Page 75 of Flirting with Trouble

“I’m sorry” comes out shaky and weak, but I can’t refute the things he’s said. “Can’t we just go to your hotel?”

“No,” he says softly. “I think it’s better if we don’t. I need time and space to get my head on straight. What’s that old saying? Right person, wrong time?” He steps into the street and hails a cab. Then he reaches for my hand.

My heart is breaking, my thoughts spinning, and my throat thickens painfully. I feel like an automaton as he guides me toward the cab. He opens the door, gazing down at me with the dark eyes I’ve come to adore, but they’re not piercing or hungry or playful.

They’re as hurt as the sadness permeating the space between us as he caresses my cheek and says, “You really are an incredible woman.”

He kisses my forehead, and it’s all I can do to duck into the car before my shattering heart takes me to my knees. I startle when he closes the door and watch him through the blur of tears as the car pulls into traffic.

Chapter Eighteen

Wells

Rock Bottom is usually the one place where I can lose myself in work and customers and overcome even the worst of moods, but the noise outside my office door Sunday evening irritates the hell out of me. I’ve been trying to review a vendor report for an hour, but all I see is the fear in Victory’s eyes when I suggested we stay at her place. I’ve been trying to give that look another name, but nothing else fits, and I just don’t get it.

Fuck. That’s not true.

I do get it. She lived there with Harvey. I can see how having me there might make her uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t frighten her. The idea that it does makes me wonder what’s really going on. I eye my phone and consider reaching out to her for the millionth time this weekend. But knowing I caused that fear hurts like a bitch, and if I misread everything about us so far, I’m not about to put either of us in that position again.

I flip the phone over on my desk and turn back to my computer, trying to focus on the report. But it’s Victory’s face I see, her energy I feel shifting and icing over as it had Friday night. I wish I could stop thinking about her, but I worry about her. Is she upset, or did she just bury herself in work again? Or is she thinking about me, too? Wishing she’d asked me to stay?

Don’t be a fucking fool. If she regretted it, she would have reached out.

My chest constricts with the thought I’ve been trying to shove down deep. Has she just been using me as a distraction? A fucking boy toy? I can’t reconcile that idea with how close we’ve gotten, but the devil on my shoulder says that’s exactly what I was to her, and that makes me want to strangle the imaginary fucker.

But what if that little fucker is right?

What the hell do I know about love?

Maybe Victory saw that in me, and that’s where the fear came from. It’s one thing to knock around the city together, but really letting me into her life? Into her private sanctuary? That might scare the hell out of her because she doesn’t think I’m capable of more.

The thought cuts like a hatchet.

I push to my feet and turn to look out the window behind my desk, hoping the view of the ocean will take the edge off my shitty mood. My office overlooks the outside seating and the dockside area, where the waitstaff is hustling between boats and the restaurant and, just beyond, the vast blue sea kisses the horizon. How many times have I imagined showing Victory around the island, taking her out on my boat, hanging out at bonfires with our friends? I can’t pinpoint when that desire started any clearer than I can pinpoint exactly when I began feeling like something in my life was missing.

I thought it was my internal drive to succeed, to prove I could do more than what I had already accomplished. But I’m on the cusp of doing just that, and I know that’ll be a huge accomplishment and satisfy my urge to do more, but there’s still a gnawing inside me. An emptiness I know will not be eased by success alone. This new and different ache is ten times more oppressive than anything I’ve ever felt. It’s soul-deep, not driven by the fear of my family falling apart or misguided teenage love.

Holy shit. Is this history repeating itself? Am I destined to fall for women who aren’t going to love me back? No. I refuse to believe that. There’s no way the affection Victory showed me wasn’t real. I felt it in her touch, heard it in her voice. I saw it in the way she looked at me. There’s no way I could have imagined all of that.

A knock sounds at my door, jerking me from my thoughts.

“What?” I bark, turning as the door opens and Meghan steps in. Fuck. Meghan is one of my mother’s friends from college. She has raised four children and ran a restaurant in Boston for a decade before getting divorced and coming here to start over. The last thing she needs is the brunt of my bad mood. “Sorry, Meghan.”

“You should be.” She closes the door and stalks over to my desk. Her dark, shoulder-length hair is side parted, her makeup minimal, and the narrow-eyed look she’s giving me is slightly maternal. “You’re allowed to have a few crappy days, so I’ll let it slide this time.” She taps her fingernail on the desk, then points at me. “But straighten up, because next time I might not be as forgiving.”

“I knew there was a reason I hired you.”

She crosses her arms. “To keep you in line?”

“No, because if you won’t take shit from me, you won’t take it from anyone else.”

She feigns a dramatic sigh. “And here I thought it was for my pleasant demeanor and good looks.” She doesn’t skip a beat, snapping right back into work mode. “Have you finished looking over the vendor report yet?”

“Not yet. Is there something specific you need me to review?”

“I negotiated higher discounts with our two newest vendors, but they’re based on paying within ten days of receiving the invoices. I gave you the figures for our last few orders and the estimated savings over a twelve-month period.”

“Good job. I don’t need to review it. We can do that during the busy season, and with the right planning, it shouldn’t be a problem in our off-season. You’re on top of the budgets, so I trust your judgment.”