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And still, with Rachael right here, none of that seemed to matter.
"Stay," she whispered it so softly that he wasn't sure he'd heard her at first.
"I can't. You have things to do for the wedding, anyway. Isn't that why you took the week off?"
"I took the week off to have sex with you."
"I think not."
"Well, I modified my reasons. I'm a grown-up. I can do what I want."
"I'll be home tonight." Every second he stared into those deep eyes of hers, he hated himself more for saying it.
He should get someone to fill in for him. Just for the week. Just...
But lying to himself wouldn't help. He had to go, and the longer he stayed, the deeper the guilt would go.
Without another word, he shuffled from the bed and pulled on his clothes.
"Check my reports, okay?" she asked.
"You got it."
"And if your assistant sends me any more surveys, I'm going to strangle both of you in your sleep."
"Noted. Though, I should point out that was your part of the deal. If you didn't want to follow through, I could always—"
She threw a pillow at his head and he ducked. "Okay, okay. No more surveys."
12
Rachael's phone clanged beside her head, muffled by her pillow.
She must have fallen asleep with the damn thing in her hand again, texting frantic instructions of Natalie to make sure everything was still in order by the time she returned from her vacation.
Normally, it wouldn't have bothered her, the constant attention to the company. But now, with Garret lying beside her every night for the past two weeks, every time it rang she had the distinct urge to chuck the thing at the wall and watch it splinter into a million pieces.
Not because she was drawn to it. That was a problem, sure. But it was more the way Garret looked at it when she got a new message from the office. In an instant, he would shift—go from playing with Tesla to sitting bolt upright, his brow furrowed like they were already mid-business meeting.
She pushed the thought aside and shifted beneath the sheets just as the last strains of her ringer sounded.
Tonight was the rehearsal dinner, and if she was going to face her mother for a full hour, she was going to need all the rest she could possibly get.
She closed her eyes and shoved the pillow over her face, blocking out the rays from the early morning sun, but then the ringer sounded again, so loud this time that she shot upright and sent the pillow flying across the room.
She reached for the damn thing and clicked the “answer” button before checking the caller ID.
Big mistake.
"Hello?" She said on a yawn.
"Rachael? Do you mean to tell me you're still in bed at this hour?" Her mother sounded like someone had just insinuated cream and eggshell were the same color. Positively scandalized.
"No," she bit back a second yawn and said, "but...I'm not near a clock. What time is it?"
; "Eight thirty in the morning."
