I glanced around the office. “Foxies is falling apart, huh?”
He sat up straight.
“Oh, please. You bring me here for this story? Something we could have discussed in the park or even at Scarlet?” I rolled my eyes. Men. Damien was sexy but dense. Like the guys who sent unsolicited dick pics. “I’m not surprised. It felt like I was in the nineties walking through there just then. It’s outdated, Damien. I’ve seen grocery stores more stylish than this place.”
“You’re like a human Band-Aid, aren’t you?”
“Ripping off the truth, one clear-cut statement at a time.” I flashed him a grin. “If you’re asking me if you think you would be better off bringing your staff to Foxies, the answer is yes. It’s like your company’s iconic club, right? But you have to update it or it’s not going to make a difference. You can fix it if you play it right.”
“Is that your professional opinion?”
“You don’t wanna hear my personal one.”
He stopped for a moment. Then, he burst out laughing. I struggled to contain my own smile as he stood up and held a hand to me for the second time today.
“Come on, sweetheart. I’ll get you back to work now.”
I placed my hand in his and let him pull me up. “This was a completely pointless conversation, you understand that, don’t you?”
“Not entirely. I figured out that you and I agree on something else: what I should tell my father.”
I twisted my lips to the side. “But why did you ask me? It’s just an opinion. Not all opinions are right.”
Damien pulled me closer to him, keeping his fingers wrapped cozily around my own. Our bodies were perilously close, and my gaze briefly dipped to the light smattering of chest hair that peeked out from just above the open buttons of his shirt.
“Because,” he said, his lips bare centimeters from mine, “for some peculiar reason, I trust you.”
“Why?”
“I’m easily waylaid by a pretty face.”
I laughed, stepping back from him. His body emanated a warmth that seeped into my skin, that made me hyper aware of everything he was. “You’re an idiot.”
“I know. Dinner? Tomorrow?”
I met his eyes. “Are you asking me?”
With a nod, he said, “Yes. At my place. I’ll pick you up, and you can leave whenever you want.”
“Why?”
“Why, what?”
“Why are you asking?” I tilted my head to the side, picking up my purse from the desk. “That sounds a lot like a date to me.”
“Maybe it is.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, seeming a lot younger than his thirty years, even as his dark eyes hinted desire. “Maybe I just want you all to myself for a couple of hours.”
I stared at him.
“Seven?” he continued, his voice softer. “I’ll pick you up at your place.”
I didn’t answer.
“Please?”
That undid me.
“Fine. But there better be wine if I’m going to spend an entire evening at your house.”
His lips curled to the side. “There’ll be wine.”
Eleven
Dahlia
I’d made a horrible mistake.
It was becoming an even more horrible habit.
I tapped my fingers against the desk in a steady rhythm, one after the other.
Taptaptap.
Taptaptap.
Taptaptap.
Taptaptap.
My eyes stayed trained on the computer screen in front of me. The order form I was supposed to be filling out blurred together, the lines and items all mixing into one messy, unfocused fuzz of dots on the screen.
This was shit. I was shit. My life choices were shit.
And I couldn’t even blame any of this on PMS. Nope, it was all me. Me and my bad choices.
What possessed me to say yes to having dinner with Damien? At his house? What in the ever-loving hell went through my damn mind when I said, “Sure, let’s do that!” or whatever other stupid, stupid answer came out of my mouth.
Oh, I knew.
He’d looked me in the eye and played me like a goddamn violin. Worse—I’d let him. I’d let him tug on my strings and convince me that it was a good idea.
“Did you place that order yet?” Abby stuck her head inside my door. “If you don’t do it by one, it won’t be here tomorrow. That place is really awkward.”
I glanced at the clock. I had thirty minutes. “I’m almost done,” I lied. “Do we really need twenty cases of cranberry juice?”
“There’s a cocktail special this weekend.”
Of course there was. “Right—slipped my mind. I’ll get twenty-five just in case. It’ll keep.”
She raised her expertly filled-in brown eyebrows. “What’s up with you today? You’re more scattered than a bath full of wet cats.”
“But probably not quite as dangerous.” I’d never been close to a bathtub full of wet cats, but I’d been near one wet cat, and that was enough for me. “I’m just tired and busy and overwhelmed,” I lied.
I wasn’t quite ready to admit to her what was really up. I was a shitty person lying to my best friend, but her dislike of Damien was something else. I was protecting him. Why? I hadn’t worked that out yet.