“Hilarious.”
She grabs my arm and pulls me to a halt, turning me toward her. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m really not a morning person, and that was rude. I want to see what you’ve done up here.”
“Okay.” I hold out my hand again and can’t ignore the thrill I feel when she willingly slips her hand into mine and steps closer to me as I walk her around the remodeled items. The best part of it is that Katja really cares. Z never wants to listen to my opinion on tile materials or textures or why colors matter in a space, but Katja isn’t just willing to listen—she wants to hear it. The tension between us fades as she asks questions, makes suggestions, and even compliments a few more of my ideas.
We end the walk around the rooftop near the bar, and I know both of us are thinking about what happened behind it less than twenty-four hours ago.
“We’re still waiting on the new countertop for the bar, but that had to be imported from Rome and it’s held up on some freight right now,” I say, avoiding the memory of her exposing herself for me by focusing on the transformation I’ve almost completed. I feel proud as I look around. The place has never looked better.
“Your guests are going to love it up here,” she says, but I notice her gaze lingering on the table where my ‘friends’ were yesterday, and some of the warmth has leached out of her tone.
“Ah, right. My guests that are a side effect of my poor taste.”
“I told you I didn’t mean it like that, it was just a—”
“But you did,” I interrupt, noting how she quickly avoids my eyes. “I think we should be honest with each other, don’t you?”
“Let’s not do this right now.”
“This is why we came up here. We’re all alone, there’s no one spying, no one watching, so you don’t have any excuses,” I say, facing her even though she’s looking at the skyline instead of me. “We have to be honest with each other, and there’s no time like the present. I’ve laid my cards on the table, and I think I’ve made it pretty fucking clear that I think we have something here. I think we could be great together… do you disagree?”
“I have no idea what I think.”
“Then let’s figure it the fuck out. We’ve both done some fucked up shit to each other, but you admitted you enjoyed last night. You admitted you like my dominating personality—”
“Sometimes,” she inserts.
“Right,” I acknowledge, blowing out a breath as I drop my hand on the bar and try to get my words together. “My point is that I don’t want to be at war with you anymore. I don’t want this massive divide between us. It’s not good for The Whitney, and it definitely isn’t good for us.”
“You’re talking about your… business… up here,” she says, and the hint of disgust in her tone makes me clench my fist.
“That is exactly what I’m talking about, Katja. You’re still looking down on me and what I do, even though it’s my money that’s keeping you and The Whitney afloat. Do you really not see the blatant hypocrisy in that?”
“You know I wouldn’t have taken your money—or done any of the things I’ve had to do for it—if I had any other option that wouldn’t hurt this hotel.”
It feels like I’ve been slapped, and all those lingering thoughts that made me feel hesitant come roaring back. “After everything I’ve done to improve The Whitney, you still see me as trash, don’t you?”
“Dex…” She groans, leaning back against the bar as she buries her face in her hands, making her voice come out muffled as she says, “I don’t think you’re trash.”
“You sure about that? You’ve been pretty open about your opinion of me and my so-called ‘friends’ that clearly disgust you unless it’s helping you pay the bills.”
“That’s not fair!” She turns to face me. “You were groomed for this life. I wasn’t.”
“You think that makes your hands clean?” I laugh. “You may not have been taught the same things I was, but your side of the equation isn’t innocent. Your father knew everything my father did here at The Whitney. They were partners, Katja. Sure, your dad ran the hotel side, but do you really think The Whitney would have survived all the economic shit in the last decades without my father’s side of the business?
“No. And what do you do the second your father puts you in charge? You kick Z and I out on our asses. Like we were disposable. Useless. You act like we’re beneath you, like I’m some kind of monster. You’ve always looked down on me with that mix of fear and disgust, and I used to get off on it because it was a lot easier to make it a turn-on than to recognize how shitty it made me feel. But here’s the truth, princess, there is no Whitney without what I do. Even if I stopped today, all those ‘friends’ of mine would continue doing all the shit they do—they’d just do it somewhere else. Someone else would get a cut of the pie and The Whitney would just become just under chain hotel. So, yeah, I deal with criminals. Maybe I even am a criminal in your eyes, but there’s one big difference between us. I’ve never pretended to be an angel because I’ve always had my eyes open about where the money comes from… you just preferred to believe the fairytale.”
I’m so pissed that I can’t even enjoy the look of shock on her face. Pushing away from the bar, I pace across the rooftop, my heart hammering against the inside of my ribs because I don’t know if I just fucked up permanently. Part of me is glad I said all of it, that I finally called her out on her shit, but the other part is remembering how good it felt to wake up with her beside me and I know just how cold the bed will feel tomorrow morning if she isn’t there because of this.
Fuck.
I’m so tense that I jump when she touches my arm, and it bothers me that she flinches back. I have never hit her, or any woman—not like that anyway. A belting or a spanking, sure, but to see the wary, wounded look in her eyes makes me feel more like the thug she’s accused me of being than anything else.
“Katja, listen—”
“Dex, I want—” she stops because we both started talking at the same time, but she continues before I can. “Wait. I want to apologize.”
“You do?” I don’t have to fake the surprise in my voice.