ll approve at this kind of event. Boring music, boring food, boring drinks, boring people, boring speeches, and boring back patting at doing something for the world. Usually, I avoid these like the plague.”
We’re playing a game, I realize. Pretending things are all fine and dandy with us both.
“I can’t wait,” I say. “You sell it.”
“See you tomorrow.”
And then he’s gone.
I don’t know why, but I want to cry.
I’m such an idiot.
We’re halfway through the evening at the fundraiser and I’m beginning to think Ryder oversold it.
I manage to get him away from some old man who’s droning on. Ryder runs the backs of his fingers down along my exposed spine on the long evening dress I wear and I shiver, my blood sparking. “Thank you for saving me,” he murmurs, his lips not quite brushing my ear. “I thought I’d have to poke an eye out with a fork. Not one of his, unfortunately, one of mine, just to get out of here.”
“Think of what’s almost in your grasp.”
“I am.”
And I shiver again, because there’s a hidden depth of meaning in his words that I want to hold to me more than anything.
“Ryder…” I breathe out his name as a warning, but it comes out more like a litany.
“What do you say we get out of here before the demon of boredom eats our souls?”
I laugh. “You’re not thinking straight.”
