“I want you,” I say. “You do something to me, something I don’t quite understand but want to.” I grip her with my gaze. “Don’t think too long.”
Then I walk out the door.
Chapter Fourteen
I toy with the idea of going back to New York, to the club, but I ultimately end up at the gym working out for three hours. When my body finally reaches its limit, I head home and sit in my Jacuzzi listening to jazz.
When I’ve effectively turned into a prune, I get out of the tub, towel off, and head to the kitchen. It’s after ten p.m., and Marilyn’s off duty. She left me dinner in the refrigerator—coq au vin with French bread—but I’m in the mood for something else.
Something…spicy.
I order some Thai from a place that has all-night delivery, alert the night staff that it’s coming, and head into my office to check on a few emails. I have business all over the globe, so emails come in at all hours.
I expect mail from China, India, Australia.
I don’t expect anything from Addison Ames. She emails me a couple of times a year, reminding me how much I owe her. It’s all a crock. I read and delete. Really, I should just delete.
But curiosity is my downfall, and I open it. Weird. It’s blank, just her signature block. She must have accidentally hit Send before she wrote anything. Just as well.
Delete.
Easy enough.
I still do business with Addie’s father. The Ames Hotel is the best in Boston, so why wouldn’t I?
I’ve worked hard, and I deserve the best.
I deserve Skye.
Skye isn’t the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and she’s far from the most worldly. She’s a Kansas farm girl.
A Kansas farm girl who I can’t get out of my mind.
Skye is beautiful, though, in a refreshing way that most of the women I go out with aren’t. I seem to attract women who like to apply makeup with a putty knife and waltz around in Dolce & Gabbana.
I bet Skye doesn’t own any Dolce & Gabbana. I bet she shops at Target.
Honestly, I’m not a fan of Dolce & Gabbana, though I do love a nice Armani suit. For the most part, though, I’m still a boy from South Boston at heart. Hell, we couldn’t afford Target. We shopped at the Salvation Army thrift store and sometimes even had to get free food from the local food bank.
Skye grew up on a corn farm, so she most likely never had to take charity.
In her way, she’s more worldly than I am. She’s a college graduate. I’m not. Lack of higher education hasn’t held me back at all, though.
You had some help, you know.
I ignore the devil on my shoulder. It’s gotten easier over the years.
What is Skye doing right now? I could call her, but I still don’t have her number. Easy enough to get, but I doubt any of my team would be excited to hear from me at eleven on a Friday night.
Damn! She pisses me off. I shouldn’t be wanting to call her. I want her almost too much, and it’s disorienting. It’s throwing me off my game, and I can’t be off my game.
Ever.
…
I rise early Saturday morning and take Sasha on a long walk, and we end at a dog park where I let her off her leash and she runs around and plays with the other dogs. I find a bench, sit, and—of course—check my phone. As usual, some business requires my attention. Time to go.
I whistle. “Come on, Sasha!”