My fingers are too heavy on the keyboard, but I don’t notice it until Mike is poking his head in the door to my office. When I glance up, he’s looking at me with raised eyebrows. “Is something on your mind?” He tucks the stack of folders in his hand under his arm.

“No. Why?” This is a blatant lie, but the last thing Mike needs to know is that almost all of my focus is on Isabella. And Isabella’s not even here.

I kissed her in the town car like I wanted to kiss her all night at that awards ceremony. I gave her one orgasm. I could have given her a hundred.

But I didn’t take her back to my place. I’d given Terrence her address ahead of time, and that’s where he knew to drive. I was so consumed by her that I didn’t think to change the destination.

I shouldn’t have changed it, anyway. It was the right thing to do to draw this out, to commit to the slow build.

That doesn’t mean the decision hasn’t been eating me alive.

Isabella texted me yesterday morning, a little after eight. I normally don’t get up early on Sundays, but I was already staring at the ceiling by then, the thought of my lips against hers making me hard under the comforter. It seemed sad as hell to get off without her, but I was heavily debating it. Until my phone vibrated on the bedside table.

Not on Sundays?

My heart leapt in my chest as the ball rocketed right back into my court. I could say that yes, she absolutely needed to be at my penthouse on Sundays—and every other day. There’s simply no way we could sustain that for a month, though, and if she was going to ask, there had to be some reason she wanted Sundays free. Something to do with her mother, I’d bet. So I told her no. No, not on Sundays.

Naturally, that meant I spent all day Sunday doing the same futile activities to try and forget her.

“You’re typing like you’re trying to press the keyboard right through your desk.”

I save the email I’m typing and swivel away from the computer. “Mind your own business.” I keep my tone light, and Mike grins, stepping into the office. “I take it you have that information.”

“I do.” He takes the seat across from me and puts the folders on the desk. “These are the summaries for the three properties you acquired in March.”

“And the Hamilton Heights property was one of those.”

“Yes.” He flips open the top folder. “Two of them—the one in Hamilton Heights and the one in Spanish Harlem, were sold to Pace, Inc. by the same company—Brilliance NYC. Owned by a guy named Howard Knight.”

I lean forward, crossing my arms on the surface of the desk. “And for both of these, he guaranteed us that the spaces were either unoccupied or that all leases would be finished by the first of May.”

Mike opens another folder, scans one of the papers, and nods. “Hamilton Heights is totally unoccupied. The other property should be by now, since it’s—” He glances down at my desk calendar. “—the second week of May.”

“I seem to remember this guy saying this to me—did you set up a phone call with the two of us for some reason?”

“I think so. It was during the last stages of negotiation, and you wanted to confirm some of the details, as far as I recall.”

“Okay. We might have a problem with these two buildings.”

Mike’s forehead wrinkles with concern. He was the one who found these two properties—among most of the others I’ve acquired in the past five years—and he does a good job. “What specifically? I vetted both of these for—”

“I know. I’m not sure how this…escaped our attention, but the Hamilton Heights building is still occupied.”

His eyes go wide. “What?”

“Two weeks ago, the current owner sent out a lease termination notice. None of the residents are being allowed to renew. In August.”

His face goes white, then red. “That’s sure as hell not what I was led to believe. I must have gone out there to check. I must have, otherwise—” He flips through the papers in one folder, then the next, like it will give him the answers he’s looking for.

“It’s all right. The Hamilton Heights property is a freak accident in terms of scheduling and visits, but I have a feeling this guy played us.” 

“Jesus. For another few months’ rent, he let those people think—”

“Exactly.”

Mike stands up, gathering the folders into his hands. “I’m going to get more information about this. If there are still tenants living there now, it’s not going to look good if—”

Christine is hovering near the doorway. “Go. Let me know what you find out. Do you have a message for me, Christine?”

Her mouth is pressed into a thin line. “Not exactly.”

I’m pissed off about the Hamilton Heights situation. I’m not about to back out now—not a chance in hell—but I need to know if this company is screwing me in some other way I haven’t foreseen. “Then what is it?” I don’t mean to snap at her, but I desperately need to get off…my ass, and get Isabella out of my head, at least for a couple of hours.

With a barely perceptible shake of her head, Christine steps aside, and the doorway is immediately darkened by another figure.

“Hi.” Isabella steps forward as if Christine was never there. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

It’s a far cry from calling me an evil bastard, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “You’re interrupting. But nothing that can’t be rescheduled.” Christine crosses behind her, heading back to her desk, and I can tell by the set of her jaw that she’s not thrilled about rescheduling my meetings. Too bad. That’s her job. “Come in.”

Isabella steps further into the office, reaching out to pull the door shut behind her. My heart beats harder. We haven’t made any plans for this evening yet, much less the middle of the day. I have no earthly idea what her plan is, or what she’s about to do, and I relish it at the same time that I want it to be over. I want her to play her hand. I want to join in the game.

Her green eyes dancing, Isabella lowers herself carefully to her knees on the floor of my office, demurely casting her gaze to the floor as soon as her knees make contact with the hardwood.

“I’m sorry I missed yesterday.” Her voice is low and sexy and I could listen to her all day. There’s a strange ache in my chest at the sight of the sun in her dark hair. I’m going to miss the hell out of this when it’s over. It’s going to hurt like a bitch. I dismiss the thought, because she speaks again. “Is there anything you want from me now?”