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“Ahí fucking luego,” I muttered as he walked out of the apartment. Earl sprawled out between my legs the second he was gone, yowling low, and I turned and chucked the paper in the trash can, not even bothering to unfold it.
Miguel could eat a dick.
Chapter 9
The cursed spirits were vengeful today, I guess, because I stepped out of my car in front of the complex and the car parked next to me suddenly blew something in the engine, and I clocked the guy locking himself out of his car checking out what it was while I was walking towards the entrance. I kept my gaze ahead, telling myself it was just a coincidence—that I was looking for bad luck around me, so I was seeing it everywhere—but admittedly, it had stuck in my head when Adam Garcia had told me my consciousness seemed misaligned and that it was going to cause disturbances around me.
I wasn’t a spiritual person, but…
An older white man sloshed his coffee on his table in the café attached to the lobby when I stepped inside, and I heard a woman cursing at her phone in Spanish nearby as I headed for the elevator, and I just prayed I wasn’t going to bring Cameron bad luck, too.
The tower was a new development, beautiful and modern, with a tall, glass-domed lobby warmly alive with chatter, and I pushed through the lobby with my heels clicking over tile, slipping past people, and I stepped into the elevator and hit 3, letting myself relax against the wall. I had a week with four different showings for Cameron, and if I managed to sell her on one, I’d be heading to the conference a winner. If I didn’t?
Someone missed the elevator, the doors shutting right in front of them. I winced. I hadn’t had time to catch the doors for them. At this rate, Cameron would wave to me and fall off the building.
Thinking about Cameron left heat blossoming through me. I’d told myself I was not going to wear the Heaven’s Kiss set today—that I’d dress normally and not tempt myself. But I’d been getting ready before heading out here, and… well, one way or another, I was here, with the soft lace of the garter belt snug under my clothes. Putting them on had been intensely erotic, thinking about Cameron’s hands having designed every inch of the lace… about her imagining me in them. I wondered if she’d still been thinking about it.
Or maybe she’d been too busy dealing with her husband. It should have felt salacious that I’d slept with a married woman, let alone our client, but… I couldn’t find any regret in my system.
The elevator stopped with a chime, and the back door opened to the parking garage, with perfect timing—a car pulled around the corner, a simple gray sedan with tinted windows, unremarkable to the core, and it pulled to a stop at the end of the parking row. The door swung open, and the sight of Cameron stepping out left my stomach fluttering.
She’d dressed lighter today, wearing a baby blue dress shirt with straight-leg trousers, a few gold statement bangles on one wrist, high sandal heels. Simple and casually stylish, with one little catch—the tiny peek of red lace where her top button was open. Black would have been passable—just a nice bra underneath that showed a bit too much, overlookable. Red? Red was a whole different story. And it was written in a language only she and I knew.
“London,” she said, her voice light as she started towards me, but tinged with an unmistakable warmth underneath—a husky sort of anticipation that left me buzzing. The look in her eyes answered all my earlier questions. She’d been thinking about me. And it was only clearer when her eyes flicked down my body, clearly wondering if I was wearing it. I blushed despite myself.
“Cameron,” I said. “Good to see you made it. Traffic wasn’t too bad?”
“Traffic? That’s the small talk we’re going with?” She laughed, relaxing in front of me, a flirty playfulness in her eyes. “Well, works for me. Quite clear, actually. I hit every green.”
“Huh.” That didn’t usually happen when people were running to meet me. “Well, I’m glad I got here early too, then. Shall we check out the building? We’ll go down and then up, and we can see the building lobby before we go to the penthouse. There’s a café there, if you like Cuban food.”
“Again—would I live in Miami if I didn’t?”
“Touché.” I turned back to the elevator, leading her inside with a swipe of a keycard. “Your regular order?”
“Getting to know me?”
I’d already gotten to know her plenty. Still, I couldn’t help returning the playful look she gave me, punching in the button for the lobby. “It’s a salesperson’s job, isn’t it?”
“I don’t have a regular order,” she said lightly. “Tell me yours.”
“Medianoche and a Cubano. If they look like they know what they’re doing, tostones.”
“I’ll take that, then.”
Well, wasn’t she easy to please?
Still, it felt like a veil—like all of this was just a game to her, and that look in her eyes only confirmed it. Slipping around me, keeping me at arm’s length. Were we dancing together, or was she making me dance for her?
Anyway, there was never a bad Cuban sandwich, so at least I was safe there. The cooks weren’t—I heard one of them drop a bottle of sauce on the floor, cursing, and it only took a quick glance to confirm it was while they were working on mine.
We sat close to the window, looking out over the lot in front surrounded by lush greenery, palm trees swaying against the clear blue sky, and Cameron closed her eyes as she bit into one of the tostones, letting out a long, happy sigh. I watched her, studying her as she ate, but she didn’t give anything away. Eventually, I asked.
“You haven’t been going out for food that often, have you?”
She opened her eyes, a surprised smile flickering over her face. “On the contrary, I do it all the time. Now, tell me what made you think I didn’t?”
We were playing the game again. This time, though, it felt more like when we were in Club LIV together. I let the question sit in the air for a second before I said, “You like it too much.”
