by Vi Keeland
“Nah. My Eliza divorced me because I was a drunk who couldn’t hold a job more than three months. Can’t blame the woman. A good woman deserves a good man, and eventually she sees right through an imposter.”
His comment made me think of Sophia. As much as I didn’t want to think so—because it made my situation easier—she was a good woman. Mr. Thorne was the only person I could admit all my ugly shit to, and he wouldn’t look down on me or judge me. Maybe it was because he had his own ugliness, or maybe it was because he was confined to this bed, and the only people who visited him were the nurse who got paid to take care of him and me. But whatever the reason, I trusted him with anything. In a lot of ways, he’d taken Caroline’s place. She was the only person I ever felt like myself around.
Blowing out a deep breath, I said, “I’ve actually started seeing a new woman. Well, she’s not really new, considering we’ve known each other since we were kids. And I guess technically we aren’t seeing each other, but whatever. There’s a woman.”
Mr. Thorne nodded. “Go on.”
“There’s not much to tell. Her name is Sophia, and she’s basically my enemy.”
“So, you’re telling me you’re sleeping with the enemy, like the movie?”
I laughed. “A different kind of enemy. Basically, my family and her family hate each other.”
“But you two get along?”
I shook my head. “Not exactly. Most of the time, she’s about five seconds away from kicking me in the balls.”
Mr. Thorne’s bushy brows dipped down. “I’m confused. So, you’re not sleeping with this girl?”
“No, I am.”
“But she wants to kick you in the balls?”
I smiled. “She does.”
“And that makes you smile? I don’t understand this generation at all.”
“She doesn’t like me. But her body does. We’re like a tornado and a volcano. It’s rare the two meet. But when they do, it’s explosive.”
“Explosive, huh? That sounds more like destructive to me.”
He had a point. But it was okay. Sophia wouldn’t get hurt, since she was the tornado, and they tended to move on quickly. It was the volcano that sat around dormant for years on end.
“Be careful. That sounds like the type of thing that can jeopardize your recovery.”
“Don’t worry about me. I got it all under control.”
Our eyes met for a moment, and we both knew this wasn’t the first time I’d uttered those words and been wrong. Though I appreciated him not reminding me of that.
I stood. “How about we get your lazy ass into the wheelchair, and I take you outside for a walk? It’s beautiful out.”
Mr. Thorne nodded and smiled. “I’d like that.”
***
Later that afternoon, I hit up an AA meeting on my way back to The Countess. After, I sat in my office thinking about what Mr. Thorne had said. I’d assured him I had things under control, and that was accurate in regard to my drinking, but the truth of the matter was that Sophia Sterling was getting under my skin. If I wasn’t watching her from afar, I was thinking of excuses to go talk to her, which inevitably led to an argument I’d get off on. My days had become centered around watching her or interacting with her, and our nights together fulfilled my fantasies. If I couldn’t goad her into a fight that heated things up between us, I sat in my room alone, jerking off to the memory. I’d even arranged it so when I moved out of the presidential suite, I moved into the room she’d just vacated and declined housekeeping. So now my sheets smelled like her, and every time I went into the shower, I imagined her standing in the exact same spot bringing herself to orgasm. Between that and how I liked to secretly watch her in line at the coffee shop and working behind the reception desk, I was turning into a real creeper.
So when Sophia knocked on my open door, I felt like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
I cleared my throat. “Yes, Fifi?”
She rolled her eyes and walked in. “Why did you start calling me that in high school, anyway?”
I leaned back in my chair and tossed my pen onto the desk. “I don’t know. I said it once and saw that it got a rise out of you, so it stuck.”
She sighed. “Some things never change, huh?”
“Well, technically they do. These days you’re the one getting the rise out of me, aren’t you?” I winked.
Sophia smirked, but ignored my comment. She took a seat in a chair on the other side of my desk and crossed her legs.
Was it me, or did her skirt ride up a little higher today? This morning, when I watched her from afar at the coffee shop, she’d had her hair down, but it was pulled to the side so I had a clear view of the beautiful skin on the back of her neck. While she stood in line, her perfectly manicured nails gently grazed up and down from her hairline into her silk blouse. I’d assumed it was my vivid imagination, and she wasn’t intentionally trying to drive me crazy, but this afternoon’s skirt was a bit on the short side.
When my eyes rose to meet hers, I could’ve sworn they held a hint of a gleam. Yet she was all business when she spoke.
“So, I received the two quotes from my contractors. The estimates aren’t that different, but only one feels they could get the job done in the timeframe we need. Any chance your quote came in?”
“Actually, it did. I’ve only glanced at the bottom line, so why don’t we take a look at all three and see where things stand.”
We moved over to the round conference table to spread out, and Sophia and I exchanged estimates. It only took a quick look to realize both of her estimates were significantly lower than mine. While my contractor felt comfortable committing to get the work done in three months, he’d included a number of rush charges throughout. The only extra fees Sophia’s contractors charged were for things like required night differential and overtime.
While we were reviewing the estimates, Sophia’s cell phone rang. She quickly sent the call to voice mail, but not before we both read the name on the caller ID.
I felt a stab of jealousy in my chest. “I thought things were over between you and the boring Brit?”
She sighed. “Can we both pretend you didn’t see that just now?”
My jaw flexed. “If that’s what you want.”
Sophia nodded and went back to reading the estimates. A few minutes later, she pushed the papers aside. “Well, I think it’s obvious who we should use.”
Maybe on paper it was. But I hadn’t forgotten the way Travis Bolton looked at her. “It’s not always about the lowest bidder.”
Her tone was defensive. “I know that, but the Boltons are also the most confident that they can get the job done, and they have a great reputation and have never let my family down.”
“I’ll need to make some calls to ask around about them.”
Sophia’s lips pursed. “Whatever you need to do. But obviously the sooner we decide the better.”
Fuck. I wanted to suck on those puckered lips. We had an obvious history of our attraction heating up when we were pissed off, but at the moment I was confused as to what the hell I was even pissed about. Was it because my estimate was clearly the shittiest one? Or because her asshole ex had just called her? Or did the thought of Travis Bolton hanging around her while doing the construction here drive me a little bit nuts?
Sophia’s cell phone interrupted my thoughts again. We simultaneously read the name Liam, and I put my hand out, palm up. “How about I answer?”
Her eyes widened, and she sucked in her bottom lip. “What would you say?”
“Is it over?”
She nodded. “I want to bury the body deeper than eight feet.”
I flashed a wicked smile. I could easily have picked up the phone from the table, and I doubted she would have stopped me. But I wanted her to hand it to me.
“Give me the phone.” My hand was still extended, waiting.
I felt a surge of pride when she dropped it into my palm. The cell rang for a third time, so I swi
ped to answer and brought it to my ear.
“Hello.”
“Who is this?”
“This is the man fucking your ex-girlfriend. And we’re busy at the moment. So what can I do you for, Liam?”
Sophia’s eyes looked like they might bulge out of her head. She covered her mouth with both hands.
The asshole on the other end of the phone had the balls to sound indignant. “Put Sophia on the phone.”
I leaned back. “No can do. She’s a little tied up at the moment, if you get my drift.”
“Is this a joke?”
“A joke? No, the joke’s on you. I bet you didn’t even know our girl likes to be tied up, did you? Such a shame. Maybe if you had taken your time exploring what the beautiful woman needs, she wouldn’t be moaning my name at night. But that’s not your thing, is it? You’re only into fulfilling your own needs. You know, like with her cousin.”
I kept quiet for a few heartbeats and waited to see what good ol’ Liam had to say about that. Though, apparently I’d stumped the idiot. I could only hear him breathing loudly. So I figured I’d end on a fun note.
“Okay, then. It’s been great chatting with you. And Liam, lose Sophia’s number.”
I swiped to end the call and offered the phone back to a very stunned Sophia. She continued to stare at me, bug-eyed, even as she took her cell. From the look on her face, I thought a tirade was likely on the way once she managed to get her bearings again.
“Too much?” I asked, lifting a brow.
Sophia’s mouth hung open. But then her lips slid into a giant grin. “Oh my God! That was awesome!”
“Glad you think so. I was beginning to think you were going to lay into me. Although, that would turn into a big fight, and we both know where that seems to take us. So it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”
We had a good laugh, and then Sophia swept all the papers on the table into a neat pile. I thought we were going back to business.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
I nodded, and again, she chewed on that bottom lip.
“How did you know Liam had never tied me up?”
“The way you reacted when I asked your permission to use my belt. You wanted me to, but you weren’t comfortable admitting that. If it hadn’t been your first time, you would have reacted differently.”
She nodded, but went quiet again. Eventually, she said, “But how did you know I wanted you to?”
Man, that Liam really was a dipshit. Didn’t the fucker ever read what she wanted and try to satisfy her? I couldn’t believe she had to ask me that question. Though I didn’t want to make her feel foolish, so I did my best to answer without any hint of judgment in my voice.
“It’s just something I sensed from you.”
She shook her head. “How? Do I appear weak or something?”
“Just the opposite. You seem very much in control, which is why I thought it might work for you to let go a little. What you like in the bedroom in no way reflects who you are as a businessperson.”
Sophia was quiet again. “Is this your thing? You’re a dominant or something?”
I shook my head. “No. It’s not my thing.”
“Oh. Okay.”
I leaned close and wound a lock of her hair around my finger until she looked up at me. Then I smiled and gave it a good, firm yank. “But it appears to be our thing.”
Chapter 11
* * *
Sophia
I wasn’t sure what bugged me more—the fact that in three short, intimate encounters, Weston had figured out something Liam had no clue about after more than eighteen months together, or that he’d figured out something even I wasn’t aware of. But either way, he was right. While I wanted to argue about business with Weston, and challenge him on everything, what I seemed to like in the bedroom was how he took charge. Sex with Weston was light years better than what things had been like between Liam and me. I’d chalked it up to the spark that came with our arguing, but there was more to it than that, and the revelation pretty much freaked me out.
So for the next twenty-four hours, I did my best to avoid Weston. And I was successful, too. Until I came out of the office supply store a few blocks away from the hotel at close to eight o’clock at night, and I happened to see Weston up ahead on the opposite side of the street. Since he was walking the direction I had to go, I kept him in my line of sight for the next two blocks. I figured he was on his way back to the hotel, like I was, but when he turned right instead of left at the next corner, I realized that wasn’t the case.
Standing at an intersection, I looked left and could see The Countess one block over. To my right, I watched Weston continue to walk. Conflicted, my head swung back and forth a few times before I finally sighed and decided a little extra walk tonight would do me some good.
I let more distance gap between us as I followed him from the opposite side of the street. Whereas before we’d both been heading toward the hotel, and if I got caught behind him, I had a legitimate excuse, now I was just a plain old stalker. I tailed him for a solid ten minutes, turning left and right with no idea where the hell we were going. Eventually, he turned in to an office building. I caught up and watched from across the street as he walked through the glass doors and headed straight for the elevator. With the show over, I probably should’ve turned around and weaved my way back to The Countess. But curiosity got the best of me.
Looking both ways, I jay-walked across the busy street toward the building. My heart sped up as I made my way to the glass doors. Weston had disappeared into the elevator, and I had no idea what the hell I was looking for. Yet for some stupid reason, I was willing to get caught to see if I could figure out where he was going.
In the lobby, I studied the building directory. It read like a typical Manhattan skyscraper, with dozens of doctors, lawyers, and corporate offices. Weston hadn’t stopped to check the directory, so he’d clearly been here before, or at least knew where he was going. Disappointed—though I had no idea why I’d followed him to begin with—I turned to leave. The last thing I wanted was to get caught when my snooping hadn’t even produced any good information. As I returned to the front door of the building, my cell buzzed. So I dug it out of my purse while I kept walking.
But my feet froze as I read the text that had come in.
If you wanted to know where I was going, all you had to do was ask.
Oh God. I felt nauseous.
But it couldn’t be from Weston. He didn’t have my cell phone number, as far as I knew. I racked my brain trying to figure out who else could have sent me such a text. Everyone I knew was in my contacts, and this message had come from an unknown number. It had to be Weston. Nothing else made sense. Though, I was so freaked out that I hung on to hope.
My hands were shaky as I hit reply.
Who is this?
I held my breath as the little circles jumped around, waiting for the reply to come through. When it did, my mouth went dry.
You know who it is. Meet me in my room in one hour.
I practically ran back to the hotel. All I wanted to do was hide. In my suite, I looked down at my phone and realized fifteen minutes had passed since the text came in, yet I didn’t remember any of the walk back.
Sitting down on my bed, I read Weston’s text over and over again.
Meet me in my room in one hour.
Was he crazy? I was not going to his room. What was the point? To make it easy for him to torture me about being caught? And how did he even know I was following him? Even if he’d seen me somehow, I could’ve had an appointment in the same building. The entire thing could be a complete coincidence. For all he knew, I’d been walking to an appointment and never even noticed him up ahead on the other side of the street. His damn ego was so big that he just assumed I was following him?
Yeah, that’s what happened. At least that was my story, and I was sticking to it.
In fact, the more I thought about it, the more it annoyed me that the arrogan
t bastard thought I’d been following him. He had absolutely no proof of that. Feeling a strong mix of pent-up anger and anxiety, I decided to take a bath to relax. Weston Lockwood was a damn egomaniac, and there was no reason to get myself all worked up over him. He had a lot of nerve barking at me to come to his room.
Turning on the bathwater, I pulled my hair into a ponytail and slipped out of my clothes while the tub filled. A good, long soak would make me forget all about the stupidity of this evening.
Except when I settled into the warm water, I couldn’t relax one bit. I just kept grumbling different rants, over and over, about Weston. Not only was he a cocky jerk for thinking I’d followed him, but now that I’d thought about things, I decided he’d also had a lot of nerve saying those things to me in his office yesterday. The man made a lot of assumptions that weren’t true.
Meet me in my room in one hour.
What did he think was going to happen? That I’d show up and spread my legs because I was so infatuated with him that I’d had to follow him?
I bet that’s exactly what he thought.
And that made me even angrier.
So much so, that I decided to show up at his door—to deliver a piece of my mind, not a piece of my ass. Abruptly getting out of the tub, I splashed water all over the floor. I dried off and threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Grabbing my phone and room card from the counter, I didn’t bother to check the time. I wasn’t the least bit concerned whether I was early or late to his designated meeting time.
In the elevator, I jabbed the buttons on the panel and headed down to the eighth floor. Adrenaline surged through my veins as I raised my hand and rapped my knuckles on his door. I was so pumped up and ready to go that I started to rant before the door even swung all the way open.
“You have a lot of nerve. How dare—”
Oh shit.
This man was definitely not Weston.
He had on a bathrobe and slippers, looked to be in his seventies, and his white eyebrows drew down.
