Even with Norman… I fell for him, after a while. But there wasn’t immediate chemistry right off the bat. I had to work to make myself fall for him—which I was happy to do, because he was everything I knew I should want. He was reliable, dependable, hardworking and trustworthy. The whole real deal.
Or so I thought. Until he cheated on me.
Just like that asshole Lark cheated on his wife, I remind myself, thinking of the woman pressing his door buzzer, calling him hon. My stomach churns now, and I imagine what will follow for her. Unfortunately, I’m all too familiar with the process.
He’ll lie and say it was nothing; she’ll believe him for a while, until she finds a bra somewhere it doesn’t belong, or an earring in the bed. A million tiny things he can’t explain, until finally she’s forced to face the truth. She’s with a liar who’s been taking advantage of her naivety. Using her, and preparing to cast her aside the second he’s finished.
Unexpected tears sting at the backs of my eyes. Not tears over Norman. I already cried out my heart over him—and just as quickly realized he wasn’t worth any more pain. My only regret was that I wasted as much time with him as I did.
But these… these are new. These are because I thought I’d finally started to connect again, only to be completely fooled by a total and complete ass, an ass who—
“Ms. Marks?” The secretary is back, easing the door open to stick her head through. “The partners are here.”
I stand, smoothing my pencil skirt, adjusting the hem of my blazer. Then I smile, smooth and easy, the way I’ve practiced in my bathroom mirror a thousand times. “Thank you,” I tell her.
She ducks away, and another woman appears in the entryway, striding toward me with a confident, easy grin, and one hand extended.
“You must be Ms. Marks,” she’s saying. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Sheryl, the lead investor at Anderson.”
But I can’t respond. I can’t even look at her, because I’m too busy gawking at who just followed her through the door, trailing along on her heels with bags under his eyes, his hair slightly mussed like a hungover puppy dog.
Lark. Shit.
His eyes go wide when they meet mine. But he recovers at lot faster than I do. “Cassidy.” He sticks out a hand too. “Fancy seeing you here.”
I pointedly ignore his hand and shake Sheryl’s hand instead. My smile has gone all tight and forced around the edges. “So nice to meet you, too,” I tell her, trying to kick my brain back into focusing on the task at hand.
Lark doesn’t matter. He’s irrelevant. Sheryl’s the lead here.
As for her, she’s glancing from me to Lark and back, her head tilting in polite curiosity. “Oh, do you two know each other?” Sheryl draws out a chair and sits smoothly down. The more she talks, the more it’s dawning on me that I’ve heard her voice before.
This very morning, in fact. Over the intercom at Lark’s apartment. I mirror her, taking a seat, and pausing only to flick a glare in Lark’s direction. “Hardly.”
“We met last night when her car broke down,” Lark replies, which makes me want to kick him under the table for all sorts of reasons. “She needed help with a flat tire.”
Sheryl fires me a sympathetic smile. “I’m so sorry you got stuck with him, then. Lark’s useless at playing handyman.”
I laugh aloud, and Lark’s expression sours ever so slightly. “I noticed, believe me. Luckily, I know how to change a tire myself.” We both grin at him then, and Lark’s eyes linger on mine, a torrent of emotion visible in them.
I don’t care. He’s the one who put me in this situation. Hooking up with me right under the nose of… well.
I glance between his and Sheryl’s hands, both folded neatly on the tabletop. Neither of them is wearing wedding rings, at least. So maybe he’s not as huge of an asshole as I thought. But there’s clearly still chemistry there, something in the way Sheryl’s constantly glancing at him from the corner of her eyes, mirroring his posture, his motions.
Whatever this is, it’s messy enough without my getting involved. And I’ve had enough of messy to last me an entire lifetime, thank you very much.
“So, Cassidy. Why don’t we talk products,” Sheryl asks, and I bend down to reach for my briefcase, grateful for the excuse to think about something, anything, other than Lark’s eyes staring into mine. Or the way his tongue felt last night, lapping its way up my inner thigh, his fingers lingering at my pussy, parting my lower lips, stroking and stroking until I—
“Yes, let’s.” I place my briefcase on the table and pop it open. “I brought some samples of my most popular collections, although everything you see here comes in at least three other color palettes. Now, these are some of my favorites…”