by MK Meredith
He bent his neck to the right and then to the left, trying to ease the tight pinch between his shoulder blades. What in the hell was going on here? He’d never had any difficulty keeping his feelings out of his entanglements before. Maybe it was because his feelings were the subject of, and what would lose him, the bet. Kind of like the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon. Once you saw or heard something once, it kept showing up. His emotions had never been an issue before, and now all of a sudden he acted as though he was a hopeless romantic. He twisted his lips into a scowl. What the fuck’s fuck.
Shaking his head, he finished his business and headed to his next meeting. He settled into his seat and checked in his bag for his tablet. One of the topics had been gone over ad nauseum, and he planned to multitask, hopefully finishing the rest of Rules of Seduction by the time he met Seven for lunch. He couldn’t call off the bet; he’d look like he was running scared. And since nothing would get him to sell her book, he needed to make sure he won. He’d said she won, but they both knew it wasn’t over. The bet was never about the sex to her as much as it was about making him fall for her. And he hadn’t.
It was time to tighten his strategy, clear his thinking, because cold, hard logic left no room for something as pansy-ass as a feeling.
No way. Not today, not tomorrow.
Seven was amazing right now, but his promotion would make for an amazing tomorrow. It was what he’d been sprinting toward, sacrificing time and a social life for. It had been an excuse to avoid his father, but it would eventually give the man something he’d have to acknowledge. To give it up now, to hurt his chances now—he shook his head.
Pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, he leaned back in his seat and opened Rules of Seduction.
He needed to lock down his emotions—yesterday. How the hell Seven opened up that door, he’d never understand, but there was no way he’d leave it open. He needed to be aloof, create some distance between them.
And he had to make sure he sealed that damned door airtight.
Chapter Seven
Blake glanced up to see Seven walking toward his table at Hnaknak, her dress flowing around her calves as she passed by the plants lining the walls and the Buddhas in each corner. His whole body tightened at the sight of her. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. Standing, he pulled out her chair. “You look amazing.”
As she breezed around him, honey and cinnamon wafted about his head in a mouthwatering haze, making him wish they were eating pastries for lunch instead of Thai food.
She gave him a shy smile, barely making eye contact. “Thank you. How was your interview?”
He settled into his seat across from her. “Hello to you, too.”
She laughed lightly. “I’m sorry. Hello.” He found the catch in her voice interesting. How could she be nervous after what they’d just done to each other?
Self-satisfaction washed through him. After the interview he’d had, and how affected Seven was by him, he was pretty much the fucking mack daddy. He straightened in his seat. What the hell was the matter with him? Distance was what he needed. Clarity.
“This interview is important to you, so—”
So what, it was important to her? Hell no. That was exactly the kind of connection he did not need or want. One way or another, it was time to set up a few boundaries. Sex was sex was sex. Regardless of what her silly bet said.
He raised a brow. “So?”
Sitting straighter, she opened the linen and folded it in her lap. “Sooooo, I’m interested to know how it went and what strategy you went in with.” She finished with that damn smile, leaning toward him, making him feel important. His chest tightened.
What strategy he went in with? There’s no way she could know about the book, about his modification of her rules. He shook his head. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
She hesitated, sipping from her water glass. “I’d just assumed you had a strategy. Going in almost two decades younger than the average applicant could leave you at a disadvantage.”
Blake leaned back in his seat. “Sorry, Seven, but in the real world a neat little list of rules won’t get you shit.”
Sitting back in her seat, she eyed him across the table. “I’m assuming it went badly, because there’s no other reason for you to be such an ass.”
“No, it went amazingly well, as a matter of fact. And I’m not trying to be an ass. I’m just stating the facts. You live in a fantasy world full of happy ever afters and unrealistic expectations. My interview today depended on a consistent, perfectly executed performance. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s just different from your world.”
She pulled back as if struck. “Different, how?”
Blake drank from his glass. He was being an ass, but he needed the distance, some space between them, a chance for some clarity and control. Having her walk in looking good enough to eat, showering him with that damn smile, and acting like she was interested in what happened to him was all a show. A good show, he had to admit, but when he’d felt the warm glow of her question, he had to shut it down. Maybe he had feelings, but his feelings weren’t real. All of it was a by-product of a silly bet and sillier rules. He couldn’t fall in love with a woman who played such a good game. “The business world is a tough one.”
Her jaw dropped open, and he snorted. “Don’t act all offended. You’re a romance writer. I have an Ivy League education, corporate experience, and come from a wealthy family entrenched in the business world. There are things you won’t get, and that’s okay. If you wrote literature, or perhaps nonfiction, maybe, but—”
She snapped her mouth shut as the waiter approached and they ordered their lunch. He eyed her over his menu as she spoke with the young man. She smiled but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, her hands rested on the table in front of her, but she dug the nails of her top hand into the palm of her bottom hand.
He sighed. He hadn’t meant to insult her quite so harshly, but she was a force to be reckoned with. She had a way of making him forget himself, and he needed to rein it all back in.
After an awkward silence, they made a little small talk about their favorite foods and hometown restaurants. He was sure the change in topic would lighten her up, but when it didn’t, he sighed. “Okay, look, about what I said earlier—”
She put her hand up. “No, no worries. I wouldn’t want to insult you by thinking I’d understand a tough industry.”
Shit. “That’s not what I meant, I—”
“Blake, that’s exactly what you meant. You’re wrong, but I’m not surprised there. You’ve been wrong about a lot of things.”
He raised a brow. “Excuse me?”
“I do try, but you make it very difficult.”
“I didn’t mean…” The waiter stepped up and placed their plates before them, and Blake leaned back. As soon as they had privacy once again, he leaned forward. “You have nothing to excuse me for.”
Swirling noodles in some sort of peanut sauce on her fork, Seven paused. “But I do. You’re rude. Wrong. And obviously trying very hard to make a point, though I fail to see what that point is. Must be my lack of sophistication.”
He wanted to strangle her, and when she placed her noodles between her lips and cleaned off her fork, he wanted to taste her. He’d bet his right nut this time that she’d taste of peanuts, and spice, and something savory. Goddammit.
She crossed her arms. “Let’s forget it. So, how many books will you need, ten?”
“What do you mean?” How many books? Her meaning slowly dawned. Hell no. “I haven’t lost the bet, Seven. I know what I said, but you’re naive to think sex is related to feelings in anyway whatsoever. Sex is sex. It feels good, is a great way to work off some steam. End of story. It may not be the happy ever after you want, but it’s reality. You’re great, but I don’t have feelings for you. Not like that. And those were the losing terms of the bet.” He shrugged.
Her jaw dropped open, then she clamped it shut. Leaning forward, she said
in a fierce whisper, “You agreed. If we had sex it was a confession of feelings.”
“My confession was simply that I wanted you. I’m not a feelings kind of guy.”
She threw her napkin on the table. “You’re not a feelings kind of guy? Are you fucking kidding me? What kind of cop-out is that? You agreed to the damn bet.”
The waiter walked up, and Seven leaned back, glaring. He filled their waters, but overfilled Blake’s and knocked the glass over when he tried to stop the water from running onto Blake’s lap. It was too late, and Blake sucked his breath in against the ice-cold water showering his crotch.
“Oh, sir, I’m so sorry.” The mortified waiter grabbed the linen tucked into his belt and tried to mop up the water.
Blake put a hand out to stop the waiter from helping him any further, and stood. “It’s okay, really. It’s only water.” He shook out his pants and dabbed at the water with his napkin. The stricken look on the waiter’s face made him want to chuckle. It was only water. Grabbing the young man’s shoulder, he gave a gentle squeeze. “Seriously, I’m okay. No harm, no foul.”
The look of relief on the guy’s face was immediate, and Blake shook his head with a smile as he wiped the water from his seat and sat back down. He should thank the guy, really. He needed to cool down before he completely ruined the rest of his weekend.
Seven stared at him with a peculiar expression on her face.
“What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. That was nice of you.”
“It was only water. Accidents happen, and people make mistakes all the time. The trick is to keep moving forward.” An indirect lesson he’d learned from his youth. “Look, I’m sorry. Can we call a truce?”
“A truce?” Her tone reluctant and filled with distrust. He didn’t blame her.
“Yeah, you know, cease-fire, armistice? Let’s quit fighting for a bit?”
Finishing her water, she studied him for a beat. “Okay.”
“So you’re not mad at me?”
She waved her hand in dismissal. “We’ll get the bet figured out later. And I’m fine. It’s not me falling in love with you we’re betting on. No feelings involved, so no reason to be upset.” She threw him a brilliant smile. “We better wrap up. I have a meeting with my editor.”
He stared back at her calm expression, when what he wanted to do was throw her over his shoulder and demand an explanation. Did she mean she had no feelings for him? He didn’t believe it for a minute. The way she looked at him, responded to his touch, no one could pretend that well. Could they? The thought of her pretending hit him like the cold water had. He’d known all along she was trying to produce an effect in him—but some part of him wanted to believe she meant it. Needed to believe it. He’d fooled himself into thinking that look in her eyes was real.
And sitting there losing himself in those dark eyes of hers, he actually wished it were real. But he knew better, and thank God, because regardless of whether or not she was pretending, he shouldn’t have treated her the way he just had. He shouldn’t have said those things to anyone, but especially her, because if she had cared about him, it would have only made it worse.
Something about her, about her ideas, was making him lash out, but that was no excuse. He was wrong, and she hadn’t deserved it.
He’d even screwed up pretend love.
This time Seven’s smile was genuine as she approached Nathaniel in the lobby. It had been everything she could do not to clobber Blake at lunch, but they’d called a tentative truce before heading out to their respective meetings.
Nathaniel embraced her. “Your presentation was brilliant.”
“Thank you. I had a great time, and visiting with everyone after is always so much fun.” Blood rushed to her head when she thought of what had come after the session.
He studied her face with a tilt of his head. “Why are you blushing?”
“Can we talk?”
“That’s why we’re here. Come on. Let’s find a quiet corner.”
Seven followed, playing her conversation with Blake over and over again in her head. She hadn’t lied to him about being mad, because she wasn’t. She was sad. Because the simple fact of the matter was she wanted him. Had feelings for him. She shuddered with dread.
Once they’d found a corner where they could actually speak without half yelling, she pulled in a breath and let it out slowly.
“What?”
She winced with a half smile. “I wanted to apologize for anything inappropriate I’ve done, for making you feel uncomfortable. It wasn’t right, and since then I’ve actually developed feelings for someone else. I—”
He shot his hand up. “There’s no need, really. Honey, I’m gay.”
Shock and something akin to relief rushed over her. “What?” So that’s what she’d been noticing. It was so clear now. “Why haven’t you ever told anyone?”
Shaking his head, he pinned her with a look. “I will on my own time. My family is important to me, and I have to figure that all out first. But I knew what you were feeling and didn’t think it was fair for you to believe it was in any way about you. I mean it is, but it’s because you aren’t a man. Nothing you can help,” he said, laughing. “But here, I’m free to be exactly who I am. It’s so liberating I find myself wanting to tell every new person I meet.”
Reaching her hand out, she sighed when he slipped his fingers in hers. The look in his eyes was both determined and hopeless. “Good luck figuring it all out.”
With a dip of his chin, he squeezed her fingers, then released them and leaned back in his chair. “So, tell me about this guy. It is a guy, right?”
She grinned. “Yes, but it’s a mess. I’ve stupidly developed feelings for this guy, but he doesn’t see me as anything more than a good time to remember Vegas by.”
“How do you know?”
“He pretty much told me that exactly.”
“And since when are straight men ever in touch with their feelings? All that testosterone makes for a cloudy lens, my friend. I think you should go for it. Make leaving you tomorrow impossible.”
Fear shot straight up her spine and wrapped around her heart. “What if he leaves anyway?”
“Well, he will for sure if you don’t try. So really, what’s the difference?”
All the possibilities rushed through her mind, freezing her in place.
“Don’t tell me you’re a romance writer afraid of romance.”
She grimaced. “That does seem hypocritical, doesn’t it?”
“Oh please, the most important things in life tend to be the hardest to grasp, literally and philosophically. All we can do is to keep trying.” He released a wistful sigh.
“Can we talk about something else?”
“If only everything could be broken down to hard, cold facts. Numbers, data, trends. Now those, we can do something about. And speaking of, I want to hear about this next book.”
They talked about the numbers of her latest release, her next two contracts, and her next book signings. Confident in the direction of the next few months, they wrapped up their meeting and agreed to meet in the bar later.
“Be brave.” Nathaniel gave her a brief hug.
“It seems we both need to.”
“Touché.”
Seven looked at the time, and an idea bloomed in her mind. A crazy idea, but sometimes crazy was the perfect way to do things. Especially when dealing with romance.
Blake had a short window before his next meeting, and the time fit perfectly into her plan. Finding him wasn’t too difficult; all she had to do was follow the squeal of female delight and his deep baritone laugh.
Approaching an area of the lobby boasting plush couches and deep chairs, she found him settled back in one, with a lady perched on each arm giggling and preening at the same time. She couldn’t blame them, not when he looked like any number of models on the cover of a millionaire’s club romance novel.
At the sight of her, he shot up from the chair and moved to
ward her, oblivious of the precarious position he’d left the ladies in. They both righted themselves before completely losing their seats, shooting Seven unfriendly glares.
“That was quick,” he said.
“We only had a couple things to go over.”
“Great. What should we do? I have a little over an hour, but then need to get back.”
She studied him. Was she brave enough? Did she believe in her own love story?
She took his hand. “Come on.”
Craning her head to see around the crowds of smiling faces and squealing laughter, she looked for her good friend Trent, Masquerade’s party planner extraordinaire. His sweet dimples were challenged only by his sweeter heart. The two of them had met a few years earlier at her first conference as a published author. She’d been beyond nervous, and Trent had swooped in like a fairy godbrother, put her in a beautiful gown, and introduced her to the love of her life—the world of a romance author. Conferences and the connections made there were unlike anything she’d ever imagined.
“There he is.”
Warm brown eyes smiled at her above a martini glass rimmed in sugar, a pale yellow liquid sloshing from inside. She grinned. No doubt, his signature lemon drop martini.
She tapped his glass as he set it down. “A little early, dontcha think?”
Trent laughed. “Please, I’ve always said drinking an ounce of vodka every day has numerous health benefits, lowers blood pressure, and decreases the risk of stroke—”
Seven rolled her eyes, then winked at Blake before turning her focus back to Trent. “For as long as I’ve known you, I’ve never heard you say anything of the sort.”
He grinned. “Doesn’t make it any less true, and I have it on good authority, a little blonde birdie told me.” And he took another sip, closing his eyes as he swallowed. Looking at Seven, he indicated Blake standing behind her, and gave him a once over from the top of his well-groomed hair to the rich leather of the black tip of his dress shoes. “What’s up, buttercup?”
Blake flashed Trent a wide smile and reached out his hand. “Blake Turner, but buttercup works.”
