Ready to call it a day, I looked up at a knock to see Emma at my office door. Did the woman have to look stunning ten hours into a Friday? But seeing as she’d been nothing but nice and helpful all week, I couldn’t justify an ounce of jealousy about Simon spending most of his time with her. Hadn’t he said he thought of her as a sister?
Not that I cared. Liar.
“Hi, Emma,” I greeted never having seen her down on our floors before.
“Hello. Um, any chance I could interest you in drinks tonight? I don’t know anyone in the city and thought maybe we could grab some.”
Her invitation was awkward at best, but it was sincere. “Sure. I need to go home first, though, to feed my dog.”
“How about eight o’clock? Maybe at my hotel? I’ll text you the address.”
Her hotel. Which meant it was Simon’s hotel, too. “Okay. Are you changing clothes?”
“God, yes. Jeans.”
“Great. See you there.”
Call it morbid curiosity, but I simply couldn’t say no.
***
I was late. But at least only by five minutes. I felt guilty about all of my extended nights and now leaving Cooper at home. But considering that on most Fridays I was in bed by now, he couldn’t have expected a whole lot more than sleeping anyhow. Still, I planned to take him to the dog park tomorrow to make up for it.
As I walked into the bar at the Four Seasons, I could see it was already filling up, but I spotted Emma straight away. With her jet-black hair down her back and killer-red lipstick, she perched on a stool at the end, talking with the bartender. Leave it to her to rock a pair of jeans as if she was modeling them later. Not that I was a slouch in my dark-wash skinny jeans paired with my gray sweater, but Emma was stunning.
“Hi,” I greeted.
“Hi, yourself. Love your jumper.”
I cocked my head to the side. “Jumper?”
“Sorry, your sweater.”
“Ah.” And who said English was the same everywhere? “Thanks. In Texas you have only a short window to wear them before it gets hot again. It’s been a cooler-than-usual March.”
“What’s your pleasure?” she queried, with a martini in front of her.
“I’ll take whiskey on the rocks with a splash of sours, please.”
“Simon is a whisky man, too.”
If I’d wondered if his name would come up tonight, the question was answered within the first minute. I simply concentrated on my hands, not knowing how to maneuver the proverbial land mine.
The bartender, who was quite handsome, came over to deliver my drink. He only had eyes for Emma. Couldn’t blame the guy. “Anything else, love?”
Huh, and he was Irish.
She gave him a flirty look. “Not for now, Sean. Thanks.”
“I take it you must come here often?”
She turned her full attention to me. “Only a couple times. I actually prefer corporate housing which we’re moving into soon.”
My eyes flicked to the younger guy. “He’s cute.”
She frowned. “Who?”
I laughed, thinking it funny she didn’t realize who I was talking about despite his obvious interest. “Sean. The bartender.”
“He is, but he’s not my type.”
I was curious and had to ask, “What is?” I imagined her type would be a guy in a suit like her boss.
“If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell anyone.”
I half expected she was about to confide she was into girls. “Promise.”
“I prefer them tattooed, pierced, and for one night only.”
I would’ve been less shocked to find out she was a lesbian. “Seriously?”
She nodded. “Absolutely. A man in a suit. Turn off. Clean-cut Sean, nope, doesn’t do it for me. But put a man on a motorcycle, with tattoos and piercings, and I’m a goner.”
I was shocked. Then, looking around the bar, I grinned. “I don’t see anyone fitting that type at the Four Seasons.”
“Nope. It’s why I miss New York. There you can find a club with plenty of men fitting my description. Minus the motorcycle though as most don’t drive in the city.”
“This is quite the change, isn’t it?”
She grinned. “That’s putting it mildly. Although I do really enjoy traveling. Have you lived here your entire life?”
“Born and raised. Tell me about the most exciting place you’ve ever been.”
She went on to tell me about Australia while I sat in awe. I’d only dreamed of traveling the world while she’d actually been brave enough to do it.
“So how is the audit going so far?” she asked, talking about work for the first time. We were now on our second round of drinks.
“Okay. Russ is catching on quickly.”
“He seems into you.”
“He’s sweet, but I’m not interested.”
“I’m sure Simon would be relieved to know it.”
I sucked in a breath, trying to steady my heartbeat with her declaration. I decided to play dumb. “I don’t think he’d care either way.”
She leveled me with a look which conveyed she knew more than she’d let on.
“If he told you something, I may have to kill him,” I muttered, downing my second glass.
“In his defense, it was before he knew you worked at Maddox. He was looking forward to your second date.”
I sighed deeply with regret. “Well, we all know how that turned out.”
“Peyton. He really likes you.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Sarcasm dripped on each word. He’d been adamant any relationship outside of the working boundaries was impossible.
“He’d kill me if he knew I was talking about it, but he really does care.”
“He said that?” I wasn’t playing it cool at all. Instead, I wanted more information.
“No. But he wouldn’t. I’ve known him long enough, however, and this is different.”
It felt as though I was back in eighth grade finding out a boy might like me. It was disappointing I was so easily excited to discover a shred of hope. But since she was sharing, I had to ask. “Does he ever apologize?”
“No. Not to me, not to anyone. He has a hard time with it.”
“Why?”
“You should ask him, but please understand it’s nothing personal.”
It sure as hell felt personal. “I think perhaps you’re wrong about what you think you’re seeing regarding Simon’s feelings toward me. He isn’t used to having things disrupted. That’s all I am. Simply a momentary blip in the plan.”
She contemplated before responding. “What if I told you he’s been uncharacteristically distracted on this job? More than I’ve ever seen. And on the few occasions—and I do mean few—where I’ve known him to send flowers, he’s always had me do it as an afterthought or with me prompting. But with you, he asked what color he should send and insisted on ordering them himself.”
“That was before.”
“The flowers, yes, the distraction, no.”
“Maybe that’s all it is, then. A distraction.”
She pursed her lips. “He doesn’t do distractions. It’s more.”
I wanted to believe her, which annoyed me to no end. It felt as if I was on a roller coaster I couldn’t get off, ready for my next rush of adrenaline. “Why are you telling me this?”
For the first time, she looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know exactly. Maybe because I hate seeing him miserable. Maybe because I knew I liked you the moment you told Tom off.”
And now I liked her better for appreciating that I had. “I can’t imagine having to work with that guy all of the time.”
She didn’t bother to hide her cringe. “I won’t lie. I hate it. Then again, you have Jeff, who seems to be a twat, too.”
Didn’t need a translation for that. “He really is.”
We clinked our glasses together in girl solidarity. Then she glanced over my shoulder and smiled. “Right on time.”
“What is?”
I turned my head to see Simon walking straight for us. He seemed as shocked to see me as I was to see him.
His gaze flicked from me to her before settling on me. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Why was one word from this man ratcheting up my nerves? Perhaps it was because, despite the long day and still wearing the same suit, he looked devastatingly handsome.
“Here, Simon, take my chair. I’m calling it a night. Thanks for agreeing to drinks with me, Peyton. I’ll see you in the office on Monday.”
Wait. What?
His lips twitched as his assistant vacated her seat and set down money on the bar for the bartender.
“Why do I feel like this was a setup?” I quipped as Simon took her chair.
He flashed me his phone, showing the text from her.
“Meet me in the bar. Something you need to see.”
“Probably because it was.”
Since it was now clear he’d walked in thinking he would be meeting Emma, I reached into my purse to grab my cash. “I didn’t realize. I’ll leave you to your evening.”
“Wait. Stay.” He settled his fingers over my wrist.
The touch of his skin on mine caused a tingle through my entire body.
He didn’t look unaffected himself.
“Okay. But isn’t Tom at this hotel, too? Won’t he wonder why we’re having drinks?”
“He’s out of town.”
“Oh.”
“Will you stay?”
He’d been such an asshole the last time we’d spoken, I was on the fence. But I was also curious for answers. Not to mention my body was holding a mutiny by refusing to budge from the stool.
“Okay. Maybe for a few minutes longer.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Simon
I’d arrived at the hotel ready to change over into workout attire and hit the gym. I had another night ahead of me to spend revising the purchase agreement for Maddox Consulting after which I’d fall into bed. The sale appeared to be a done deal, to be completed in the next couple of weeks. When I got Emma’s text, I was torn between telling her I didn’t feel like a drink tonight and curious as to what she’d wanted me to see.
Now I knew why she’d sent the text. All thoughts of working my night away were forgotten. I drank in the sight of Peyton in her jumper, jeans, and boots and thought how beautiful she looked, smiling with Emma. Yet the moment I walked up, her smile disappeared. Suddenly I was on a mission to find it again.
“You want another drink?”
She hesitated. “Sure, although I may have to get an Uber.”
“I could drive you home.”
“Probably not a good idea.”
No. It wasn’t. Rather than being the gentlemanly thing, my offer was an invitation to intrude further into her life. “Or you could stay long enough you won’t need one.”
“Don’t you have work to do?”
Didn’t I always? But at this moment, there was nothing that would keep me from her. “No.”
I signaled the bartender, who already knew I wanted my whiskey neat. I found it curious when Peyton ordered the same, only with sours to cut the taste. “How was your week?”
“Tiring, but productive. I can’t imagine having to go through these types of things all the time like your team does.”
“We have breaks in between.” Although I seldom took them. Instead, I was always crunching numbers regarding the next possible investment endeavor for my boss.
“Hopefully, everything is good with this one. I’d hate to put in all the work and the deal fall through.”
I was tempted to tell her it looked as though we were moving ahead with the purchase, but I couldn’t yet. For the first time, I cursed that fact. It occurred to me she seemed to want what was best for George instead of hoping the entire thing would crumble. A lot of people wouldn’t have felt that way. They enjoyed the status quo too much to want change. “Hope so, too.”
We were both quiet. The fact conversation was now awkward didn’t settle well with me, especially when it had been quite natural in the beginning. However, given the way we’d left things the last time, was it any wonder?
“Emma tells me Russ is competent.”
She took a sip of her new drink. “He is.”
I sighed, not liking her short answers and needing to clear the air. “I wish I hadn’t brought up your father the way I did.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because I wanted your raw reaction to the rumor. It’s the way I operate.”
“Without apology?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to give her the canned response I’d give to anyone else. Because I didn’t regret my actions and I wasn’t responsible for the way they made her feel. Given the choice, I’d do it the same all over again. Of course, I hadn’t meant to hurt her by bringing up her deceased father, and that hadn’t been my intention. Getting to the bottom of the rumor had been. I had twenty different ways of explaining myself and rebuttals for any argument she might have. But none of that came out. Instead, I told the truth.
“I have a hard time with them.”
“Why?”
“I can’t say.” I’d confided in Emma when we’d both been in London drinking. Since she’d spilled her broken past, I’d shared some of mine. She was the sole person outside of my family who knew the real reason.
“Can’t or won’t? You know what? It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t be asking deep questions or demanding an apology. And you shouldn’t have to justify why you won’t give it. It was only one date.”
She declared the same words I’d told myself over and over. It was only one date. Two kisses. Yet the thought of losing her left me in a panic. She was retreating, both figuratively and physically, putting money on the bar, ready to go.
“Then why do I miss you? Why do I sit in my office, quiet as a church mouse so I can hear your voice through the walls? Why do I think about you all of the time?”
She stilled. Her lips parted in surprise while the magnitude of what I’d admitted hit me. But there was no going back.
“I keep telling myself it was only one date, too.” I’d tried to convince myself it was insane to have this connection with someone I barely knew. But I felt as if our time had been cut short in some sort of tragic way. If she knew the depth of my thoughts on the matter, I was sure she’d be running for the hills. They weren’t the thoughts of a rational man who’d been out with a woman once for dinner.
She moved her body towards me until I could feel the heat from her leg next to mine. The sexual tension radiated from the both of us like a low hum while my heart thumped in my chest.
“Maybe it’s because it’s now forbidden we want it more.” Her voice was down to a whisper, full of a need that hadn’t been evident before.
“Meaning you feel the same way?”
“Yes.” She let out a sigh, her finger rimming her glass with a seductive action I doubted she was even aware of. “Evidently, we’re both crazy, or maybe we simply can’t stand not getting our way?”
I smiled and watched her do the same. Catching the bartender’s attention, I ordered another whiskey and then threw back the one in front of me with one motion.
“I do enjoy getting my way.” And right now, I’d have loved nothing more than to pay the tab and take her up to my room. I’d have her naked in two seconds and my tongue buried in her pussy in two more.
“Me, too.” The way her eyes darkened made me wonder if she wasn’t thinking the same thing.
“My family,” I blurted out.
“What?”
“My family, or rather my father, is the reason I don’t give apologies.” Even saying the word in a sentence was hard to get out. Yet giving her something was important if I was to bridge the gap caused by any wrongs I’d done her.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
No. I didn’t. I shook my head. “Do you miss your father?”
She took my cue for
changing the subject onto her family. “Every day. I miss my mom more, which I suppose I should feel guilty about, but my father traveled a lot. She was around for the day to day.”
“You lost both parents? At the same time?”
“Yes. In a horrible accident.”
I assumed a car crash. “You were a minor. What did you do?”
“My sister became my guardian. Can you imagine at age nineteen in your sophomore year, having to quit college and come back home to take care of your teenage sister?”
“No. I can’t.”
“It’s what she did. She finished her degree locally by attending school at night. Had a long-distance relationship with her now-husband while he was at college—all so she could keep me in our home town and with her.”
“Pretty selfless.”
“She is. Are your parents still alive?”
I wasn’t accustomed to talking about my family at all. Yet here I was putting it out there. “My mother died five years ago. My father lives, although I haven’t spoken to him in almost two decades.”
“Twenty years?”
“Just about. He wasn’t a good man.”
“If I were to guess, he had something against you saying sorry?”
Quite the opposite. I simply nodded, not wanting to burden her with how I used to get beat until the word would pass my lips. It started when I was about four. My father enjoyed the groveling, the tears, and most of all, the pain. He saw an apology as weakness. The words would empower him while defeating me. It had taken me years to realize it was he who was truly the weak one. A man who would prey on a child and his wife with his fists.
“Actually, he enjoyed it a bit too much.”
“I’m sorry. I mean—shit. In talking about it, there I go throwing it out there at the worst possible time. Sorry—fuck, now I did it again.” She clasped a hand over her mouth as if to keep the deluge of apologies from escaping.
Without Apology Page 8
