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The glass hits the table with a thud, and I get up, buttoning my suit jacket and excusing myself from the attractive woman who never had a chance in hell.
Not when there’s already a woman dragging me there.
Had she even made it home?
I’m starting to feel more and more like the sucker in the contractual obligation of ours. The professional in me wants to take control of the situation, but the man in me is excited by the thrill of it.
The thrill that feels a lot like misery at the moment.
I step into the elevator, leaving Ivan at the bar as he strikes up a conversation with the lingering bartender. As I turn to press the button for the ground floor, I catch sight of the way she leans over, pushing her cleavage out with her crossed arms. And Ivan, like the sucker he is, ogles them like they’re the first and last pair of tits he’ll ever see.
Had that been me?
Had I ever been so impressed by such overt displays of sexual coercion?
And when I think of Eloise, I’m not flooded with images of her breasts or her ass. No. It’s the gentle slope of her hips, the length of her legs, the way her hair hides her often expressionless face. It’s her plump lips, the sparkle that lives in her brown eyes, even as her face gives away nothing. It’s the way she fights me, even when she’s the underdog. God, just the thought of this infuriating woman gives me a semi.
I slide my phone out of my pocket just as the elevator doors open. As I scroll for her name, I step out into the warm city air, toward my waiting car.
“Where to, sir?” Paul, my driver, asks before opening my door for me.
“I’m in a shitty mood. Just take me home.”
I hear his smirk in his response as I get in the backseat, thankful that he’s kept the air conditioning running.
“Sure thing.”
As he shuts my door, the sound of the city now muted, I think better of it and call her. With each ring, I grow even more frustrated.
Paul gets in the car, and we lurch forward, merging into traffic as I hear the beginnings of her voicemail, the automated tone making me wish she’d had the wherewithal to create her own voicemail greeting.
Do people even do that anymore?
“How do you feel about taking a drive?” I ask my driver, settling back into my seat before I toss my phone next to me.
“To the new house, sir?”
Our eyes lock in the rearview mirror and I nod.
Fuck tomorrow’s meeting. I’ll video conference from Cherry Cove.
When I’d said I wanted to go home, I originally meant the penthouse I kept a few blocks from here. But more and more, I find myself wanting the silence of the small-town.
And even more than that, I want the woman with scarce smiles to stop hiding from me.
CHAPTER TWELVE
TELL ME TO STOP
ELOISE
It’s entirely too earlyfor this.
Ben’s look of concern makes me want to throw myself out of a window. Preferably one located on a tenth floor.
I haven’t had my morning cup of tea, I woke up late, and my hair is knotted at the top of my head because I couldn’t find the will to wrestle a brush through it.
“I’m serious, Eloise,” he continues, in spite of my dead stare.
