Chapter Ten

Beau

What a train wreck.

That’s what I get for asking a woman on a hasty date. A run-in with Kinsey, who hasn’t left me alone since the first day of the ninth grade. Not that Annabel needs to know about that. She doesn’t. But Kinsey put a damper on the rest of the meal. Oh, Annabel hid it well. She kept asking questions, kept wanting to know more about me, but I swear that by the time we left, she was practically sitting at the next table over.

It should be good enough, a pleasant meal with her. More than enough. It’s not as if I’m ever actually going to kiss her. It’s not as if I’m going to fall in love with her.

Lust, maybe.

Lust, definitely. All right? I said it. It was hellish having to sit across from her in the car without touching her. That’s why I was so desperate that I made myself into a fool as she got out of the car.

Giving her that card was a mistake. It has my personal cell phone number on it, and I never give that out to anyone. Kinsey, for all her posturing at the restaurant, doesn’t even have that number.

It’s enough, the dinner. Enough. I made up for my rudeness last week. I found out more than I ever could have wanted to know about Annabel. I know exactly what kind of person she is—the kind who’s always running. I don’t need that in my life. There’s a reason I’ve been in New York City since I graduated college. Commitment is the only way to get anywhere in this life.

Back at my penthouse, I shut myself in my office and switch on my computer. Edgar Sykes wants a list of potential properties by tomorrow morning. The meeting in DC was about an extremely hush-hush asylum case from the Middle East. There are worldwide political ramifications if anything goes south. New York City housing will be by far the most anonymous, and there’s only one person Edgar trusts in the country to choose a place and have it outfitted with the necessary security measures. It’ll all happen inside of a month.

The payoff will be more than I’ll make from the Pearl in a year. That’s how much rides on these projects.

I ignore the stiffness of my cock between my legs and pull up the latest batch of emails. I have several people in the city who keep their ears to the ground about properties that will fit the bill. Between four of them, I have fifteen messages.

It takes an hour, but I narrow it down to five, which I add to a list. Edgar will choose three. I’ll make a final determination based on that list. That’s when everything begins.

I force myself to focus. Every detail matters. Entrances. Exits. Elevators. All of it. I make notes with each property, copy the list into an email, and send it off to Edgar.

No one needs to know that the entire time I’m researching, typing, sending, I’m painfully aware of two things: how much I want Annabel and the silence of my phone.

I’m not expecting her to text me tonight, or ever. I get the sense she doesn’t quite believe me about Kinsey.

And it doesn’t matter.

Except that the dinner didn’t work the way I’d planned. I’d planned to be finished with Annabel by the time we stood up from the table. I’d planned to be satiated.

Instead I’m even hungrier than when we first sat down. She’s simply not like anyone I’ve been with before. Wild, somehow, even though she lives in the same city I do. I’d like to bring her here, spread her out on my bed, and tame her wildness for myself. Nothing held back. That’s something I could get from her, though I know the cost would be high.

It might be worth it.

I sit back in my desk chair and run my hands over my face. The gym. I need to go to the gym.

When my phone buzzes against the hardwood of the desk, I jump a foot in the air, fumbling for it even before my heart rate has slowed to a normal speed. I snatch it from the desk with such force that it falls out of my hand and clatters to the floor.

“Bloody hell,” I mumble under my breath, bending to pick it up.

It’s not her.

How do you like them apples?

It’s West, sending me something stupid from his tropical island vacation. It’s a meaningless message. Okay, not entirely meaningless. This is West’s primary means of checking in. Disappointment surges in my gut followed by a flash of anger.

I send him back a single emoji. The one with the middle finger raised.

I’ve just hit send when the phone buzzes again in my hand.

This time it’s an unknown number. Hope flares like a flame from a match.

You sure that Kinsey woman isn’t your girlfriend?

I laugh out loud, my voice ringing off the walls of my office. This is the real Annabel, right here on my screen.

A second text comes in.

We shouldn’t be friends. If she’s your girlfriend.

My hope is tempered but not by much.

She’s not my girlfriend. I send it back as quickly as my fingers will type the words.

To be clear, I’m not asking to be your girlfriend.

What, you didn’t like the restaurant?

In the privacy of this conversation, without the pressure of holding myself back from her gorgeous lips, her gorgeous body, I can let my guard down. Not all the way. Fools rush in and all that. Flirtation, though? I’m not going to have a reason to be at the Pearl anytime soon, so it won’t do any harm.

I’m already fantasizing about that steak . . .

I’m already fantasizing about her.

Next time, try the pork, I send back.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mystery Man.

It’s the last I hear from Annabel for the rest of the night.

It doesn’t matter. I still can’t wipe the smile from my face.