“What?” She sat up in shock. That lasted all of about thirty seconds before the embarrassment of being stupid enough to have a war of words with the man who controlled her fate took over. And BAM! The anger at Mr. 2B’s lie of omission hit her smack between the eyes. “You insufferable ass. How could you keep that a secret?” In the midst of taking a breath to unleash a round of fury on his hot ass, one thing stood out. “If you can afford to own this building, what in the hell are you doing living in it?”
“It was my first one.” He shrugged and ate the last spoonful of oatmeal. “It’s got sentimental value.”
“First one?” First one??? “How many do you have?”
He almost looked embarrassed as he fiddled with his empty wineglass. “A few.”
“Un-fucking-believable.” This whole time, he’d been double fucking with her—as her pain-in-the-ass downstairs neighbor and as her greedy landlord—all without any orgasms.
“Look, I know it was wrong, but after our awful beginning, well, things didn’t seem to ever improve.” He ran his hand through his hair again. The poor man would be bald at this rate. He shrugged and offered, “Would you believe there just never was a right time that wouldn’t make you uncomfortable?”
He seemed sincere, but her mama didn’t raise no fool. “I’ll concede you might be telling the truth, but I reserve judgment to bust your balls about this later.”
“Fair enough.” He nodded. “So what do you say? That’ll give you more time to establish your gallery and firm your financial footing. I’ll have the intro that I’ve been trying to get for months. We both walk away happy.”
Damn it. She hated it when an asshole made sense. But he did, she couldn’t deny it. And there was a lot more riding on her gallery’s success than just her personally. Nunni had given her so much after her mom died when she was twelve and her dad flaked, refusing to take her in. What should have been her grandma’s golden years became a second tour of parenthood duty. She had to do right by Nunni and ensure she was cared for properly. Not to mention if she was on more secure financial ground, she could finally start paying Kiki for her catering services instead of adding to her IOU tab.
All she had to do was spend the afternoon with a man who made her want to strangle him as much as he made her want to jump him. Surely her sense of self-preservation and self-control could make it through a few hours of playing nice with Tyler without promises of anything beyond an introduction. Then, they’d return here and things would go back to how they were with her stomping in stilettos and him stinking up her apartment with his failed cooking attempts. She could totally do this. She could—but she wasn’t about to be dumb about it.
She pushed back her chair and stood up. “I want the triple net fees to be covered for at least a year, and I want it in writing.”
His eyes went wide, and he practically jumped up from his stool. “Done.”
Before she had a chance to realize what was going on, he’d encircled an arm around her waist and swung her in a celebratory circle. When the whirling had stopped, they were not even a half inch apart, with his butt against the island, their positions the opposite of how it had been in the parking garage when they’d ended up making out on the hood of her car. Her breath caught. Her pulse sped up. He shifted his stance, and there was no mistaking his hard length pressed against her stomach. Awareness ricocheted through her body like a pinball in a machine, touching every part of her. If they’d switched positions, that meant it was up to her to kiss him. The idea of it made her nipples pucker as she tugged her bottom lip between her teeth. The move snagged Tyler’s attention, and he let out a soft groan. His hands went from around her waist to her hips. Teetering on the edge of temptat
ion, she nearly fell over, but the last gasp of her survival instinct saved her.
She stepped back before she tumbled over. “I have to go.”
“Running away?” he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“I’m not running.” Okay, she was totally running, but she wasn’t about to admit that.
He chuckled. “Just walking really fast?”
Wasn’t she the one doing him a favor? Yes, she was. And she was making a strategic retreat. There was nothing wrong with that. “You are so annoying,” she said as she opened the door.
He waved from his spot at the island. “See you tomorrow, sugar.”
Determined to disappear before she did something she’d regret, she hustled out the door, her feet moving as fast as her heart rate up the stairs to the third floor. What in the hell had she been thinking? A whole afternoon with Tyler Jacobson without kissing or killing him? She was going to have to put out a call to her nunni’s friends to light a candle for her because she’d never make it through the afternoon without ending up in trouble for one or the other.
Chapter Seven
The follow-up phone call Saturday morning with Kiki went just about as expected. It was a tradition they’d had since Everly had opened the Black Heart Art Gallery and Kiki had been catering events for an IOU and a ton of referrals to the rich art lovers who needed someone for their cocktail parties. Usually it was the nitty-gritty debriefing of what happened and what could be done better next time, because Kiki not only ran an amazing catering service and gave the best unfiltered feedback, but her waitstaff always brought back the best unfiltered reactions from patrons about who liked what so Everly could follow up later in the week. However, this morning’s call had gotten sidetracked when Everly had mentioned that she’d sorta accidentally kissed Tyler. Twice.
“What do you mean you accidentally kissed him?” Kiki asked, her voice coming through extra loud on the speaker of Everly’s cell and bouncing around the sun-drenched walls of her practically barren kitchen. “Twice!”
“Settle,” Everly said, trying her best to squash the laughter in her voice or she’d just encourage her outrageous bestie. “My coffee is still brewing and you just woke up a dog six buildings away.”
“Oh yeah, like your first make-out session since you broke up with Dickless McGee wasn’t going to get a reaction,” Kiki said.
That had been eight months ago, and it sure hadn’t been the love affair of her life—it had lasted all of two months—but she still felt the need to stick up for him, if only because things had gone so, so wrong in a nightmares-of-social-media kind of way.
“His name is Warren Stannic and he has a dick,” she said as she watched the glorious black brew stream from the machine and into her cup like a modern-day miracle.
Kiki snorted. “Yeah, just not much of one.”
She grabbed the French vanilla creamer out of the fridge and poured it into her cup, turning the liquid to a nice nut-brown color. “I never should have shown you that dick pic.”