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"I'm on a break," I admit, wishing I didn't have to let her know even that much.
"That's good. You work so hard, and Weston never allows you a minute to breathe."
I don’t want a minute to breathe. I like work.
"I'll stop by later. I found your favorite shirt in my closet the other day. Our things must've gotten mixed up, and I took it to the cleaner with the rest of my stuff," my ex continues.
The tendons in my spine tighten even more. I don't need eyes in the back of my head to know that this isn't playing well to Lauren.
"You can toss it." I don't even remember what shirt she's talking about since I’ve never stayed at her place or vice versa. Hell, I’ve never even disrobed in front of her. The most skin she’s seen is that one time we played couples racquetball and I wore shorts.
"Oh, God no." She slaps a hand across her chest. "I would never do that. I'll let myself in if you're not home."
That wouldn't be possible since my front door only opens with my handprint and she knows this. Why is she even bringing it up?
"Like I said. Toss the shirt." I've spent too long talking to this woman. This is what happens when you let your family’s demands overtake your life. You make bad decisions that haunt you. I give my ex a brief nod and turn around to signal to Lauren that I'm ready for lunch, only she's not standing behind me.
She's halfway through the door of her building. "Shit."
"Is something wrong?" my ex asks, pretending she doesn't know.
I don't bother to answer, which is what I should've done when she first started talking to me. I sprint after Lauren, catching her at the elevator bank.
"Thought we were having lunch," I say. The number on the elevator closest says it's on floor six.
"I really don't have a lot of time. Besides, I have a couple of phone calls I need to make, and this might be my only break today. I'll see you in three weeks."
She darts inside the elevator and jabs a button. Probably the one to close the door and shut me out.
I grab one of the doors and force it open. "You didn't eat lunch."
She glares at my hand. "I'm not hungry anymore."
Her stomach growls in protest, but she just juts her chin out and jabs the elevator button again. The door jerks in my hand. I don't want her to leave like this—hungry and pissed—but I don't think charging up to her workplace is going to make her feel soft and warm toward me either. Better to regroup and attack at a different time.
"When do you get off?"
"Why?"
"I'm going to bring you dinner to make up for missing lunch." I try for a cajoling tone even though that's not my thing.
"I've got plans."
I bristle as all attempts to sweeten her fly away. "With who?" I demand.
"None of your business." She folds her arms across her chest and looks at me as if I'm losing it.
Maybe I am. The thought of her eating dinner with another guy makes me want to tear the door off the track.
An alarm bell sounds in the back of my head, telling me I should cool it. She's already leery of me, and now I'm acting like a caveman. Modern men are cool with their women having menfriends. Modern men whose knuckles don't drag on the ground don't mind other penises hanging around their women. Modern men don't use possessives liketheirormine.
I take a deep breath. I'm not trying to control Lauren. I don't want to own her. I just want to...make her mine.
Shit.
"Um, sir, is there a problem with the door?"
I turn my head to see the security guard about five feet away. And the alarm bell wasn't sounding in the back of my head. Holding the elevator door open this long has set off an actual alarm.
