Resting my head on the table, I squeeze my eyes shut and try to block the world out. Over the course of seven hours, this day has gone from bad to worse. First, I discovered one of my Willow Street tenants is going through a nasty divorce, and her ex is causing her all sorts of trouble, including vandalising her shop. Today we had to deal with graffiti all over the building. Then I found out the roof on the building is in urgent need of repair. The storm we had two nights ago revealed some damage and the repairs can’t wait. After that, I had Ashton Scott’s assistant harassing me to hold another meeting with him. The highlight of my day was telling her no. And now I’ve just discovered some of my shares took a dive overnight.
On top of all that, I never made it home to shower and change, so I’m still wearing the red dress from the wedding that flashes my cleavage in a very unbusinesslike manner.
“I want a do-over,” I mutter to myself while I wallow in self-pity.
“Bad day?”
My head snaps up at the sound of that voice.
Sugar… sweet, delicious sugar.
Bad, bad sugar.
Ashton Scott stares down at me with amusement in his eyes, and I don’t fail to notice the way his gaze sweeps over my dress.
As much as I want to stand and tell him where to go, I can’t summon the energy to do that. “If you’ve come to issue threats again or to call me a money-grabber, I don’t want to hear it.”
He holds his hands up as if he’s surrendering. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Nodding at the chair next to mine, he says, “Mind if I join you?”
I exhale my frustration. “I told your assistant that I didn’t have time for another meeting.”
Ignoring me, he sits. “Looks like you can squeeze me in.”
“So when you asked whether I minded if you joined me, what you really meant to say was that you were joining me.”
His eyes capture mine in a way that doesn’t let go. “I’m not a man who usually asks, Lorelei.”
There’s no denying the dominance surrounding this man. Everything about him declares control and power— from the way he stands tall with his shoulders back, to the deep, commanding tone of his
voice, to the way he watches me with complete self-assurance. I imagine he doesn’t ever have to ask for anything.
“I bet you aren’t.”
He doesn’t react to that except to wait a moment before saying, “I want to apologise for the way I spoke to you this morning. I was out of line with what I said and I’d like us to begin again.”
His voice is oh-so-smooth as if he expects for this to go his way. “I also bet you don’t usually apologise.”
Again, no reaction.
Except for the vein that twitches in his temple.
His emotions are contained; it makes me want to push him to see if I can provoke a response. I don’t cope well with people who hide what they’re feeling or thinking. They make me second-guess myself more than I already do.
“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”
“I’m not a woman who makes things easy for any man, Ashton.”
The hum of the offices around us fades into the background as a new tension settles in the room. Ashton’s body tenses and he takes a deep breath. His eyes never leave mine, and I do my best to hide the way he unnerves me. I might have said what I did, but that doesn’t make it true. As much as I don’t make things easy for men, I’ve never met one like Ashton Scott.
I’ve never met a man who turns me on, frustrates me and flusters me all at once.
After a few moments of silence, he leans forward and murmurs, “It’s a good thing I like a challenge.”
Desire curls through me and I want to rant at the injustice of this world. Who decided that men should be granted bodies and voices and faces and—oh my God—eyes that have the ability to screw with women’s mental capacities like this?
I need a moment to collect my thoughts so I stand. Smoothing my dress, I say, “I need a coffee. Do you want something?”
He rises, and I notice his gaze taking in every inch of my dress again as he does. “Black coffee, no sugar, thank you.”