Angry words burned in her mouth, her old defenses rising. She wanted to swing, to fight, because this was hurting more than it should. But she fought the instincts that told her to lash out. Lane was right. She’d realized her mistake as soon as he’d walked out of the door today. She’d screwed up, so she swallowed back the ugly retort and took a breath.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. What I did was wrong. I reacted—badly. I don’t think you’re trash. You can’t really think that.”
He leaned back against the counter, his gaze cool. “Those are just words, Elle. Actions speak the truth. And today, you acted like you’d rather someone think you had sexual problems than let them think you’re seeing someone like me.”
“I panicked.”
His brow arched. “Right. So if we were to go up to the main building right now, you’d hold my hand and tell your night staff we’re seeing each other? Because if that’s the case, let’s go, Elle.” He put out a hand. “Bring me up there and let’s tell them.”
She glanced at his hand and pressed her lips together, trying to find the words that could explain why that sent so much fear coursing through her, but none would come out.
He smirked and lowered his hand. “Exactly. Words are just words.”
“Lane—”
“But no hard feelings,” he said, peering back down at his food as if it were more interesting than she was. “At least not on my end. We’ll take sex out of it and make it easier for us both. We each need help with something outside the bedroom. I’m still willing to hold up my end. Are you?”
She stared at him, hating the emotionless facade, hating that there was a wall and now he was on the other side of it. The teasing, playful, infuriating man was gone. In his place was this cool, polite professional. She wanted to scream.
But she tucked all that emotion down and didn’t make a sound. He was giving her an out. Plus, he’d managed to tell her what his ultimate goal had been anyway—to have some fun and maybe make a friend. Not to fall in love or have something lasting, which proved she’d already gotten too attached and made this into more in her head than it was in reality.
This was for the best. This arrangement had been doomed from the start.
She should’ve known better.
She gave him a prim nod, gathering up her composure like armor. “I can still help you, but you’re released from your word with me. I’ll go to the wedding alone.”
“Nope,” he said, reaching for his drink and sending her a look he probably used on submissives. “That’s not the deal. We both help or both walk away. I don’t want to owe anyone any favors.”
She crossed her arms. “But you don’t even like me. And you’re angry with me. What good are you going to do me at the wedding?”
His lips lifted into the briefest humorless smile. “You’re forgetting who I am. Playing the part of liking someone used to be my job. I promise you an Academy Award-winning performance. I didn’t get to be number one boy at the agency because I couldn’t fake it.”
Her stomach dropped.
With that, he picked up his plate and headed to the living room, calling out over his shoulder. “Time to get to work. I have a paper to rewrite.”
Lane watched Elle at her keyboard, typing his words at a rapid pace, her back ramrod straight, and a hollow feeling pinged through his chest. He’d come here and said what he’d needed to say. The words had tasted like sand in his mouth, but she hadn’t left him any choice. He couldn’t keep this going with her when every few days, she would say or do something to cut him down.
“You should probably put this paragraph at the beginning of this section,” she said, not looking his way. “It will provide a good intro. It draws the reader in and asks a compelling question that will make them keep reading to find out the answer.”
“Good idea,” he said, closing his eyes and rattling off more sentences for his paper.
Her fingers went to work again, the clicking of the keyboard the only noise in the room, but his thoughts got louder, drowning it out.
In the beginning, this thing with Elle had been a game for him. He could field her insults and prickly attitude. He’d gotten used to people belittling him throughout his life, so he could let it roll off his back these days, dismissing their opinions. But then he’d made a mistake and had started to care about Elle, had seen hidden sides of her, had shared things about himself. Her opinion had started to matter to him. And when people he cared about threw knives his way, it hit those old unarmored parts of him, tearing into tender flesh.
Today in her office, he’d felt so…diminished. With a few words, she’d knocked him from lover, maybe friend, to hired fuck. To something she needed to sweep under the rug. No way was he going to volunteer for that kind of bullshit. So, he’d shut it down. He’d still help her because the thought of her going into that
wedding weekend alone would keep him up at night, but he couldn’t get in any deeper with her.
One thing he’d learned early on in life and then again with therapy—you can’t help those who don’t want help. Elle didn’t want his friendship. She didn’t want to change. Didn’t want to let anyone in and would sabotage anyone who tried. He’d been pompous to think he could change her mind.
So now, he’d treat her like a client who’d hired him to be her date. He’d be convincing, he’d play the part, and then when they got back, he’d shake her hand and wish her luck.
He’d already told her good-bye, she just didn’t know it yet.
Chapter 16