“Talk to you later, babe. Have a good day.” He hung up before I could respond.
My thoughts recycled his words over and over until I felt almost dizzy from them.
5.
DANIEL
Subtlety had never been my strong suit. Being an aggressive businessman often spilled over into other aspects of my life, if I allowed it. When I saw something I wanted, I would go after it with vigor.
The minute Elizabeth had walked away last night, I’d cursed myself for blowing it with her, and I’d vowed to make it right. I knew that not going upstairs with her was the right thing to do, but I hadn’t even fucking said a thing about it to her. I’d let her walk away, thinking that I wasn’t interested. I’d make sure she knew that was the furthest thing from the truth.
I was interested.
I was all in.
A woman like Elizabeth wouldn’t stay single for long, and for the life of me, I had no fucking idea why she still was. I assumed it had to be on her end because there was no way that guys wouldn’t hit on her every time she left the
house. She was gorgeous, and that wasn’t even the half of it.
Then again, we were talking about men in Los Angeles, and they were a different breed altogether—pussies, as I liked to call them, or pretty boys who cared more about their own wardrobe and hairstyle than any real man should. Most of them would have a hard time handling a successful woman like Elizabeth.
It was a good thing I wasn’t most men.
The sound of knuckles rapped on my door three times before it swung open without me saying a word. I didn’t even have to look up from my computer to know who it was.
“James.”
“Daniel,” he said before moving over to the full-sized couch and spreading out.
“Don’t you have work to do?” I tried to sound authoritative, but he only laughed.
James and I had been buddies since our freshman year at Stanford. We had been assigned to the same dormitory on the same floor, but we weren’t roommates. After a few too many beers one night, we’d realized that we were cut from the same cloth, as my mother would say. We had both been raised in affluent families, but we were determined to make names for ourselves without any help from our parents. It was a pretty typical story, if you asked me, but the difference between James and every other spoiled rich brat I’d met throughout my life until then was…he’d actually meant it.
When it came to the girls at our college, we were each other’s perfect wingman. My dark hair contrasted James’s blond locks, and girls were usually attracted to one of us immediately, depending on their hair-color preference. It was that easy.
He was smart as hell, too, so I’d liked him immediately. When we’d collaborated on our first business venture to develop a new cell phone app, he’d willingly taken a backseat to me. He’d said that when it came to the meetings and convincing people to take a risk on a couple of nineteen-year-old kids, I had an ability to charm money out of rich guys’ wallets better than anyone he’d ever known. He’d included his dad in that compliment.
In that moment, I’d trusted him not to fuck me over, and he’d been working for me ever since—although it was usually in a business-partner capacity. There wasn’t a single venture or business move I’d make that didn’t involve James.
“How was LA?” he asked between yawns.
“Warm.”
“Isn’t it always?”
I looked up at him as his eyes closed, and I searched for something on my desk to throw at his head. Settling on a pen, I chucked it across the room, and it landed square on his forehead with a dink sound.
Nailed it.
“Ow! Fucker!” He sat up, rubbing the red mark with his hand.
“Sleep in your own office. What do you want?” I knew exactly what he wanted.
James was the only person in the world who knew almost everything about me. There was very little I kept hidden from him.
“How was the Santa Monica meeting? Are we in or what?”
I groaned. “It’s a pretty groundbreaking idea.”