“That means drop the towel,” Court adds helpfully.
“Do you honestly think I’ve never thought of that?” I say. “But it’s too clichéd.”
“It’s a cliché because it works,” he says.
Yuna shakes her head. “Too obvious. Towels don’t just drop to the floor on their own.”
“Yeah, but subtle is too complicated.” Court sips his drink. “Just pull a Hitler. Invade.”
I choke on my soda. “I’m not going Nazi on her.”
“Exactly,” Yuna agrees. “Pulling an Attila is far superior.”
I raise my eyes to heavenward and sigh. “I’m not pulling a barbarian horde on her, either.”
“Look, bro, I hate to state the obvious, but…it could be she’s just not that into you,” Court says.
Yuna comes to my rescue. “Is she a lesbian? Because you’re totally hot.” Then she ruins it by adding, “If you were my type, I’d do you.”
“Thanks, ex-friends,” I say dryly.
“Look, she put up this Great Wall. What does that tell you?” Yuna asks.
Court squints like he’s trying to multiply five-digit numbers in his head. “No nookie?”
“No! She wants you to smash it down. Or scale it. The Great Wall isn’t impregnable. It didn’t stop the Mongols. You can do this. Impress her. Give her something she wants. Appeal to her heart as well as her libido. And most of all, let her know she’s safe with you. Women worry about that all the time, you know.”
“Safe?” I ask, stupefied. “Why would she not think she’s safe with me? I’d never do anything to hurt her.” And I haven’t done anything to hurt her, have I?
Yuna props her elbow on the table and rests her chin in her hand. “You’re a billionaire. You’re her boss. You’re related to way too many powerful people. You have all the power, while she has none. That’s a scary place for a woman to be.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Evie
Something definitely happened to Nate at lunch. He’s been pensive ever since he came back. And he’s sighed seven times while looking at me. I counted. But I have no clue what’s going on in his head. I haven’t done anything out of character, as far as know, and the meetings were productive. I even double-checked today’s notes, wondering if I made an error, but everything looks great.
He starts acting more normal during dinner. Blanche makes conversation like she doesn’t notice anything off about her son, and wouldn’t she know?
Maybe I’m being overly sensitive.
When it’s bedtime, I change in the bathroom and do my evening routine. I brace myself mentally—and hormonally—for his tempting, gorgeous, nearly nude body. Although I’ve said very clearly that I don’t want to have sex with him, there’s a deep, illicit and perverse side of me that does enjoy looking.
Well. It’s a spectacular view to go to sleep to, even though it gets me so hot and bothered that I stay awake a lot longer than I should.
Licking my lips, I come out of the bathroom. Then immediately stop.
Nate’s on his side of the bed, the Great Wall fully assembled and erected. But instead of just boxers, he’s in a white T-shirt and boxers. The shirt is fitted and molds to his stunning body, but there’s something very wrong about having the precise definition and planes hidden from my view.
Except I can’t tell him to take off his shirt. That’d be totally unprofessional. And wrong.
Well, you’re married, so it’s not that unprofessional.
Shut up if you’re going to be unhelpful.
When did I start taking his nearly nude body for granted or use it to… I don’t know. Fuel my lurid fantasies? Stoke my libido? Yeah, I’ve been having some dirty thoughts about him in bed. Impossible not to, when I’m enveloped in his scent. It feels like I’m surrounded by him, like his pheromones are settling on my skin, penetra—
Okay, stop. I’m really relieved he’s covered. Yes, I am. I repeat that to myself as I slip under the covers.