by Remy Rose
“Don't be afraid. Let me show you how much I want you.” He approached me slowly, his face shadowed, and I drew in my breath at the sight of him: the sculpted outline of his pectoral muscles, his flat, board-like abdomen. I ached to reach out and touch him—brush my hand across his hairless chest and slide it down to grasp the bulge in his pants.
“Don't be afraid,” he murmured again, and then light from the window fell across his face.
Brock's face.
There was hardness in his green eyes as his lip curled into a cold sneer. “You were expecting someone else, weren't you, Cassandra?” He started to laugh, and the gripping chill I felt was enough to jar me from sleep.
A dream, I told myself last night, as I hugged my knees to my chest and shivered, the bedding rumpled around me. A dream. It doesn't mean anything. He can't hurt you anymore.
But of course he can, and he is. The pain of betrayal still hurts like holy hell, but it goes way beyond that. I feel gutted, hollow. As much as I hate to acknowledge it, the absence of him is hurting me.
“Hey. You okay?” Allison, peering at me anxiously.
“Yes, thanks. Just trying to shake a dream I had last night.” I take the styrofoam container from the counter to bring to my table.
Al follows me out the swinging door. “A dream, huh? Bet I can guess what it was about. Or should I say, who.” She comes closer and puts her mouth at my ear. “Honey, you still look like you need some groceries, and you're pale. I'm worried about you.”
“You are sweet, but I'll be okay. Really.”
“You come have Thanksgiving with me and Rick and the kids, and I'll fatten you right up.”
“Thank you, Al...I'm not sure what my plans are yet, but I appreciate the offer.”
“I'm serious. We'd love to have you. Put you right to work on meal prep, too. And I still want to hear about your professional goals.”
“I've been thinking about that. We'll definitely talk when it slows down tonight, okay?” It’ll be good to focus on other things besides faces that turn into green-eyed monsters.
I walk quickly over to the booth with the takeout order and deliver the meal, apologizing again. Now to check on my next table, and hopefully the rest of the shift will go more smoothly.
I’m stopped dead in my tracks. Walking toward the empty table in my section...Carlo.
My heart clutches. Why the fuck would he do this? The answer comes immediately, in the form of Carlo's past comment: I always get what I want. And he wants to get me back.
What am I supposed to do? He hasn’t seen me yet. Maybe I could get Allison to take him...No. That would show weakness. Better to face this head on.
He’s wearing a gray blazer over a pale blue V-neck and faded jeans, walking with purpose and confidence. I was secretly hoping that the next time I saw him, he’d somehow look less appealing to me, but I’m most definitely shit out of luck in that department. If anything, he’s even more gorgeous. And the realization that I’m still attracted to him despite the hurt and betrayal makes me hate myself so much, I’m almost burning with it.
I slip my order pad into my apron pocket, wildly angry that my hands are shaking. Reaching up to tighten my ponytail, I walk stiffly to the table as he’s sitting down and give myself a quick pep talk. You got this. Believe it. Be strong and smooth. Don't you dare let him get to you.
And then he looks at me. Holds my gaze like he owns me, and I’m pulled into the depths of those incredible blue eyes. In the few seconds I allow myself to maintain eye contact, I’m intensely aware of the pure delight he feels in seeing me again—blending into want.
I slide my hands into my apron and clench them into tight fists. Strong and smooth. Show him.
I surprise both of us by speaking first. “What are you doing here?”
His gaze drifts over my face, halting at my mouth and then flicking back to my eyes. “You're bolder...the eye contact.”
God, his voice. Rich, warm—stirring something deep inside me. “Yes. I am. And I'll ask again—what are you doing here?”
“You know exactly what I'm doing here. I told you I needed to see you.” He leans back against his chair, folding his arms.
Even through the fabric of the blazer, I can see muscles. Be sensible, I coach myself. Yes, he has muscles. Everyone has muscles. And yes, he works out. People work out all the time, lift weights, replenish their electrolytes afterwards. Not a big deal.
“I've missed you, Cassandra.”
It’s either the unexpected softness of his voice or hearing him say my name, or the gentleness in his eyes—maybe a combination of the three—but whatever it is causes me to take a small step back. “I forgot to get you a menu,” I tell him flatly. “I'll be right back.”
“Distracted?”
“I have a lot of tables tonight.”
Son of a bitch! I lift my chin before walking quickly away, the image of his self-assured smile burned on my brain. After what he did, how dare he think he can just pick up like this, with his suggestive comments, like nothing has changed?
Because he knows you. He knows he can still get to you. Prove him wrong.
Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I return to his table and present him with the menu, willing my voice to remain cool. “The specials are listed inside.”
“I'll take a tall Dos Equis to start, please. Amber.” He pauses, unabashedly raking his eyes over me. “You look so beautiful, Cassandra.”
“I'll be back to take your order.” My cheeks are flaming hot.
Allison meets me at the bar, her face creased with lines of worry. “Ohhh, shit, girl...I just saw. I can tell this is really stressing you out.”
“I seriously can't believe he's here.” I order his beer from Eddie and turn back to Allison, glad for the few seconds I can actually breathe, and do a quick mental tally of my emotions. Anxiety: check. Irritation: check. Confused: check check check. Got all of those, but where is my rage? Where the fuck is my rage?
“I'm sorry to say, hon, but I can believe he's here. I'm actually surprised he waited this long. I didn't mean to be a creeper, but it's hard not to notice how crazy he is about you.”
“But none of that matters. He betrayed my trust.” I put my hands over my face. “Ughh, this just sucks so much. He knows where I work—Jesus, technically, I even work for him at the stable—and he can find me anytime he wants.”
“I'm gonna say this as gently as I can, sweetie—I think part of you is glad about that.”
Eddie slides the glass of beer toward me. “Whoa, Cass...your face is about as red as a stop sign.”
“It's hot in here,” Allison says quickly, fanning herself.
My hand is trembling when I take the glass, the amber liquid wobbling dangerously close to the surface. I’ll deliver this to Carlo, take his order, and focus on my other tables. I’ll check on him once—once—bring him the bill and then walk away. If I feel myself start to falter, all I need to do is remember the cringe-inducing video and my starring role in it.
“Thank you.” Carlo takes the beer glass and sips, leaving a trace of foam on his upper lip. Taking his napkin from his lap, he dabs at his mouth and grins.
I steel myself. At least he didn’t use his tongue. “Are you ready to order?”
“I may need a few minutes. Could you come back?”
“You seriously don't know what you want? You've been here before.” Jesus, will he just let me get this over with?
His eyebrows arch in amusement. “Is this the way you talk to your customers?”
“Only the ones I can't stand. The chipotle barbecue burger with pepperjack has been popular tonight. You should get that.” I point to the center of his menu, careful not to let my arm brush into him. As he looks at the selections, I notice that his hair is a little longer than when I last saw him, the thick waves curling at the nape of his neck.
“Have you tried it?”
“You know I don't eat meat.”
“I seem to recall a time when you did.” H
e’s looking at me with mock innocence, and I’m pretty sure that now, I hate him.
“Listen,” I sputter hoarsely, jabbing my finger at my chest and then pointing at him. “Waitress… customer. That's all we are. This isn't funny.”
“I miss seeing you smile, Cassandra.” In the blink of an eye, his expression changes from teasing to earnest.
And I miss smiling. Arms folded, I wait for his order, staring at a gouge in the table so hard I half-expect the wood to crack. The shift in him is making me wildly uncomfortable. The teasing, cocky Carlo I know and could handle—sometimes—but this subdued, somber side of him? Not so much.
“I'm not used to people telling me what to do.” His tone lightens. “But I'll have that burger. Medium rare.”
When I come back with his meal, I keep my gaze fixed on the gouge in the table since that’s infinitely safer than looking at Carlo. Every part of him evokes an emotion in me: his mouth, his hands, his strong, broad chest...and his eyes are the most unnerving. I’ve never felt so lost—or inexplicably, so found—than when looking into them. Those eyes are dangerous as hell, because they make me forget my anger, which I desperately need as a shield.
He thanks me as I slide the plate toward him.
I nod without looking at him. “Do you need anything else?”
“Only you.”
Fuck.
Video. Betrayed. Vulnerable. Humiliated. Broken trust. The words bounce crazily around in my skull, bringing me back to my senses—enough so I can call forth my fake-cheerful waitressing voice. “Enjoy your meal. I'll be back to check on you.”
I hurry from table to table, trying my damndest not to think of Carlo watching me. Drink refills, more napkins, wipe up a spill, clear a table, lots of smiles, even a little flirting with a table of guys who looked to be college athletes. Let him see that.
I pour myself a refill of self-loathing by stealing glances at him—watching him eat, sip his beer, check his phone. I simultaneously hate and can’t help myself. He seems oblivious to the several women in the room who are also stealing glances at him. No matter what I might think of him, there’s no denying that he is maddeningly hot.
When I see that he’s done his meal, I take a good long inhale and return to his table. “Dessert?”
“No, thank you. What time do you get off work?”
“Late.”
“How late?”
“It doesn't matter. I'm not going to see you.”
“We need to talk, Cassandra.”
“There's no point. I've made that clear.” I busy myself flipping through my order pad to find his slip and tear it off.
“There is a point...the point being we have something very powerful that we can't ignore. It’s only intensified for me, and from the look in your eyes, I can see it's the same for you.”
“I think you're imagining what you see in my eyes.” I place his check on the table, hoping he won’t notice that my fingers are trembling. “This is the part where I'm supposed to say 'hope you come back soon,' but I think you'll understand why I'm not going to.”
“I need an opportunity to explain myself.”
“I'm not interested. Please pay at the front. Have a good night.”
Right when I turn to leave, his hand reaches out to close around my wrist. His fingers are cool, but the sensation I feel just from having him touch me is electric. And he knows it.
My. God.
I obviously can’t make a scene in the restaurant, so I meet his gaze, hoping he can see the hot, angry sparks in my eyes. He’s not dissuaded a bit—in fact, he actually seems encouraged, a slow, dimple-producing smile spreading across his face. “I know you still want me,” he says softly. “And I’m going to wait for the day you admit that. No matter how long it takes.”
Slowly, he releases my hand, trailing his fingers along my skin, and gets up from his chair. I stare at the floor, my heart pounding out a wild rhythm. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him walking away, and I soo hate that it feels like he’s taking a piece of me with him.
Allison is at my side in seconds. “You got through it, honey. I know that wasn't easy.”
I exhale shakily. “Is he gone yet?”
“Yep.”
Carlo’s silverware and napkin are placed neatly on top of his plate. I lift it to discover a twenty dollar bill underneath. I concede that at least he wasn’t totally obnoxious with the tip—he could have left me a hundred and made me feel like he was trying to buy me. Still...I won’t keep his money.
“Here.” I hand the twenty to Allison.
“I can't take your money, Cass.”
“It's not my money; it's Carlo's. I don't want it.”
Allison grins mischievously. “Okay, so you've given me the orchid he sent you. Now his tip. Can I pick which part of him I get next?”
I roll my eyes and can’t help but giggle. I’m so grateful that Allison is teasing me and lightening the mood.
Now, to keep it that way.
chapter fifteen ~ Carlo
Trade shows, I’ve determined, are a necessary evil. Ninety-nine percent of the people you talk to don’t end up doing business with you, but if you aren’t there, people notice. And these shows always result in a sore back and aching feet, but the chance that you'll find that million dollar deal keeps you (reluctantly) returning.
McCormick Place in Chicago is enormous: a combined total of 2.6 million square feet of exhibit space, with promenades for pedestrians and sky bridges connecting the glass-faced buildings. It’s an ideal site for the MHI trade show, and this year, I’m going to actually welcome the three-day distraction.
I’m staying in an upper floor Crown Suite at the upscale Westin Hotel on Michigan Avenue. The room is classy, decorated in earth tones, with beige leather furniture and a well-stocked refrigerator—my money’s on Estelle for seeing to that. Since I’m not in the mood for bar-hopping, I’d like to spend a good deal of time in the suite or the workout room during off-hours, but I may have to babysit Jared, the sales rep who’s also along for the trip.
I’ve got mixed feelings about how things went with Cassandra at Tucker's the other night. Just laying eyes on her was worth it, and I could tell I’d gotten to her, but my plan to see her after her shift didn’t materialize. Her tenacity surprised me. Made me want her even more, and as strange as it sounds—I was proud of her.
After toast, juice and coffee, I arrive at the Miller Valve double-sided booth and scan the table: black tablecloth covered with brochures, assorted valves, candy dish...Jared did a good job getting everything in order. He’s talking with another rep a few booths away but hurries back when he sees me.
“Hey, boss—everything look okay?”
“It does, thanks. The place is already packed. I hope you brought Tylenol—the noise in here climbs about an octave an hour.”
Jared grins. “Yeah, I'm prepared. I found Columbia's booth, by the way.”
“Was Dall over there?”
“I figured I'd see him, but no. The word is, Hodgins wouldn't hire him because he spied for Columbia. How's that for irony? Hodgins said if he'd do it with 'em, he'd do it to 'em, and he couldn't trust the bastard.”
Classic. I love it. “Ah, karma. I don't feel a bit sorry for the prick. Did you see if Columbia had any new products on display?”
“As a matter of fact, they did. An e-valve. Looks surprisingly familiar.” Jared sighs, reaching into his suit pocket for a brochure. “I brought you this.”
I unfold the pamphlet, feeling my blood pressure rise. “Well, I can't say I'm surprised, but it's still bullshit. Thanks for this, though...I'll hand it over to my attorneys. I'm paying them a king's ransom to go after Columbia.”
“I'll bet. I'm headed over to grab some coffee before things get into full swing here...want some?”
“Sure, thanks.” I move to stand behind our table, opening my briefcase to get my business cards.
“So this is the illustrious Carlo Leone I've been hearing about.”
&
nbsp; I look up. A hot-looking brunette is standing in front of our booth, arms crossed under her ample breasts. She’s smiling, wearing a knee-length, tight crimson dress with a low neckline, looking more like she’s ready for a cocktail party rather than standing among a bunch of suits peddling their wares.
Her head tilts to the side, one dark eyebrow arched playfully as her brown eyes sparkle. “I suppose I should introduce myself. Olivia Malstrom, Allied Packings Eastern sales manager.”
Well. Sam Oakes wasn’t exaggerating at the cigar dinner when he described her. I hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Olivia.”
“People close to me call me Liv. And I expect you'll be one of those people.” She smiles, revealing bright white teeth. Her mocha-colored lipstick accentuates the fullness of her mouth and makes her look almost exotic.
“Do you? We've only just met.”
“Yes, but I have a feeling we'll be great...friends.”
My eyes drift down to her legs. She’s wearing black pumps with high heels—not exactly conducive to a trade show. “Those are a bit dangerous, don't you think?”
“My legs?” Her eyes are dancing.
I can’t help but grin. “Your shoes. There's a lot of standing at this event. But you're a rookie—you'll learn.”
“I assure you, Carlo, I'm no rookie—and I fully intend to spend time off my feet as well.”
It rarely happens that a woman can catch me off guard, but Olivia—Liv—just did. I’m going to need to be careful with this. It’s been a long time since I’ve fucked someone, and I know myself well enough that even though my heart wants someone else...a smoking hot woman coming on to you can make even the strongest man weak.
Think I’ll go the professional route. “Sam Oakes spoke quite highly of you. Have you seen him today?”
She looks at me, amused, like she knows why I’m changing the subject. “Yes, I have. He's a few aisles over. Maybe the three of us could meet for a drink later, and get to know one another better.” Olivia spins the silver bracelets on her arm, her tone light. “I know you haven't used me before, but I hope you're open to the possibility of exploring. Allied Packings could have just what Miller Valves needs.”
