Forget You

by Nina Crespo

  “It doesn’t matter if you agree or not. The decision isn’t up to you. Once you complete the Ivy Gate deal, I’m leaving.”

  “You’re quitting because we had sex?”

  “There’s no need to discuss it further. It was a one-and-done moment. Kind of a goodbye.” She went to smooth her hair up but hugged herself instead. “You don’t remember what happened, but I don’t see the need for us to dissect the moment. It’s not important.”

  King opened his mouth as if to say something. Instead, he clamped his hand around her nape and kissed her.

  She braced for power, but his tongue drifted softly, slowly, and seductively over hers.

  Sophie dug her fingers into her sides and resisted moving into the heat of his chest. Her calves ached from the strain of wanting to lift herself up and wrap her arms around him.

  King eased back until his lips hovered over hers. “You’re wrong. It may have happened once, but we’re not done.”

  Before she could respond, he opened the door and stalked out.

  At the office, three days later, King tossed the folder with the half-inch-thick document on the round conference table. “I want something more comprehensive.”

  The newly hired acquisitions expert from the advisory firm assigned to the Ivy Gate Hotel project cleared his throat. “We’ve looked into the details and considered the property from every angle.” The light-haired man pushed his circular-framed glasses farther up the bridge of his bulbous nose. “Location. Potential. Expected rate of return. Interest in the property by other hospitality corporations. Every factor indicates it’s a prime investment.”

  Frustration sparked in King. “I don’t care what every other corporation is doing. We’re not bidding a dime until we know without a doubt that the Ivy Gate is the right venture for us. Your firm would normally have the same attitude.”

  “We do.”

  “Then make sure this is a sound deal. I want five years’ worth of financials on the Ivy Gate Hotel and projections with and without the Ivy Gate Hotel as part of the portfolio. And don’t give us something that reads like a travel brochure. Cut the irrelevant crap and include only the facts. I expect a rewrite in our offices by Thursday.”

  “That’s in two days.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  The man’s complexion changed from crimson to pale—nearly matching his red tie and white shirt. “We’ll have it done.”

  A few minutes after the man left, Aiden came into the room and shut the door. “Will you explain to me how a meeting to fill you in on the Ivy Gate proposal turned into you ripping apart the advisory report? A new projection? Five years of financials? There’s no need. Bidding on this is a no-brainer.”

  “And that’s the type of attitude that causes things to get missed. Why are you looking over my shoulder? I still know how to run this company.”

  “I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job. I’m telling you to check yourself. From what I’ve heard, all you’ve done lately is plant your foot up people’s asses. That’s not the way we operate. What’s the matter with you?”

  Yesterday, he’d walked in and received a fucked-up Monday-morning surprise. Sophie had left her two weeks’ notice on his desk. He hadn’t formally accepted it, but he could tell that in her mind it was a done deal. She’d even started giving him polite good mornings and good nights, as if she were addressing a random person in the building. If it were anyone else but Sophie who wanted to keep him in the dark, he’d suspect they were trying to hurt him. Sophie wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t she see he just needed answers? What had caused them to cross the line and sleep together? What had they said to each other afterward? Why did she want to pretend it didn’t matter?

  Aiden sat next to him and leaned in. “You say you’re good, but you’re not acting like it. Something’s up. Are you in pain or having problems with flashbacks about the accident? Talk to me.”

  King released a long breath. He wasn’t ready to tell Aiden about his problems with Sophie, but their issues weren’t the only thing bothering him. He couldn’t shake his reservations about the Ivy Gate Hotel. “We didn’t put all this work into Kingman Partners just to fuck it up.”

  “What makes you think we’re about to?”

  King sunk back in the chair. After criticizing the advisor for not having enough facts in the report, he couldn’t tell Aiden his misgivings were based purely on a bad feeling. “What if the Ivy Gate isn’t as solid as we think? The other morning, at the chamber of commerce meeting, I overheard a colleague asking someone why they weren’t holding their big luncheon at the Ivy Gate Hotel. The answer was that they heard the food sucked at the gala a few weeks back.”

  “And?” Exasperation took over Aiden’s expression. “How many times have we fixed that problem with training, a new menu, or a few staff changes? Look, if something’s altered your opinion for a good reason about investing in the Ivy Gate Hotel, I’m with you on not pursuing it. Otherwise, it’s just crazy not to go forward.”

  Aiden pushed up from the chair. He paused before walking out. “If you need answers about what went wrong with the food at the gala, talk to the food service manager and the chef at the hotel. Poke around. Feel them out. You have a strong bullshit detector and a knack for spotting incompetent staff. If you say they should go, when the hotel becomes our investment, we’ll insist on their termination. And do me a favor?”

  “What?”

  “Speak with Sophie. You’ve confided things to her in the past. If you had reservations about anything before the accident, maybe you mentioned them to her instead of me.”

  Talk to Sophie? King breathed against the burn of the harsh chuckle he suppressed.

  His phone chimed with a text. It was Sophie alerting him that his afternoon appointment was pushed from one to one thirty.

  King turned it off. Normally, she would have just popped into the conference room to tell him. He had to get Sophie to talk to him, but how? A neutral place out of the office could make it easier for them to communicate. King flipped through the contact list to the number for the Ivy Gate. Maybe he could settle two issues at once.

  fifteen

  SOPHIE PARKED HER blue four-door compact in the parking space in the garage, grabbed her black clutch, and got out. The slim azure skirt of her dress coupled with her black high heels hampered her stride.

  Wanting a change from her usual business attire to an outfit that mirrored her new role as a jewelry designer, she’d unearthed the fashionable dress from the back of her closet. Unfortunately, it didn’t work well with rushing to and from a meeting with Meagan on her lunch break and back to the office. As she rounded the corner of the garage, a heated breeze lifted her ponytail.

  The thump of tires crossing over a speed bump prompted her to shift closer to the row of parked cars.

  King pulled up beside her in his Porsche. He got out of the car. A tailored dark gray suit fit him in clean, sharp lines. Sunglasses hid his eyes. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “I took an early lunch. I better get upstairs or I’ll be late.”

  “You’re on time for our meeting.”

  She called up Wednesday’s calendar in her mind. Had she missed adding something? “What meeting?”

  “The one at the Ivy Gate Hotel. The general consensus is that the food served at the gala was terrible. I mentioned the concern to the owners. They claimed that a supply glitch, which they’ve now rectified, had caused the poor quality. As a potential investor, I’m giving them the opportunity to impress me.”

  No way. She wasn’t visiting that place again. “Shouldn’t Aiden be the one to go?”

  “He wasn’t at the gala, and I don’t recall the quality of the food served that night—but you do. I want your opinion on if lunch today is an improvement. Being at the hotel may also help jog my memory.”

  “I’m really busy. I have to make sure everything is in place for your presentation tomorrow, and I need to call maintenance. The sink in the ladies’ ro
om is leaking again.”

  King took off his sunglasses. His dark blue eyes held a challenge. “You do want me to remember what’s important, don’t you?”

  “Of course.” She was fine with him remembering everything right up until before the gala. As far as the rest, the delete button could remain firmly down in both of their minds for eternity.

  He walked to the other side of the car and opened the passenger door. “They’re waiting for us.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Sophie’s growling stomach chimed in. Traitor. She’d forgotten to grab lunch on the way to the boutique, and she hadn’t had time on the way back.

  King raised a brow. He’d heard her stomach’s demand.

  He was like a dog digging up a juicy bone. No matter what she said or did, he wasn’t going to let it go.

  “All right.” She got into the car. Surely, going back to the Ivy Gate wouldn’t fill in all the gaps in his memory that quickly. Hopefully, by the time that occurred, she wouldn’t be around.

  King zoomed out of the garage and turned right.

  Silence hovered between them.

  He glanced at her.

  Intent on avoiding an unwanted conversation, Sophie fished her phone from her purse. She tried to stay focused on checking her e-mails from her cell, but the way he handled the steering wheel and the shifting knob distracted her.

  King innately knew when to release the car’s power and easily anticipated when to rein it in.

  He performed the same way in bed. Each kiss and caress had served a purpose as he’d paid attention to what made her moan and hold him tighter. He’d used the slow glide of his cock to keep her hovering on the brink of pleasure until she’d begged to come, and then he’d tumbled them both over the edge. And a part of her wanted to experience that moment all over again.

  Sophie gave herself a mental shake and drew in a calming breath. The smell of the car’s leather interior mixed appealingly with his spicy cologne. Why did he always have to smell so damn good?

  She opened the window, and the fresh air blew the scent of his cologne and the memories away.

  He glanced at her. “Do you want me to turn on the air conditioner?”

  “No.” Sophie stared at her e-mails. Finishing her two weeks at Kingman Partners and completing the jewelry line with Meagan were the priorities. Not him.

  He stopped the car in front of the hotel. They got out and King handed the keys to a valet.

  As she walked down the red-carpeted entrance, the night of the gala seemed far off in the past, like a surreal dream.

  In the lobby, King introduced himself and Sophie to the concierge.

  “Welcome to the Ivy Gate Hotel.” The fortysomething, dark-haired woman smiled. “Mr. Denton, our operations manager, is on his way.”

  Moments later, a balding, middle-aged man in an ill-fitting brown suit arrived. “Mr. Kingman. Ms. Jordan,” he nodded. “Follow me.”

  As they crossed the busy lobby, King pressed his hand on her lower back, ushering her ahead, just as he had the night of the gala.

  Sophie tucked her clutch under her arm and quickened her pace. She stepped into the elevator Denton held open.

  Hotel guests filed in with them. As everyone shifted to make room in the small space, she ended up in front of King.

  His heat radiated into her. As the elevator ascended, memories crept in from the night of the gala. She’d bumped into him coming out of the ladies’ room after cleaning dessert from her dress. That’s when she’d mentioned the conversation she’d overheard about the restaurant.

  “Don’t you want to poke around upstairs?”

  She should never have made that suggestion, but when she had, she’d suddenly morphed from his klutzy date into someone special. King had stopped ignoring her like he had at the table. Sophie breathed against the weight of truth. A part of her had lit up when she’d first held his interest. It had grown brighter and brighter with every kiss and caress until she’d lost sight of caution.

  As they ascended, the elevator intermittently stopped on a floor, and people exited until only she, King, and Denton remained. Finally, she could move a comfortable distance away from King and breathe.

  They passed the ninth floor.

  Apprehension rose in Sophie. “The restaurant is on the tenth floor.”

  Denton smiled. “Yes. The view is wonderful. You’ll get to enjoy it over lunch.”

  “We can’t eat in there.” The objection tumbled out of Sophie’s mouth before she could stop herself. Denton’s puzzled expression brought heat to her face. “I mean, isn’t it still under construction? It can’t be finished yet.”

  “We still have a few details to take care of before the grand opening next week, but we’re definitely ready.” Denton’s gaze darted over to King. “With such a spectacular view, we wanted to capitalize on the great weather. Summer will be here before we know it.”

  King glanced at Sophie before answering the operations manager. “Taking advantage of the weather sounds like a smart thing to do if you can pull it off.”

  The elevator doors slid open.

  Maroon-and-gold patterned carpet now covered the concrete floor. Dark wood tables with burgundy upholstered chairs were stationed throughout the glass-walled space. White pillars with tall potted green plants brought a touch of elegance. The view of the city, along with the clear blue sky, added impressive drama.

  Denton guided them through the tables. “As you can see, we have a wall of windows in front of us and to the right and left. They give the place an open feel.” He pointed to a long cream-colored wall behind them. “The back of the house is concealed, and we’ve walled off the corners for servers’ stations.”

  He led them to a two-top in the corner with formal place settings and white napkins shaped like crowns. Denton held a chair out for Sophie. “Our food and beverage manager and chef will give you a tour of the kitchen. Until then, please enjoy your meal.”

  King sat down. “Thank you. We will.”

  Denton stepped away to speak with a petite blond server dressed in a black-and-white tuxedo-style uniform.

  Sophie laid her clutch on the table, then placed the napkin on her lap and glanced around. None of the other tables were set. “Isn’t someone from the hotel going to join us?”

  King inspected a white linen card listing the menu. “I asked them not to. The food should speak for itself.”

  The server came to the table. “Welcome. My name is Yolanda. It’s my pleasure to serve you.” She poured water into glasses. “There are wine pairings for the selections our chef has prepared. Is that suitable?”

  The young woman’s voice raised goose bumps on Sophie’s arms. Had they met somewhere before, or spoken on the phone?

  King nodded. “I’ll have the wine. What about you, Sophie?”

  Sophie slid the wineglasses away from herself. Just sitting in the restaurant was getting to her. “I’ll have an iced tea.”

  Yolanda brought back a bottle of chardonnay. She gave a spiel about how the vanilla notes in the wine would complement the first course of lobster salad.

  If Yolanda lowered her voice to a breathy whisper and added in a few moans, she could be her—the woman who’d snuck into the restaurant for a hookup the night of the gala!

  While Yolanda went to get the first course, King sipped his wine. “Are you okay?”

  “Why would you ask that?”

  “You were acting strangely when Denton mentioned we were eating here, and now you’re staring at the server.”

  “Was I?” Sophie shrugged and straightened the napkin on her lap. “The wine pairing.” Needing something to do, she smoothed her bangs. It was a nervous habit, but she couldn’t help herself. “It sounded very intriguing.”

  His gaze narrowed as he studied her. “Huh.”

  “Huh? What do you mean by ‘huh’?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Are you positive you don’t want to try the pairings with your meal?”

  “Yep.�
� Sophie drank her iced tea. She needed to keep a clear head. Alcohol might put her imagination into overdrive.

  Yolanda set down plates with a tasting portion of the first course and a small basket of crackers. “Lobster and cucumber salad with fresh greens.”

  King took a bite. “Lime, hints of basil. It’s good. So, Yolanda, what do you think about this dish?”

  As Yolanda answered, Sophie ate a slice of cucumber.

  “It’s the perfect starter. The dressing in the salad is delicate enough not to overwhelm the lobster. I like it with pumpernickel crackers over the saltines. Their harder texture goes well with the salad, and they don’t get soggy.”

  “Harder. Harder!”

  The woman’s wails from the night in the restaurant echoed in Sophie’s mind. She almost spat out the cucumber.

  King shot Sophie a puzzled look as she dabbed her mouth and forced the vegetable down. “Thank you.” He smiled at Yolanda. “I appreciate your insight.”

  “My pleasure.”

  As Yolanda walked away, King sat back in the chair. “So I take it you don’t like the cucumber salad?”

  “No. It’s good.” But she sure as hell wasn’t. Sophie set her fork down. All she could think about was the night behind the crates, listening to Gilly . . . and Yolanda?

  King leaned in. His blue-eyed gaze held hers. “Hiding the truth isn’t your strong suit, Sophie.”

  Hiding? The truth was all but staring him in the face. The walls were practically screaming what they’d both heard that night. “Yes . . . yes! More . . . more! There . . . right there.”

  A thin man wearing a white chef’s coat, black pants, and gray Crocs lumbered to their table. “Hello. I’m Chef Gilson.” A hint of a Southern accent filled his words. “I just wanted to check in . . .”

  His words faded into the background as puzzle pieces rearranged in Sophie’s mind. Chef Gilson . . . as in Gilly?

  King tapped her arm. “Are there any foods you don’t like on the menu?”

  “No, but I’ve changed my mind, I’d like a glass of wine.” Or two, maybe three. For a second, she thought the chef and server were that couple.