Lena

 

 

 

I love the way his eyebrows crinkle in reaction to my words. I don't know how he expected me to respond when he came up to me, but this certainly doesn't seem to be it.

“It’s him!” I hiss at Aileen, who is standing next to me.

"I see," she says in what almost sounds like a growl. "I hear you owe us some money," she snaps.

The man’s face contorts with confusion. "Excuse me?"

"My colleague dropped half of our catering food because of you!" Aileen accuses him. She's exaggerating, but I don't correct her because it would hurt our cause. We might as well make it sound worse than it actually was. Maybe it will make him feel guilty enough to pay us.

His eyes flit back and forth between Aileen and me, as if he's having trouble understanding what the hell is going on. Eventually, his gaze rests on me.

"I actually came over here to apologize to you. I'm sorry that happened," he says, sounding a lot different than he did earlier. Almost kind and friendly. "It was rude of me to yell at you like that, and I shouldn't have just left you there without helping you."

"Damn straight," Aileen hisses. I turn around to beckon her to calm down. After all, he's still a client, in a sense. If he complains about us because we bitched at him, it will hurt us far more than having a few ruined sandwiches. This venue might not want to hire us for one of their events again, and God knows we couldn't afford to lose its business.

"But I'm not paying you any money," the guy adds, causing me to turn back to him.

"Excuse me?" I finally raise my voice at him. "It was your fault! If you had been a gentleman and held the door open for me, we'd never have ended up in that-"

"You ruined my shirt," he interrupts me, unbuttoning his suit jacket in one swift motion to reveal the white shirt beneath. He obviously tried to get the stains out because there are still a few large wet spots on the shirt… the shirt that clings to what appears to be a muscular chest.

I shake my head to clear it. Why am I thinking about his chest? Heat is traveling to my cheeks, the flush betraying my cool demeanor. Why must I have such a pale complexion?

Why the hell must he be so damned attractive? Why couldn't I run into some average Joe who I wouldn’t give a second thought to? Why did I have to run into someone like this guy and ruin his shirt? He looks... surreal, like one of the characters from one of my books. I read and fantasize about men like him, tall men in form-fitting suits, with a body to die for and a dominating hand to guide me. Men who know what they want and how to get it.

My eyes linger on his wet shirt and the outline of the sinewy muscles sculpting his chest. I can't look away. He looks just like one of those characters. Like he could be...

"Your shirt is fine!" Aileen protests, her shrill voice tearing me away from my enticing thoughts.

Fuck, I didn't know women could get blue balls, too. It's been too long since I've been with a man, since I've felt another person's skin on mine. Too long since I've been rocked just the right way...

"Our food, on the other hand, is gone," Aileen continues. "We can't serve those sandwiches to anyone. How do you think this reflects on us? We're only serving half of what was ordered!"

I lift my head and am met by his dark gaze. Our eyes lock, and before I know it, I’m shrugging apologetically, tilting my head to the side and jerking the corners of my mouth up just a bit. He notices my gesture, but Aileen doesn't.

Thank God.

"Well, if your sandwiches are that valuable, I suggest you take better care of them," he responds to her continuing outburst, but now he’s smiling at me. "Instead of sprinting down the hall like a maniac."

I frown at him. "Like I said, it was just-"

"I don't want to hear it again," he cuts me off. "You're not going to blame this mishap on me."

He straightens up and turns to Aileen. "And I'm not paying for it."

Aileen scoffs angrily, as he turns and stalks away from us.

"Asshole!" she yells after him, and I hurry to raise my hands in an appeasing motion.

"Aileen, please!" I hiss. "What if he reports us?"

She glares at his back, her eyes burning with wild fury as she bites her lips.

"Let me handle this," I tell her. "I caused this, after all."

She huffs. "You heard him. That smug asshole doesn't feel the least bit responsible. What the hell are you going to do?"

I don't know. I really don't know. I don't know what I want to say to him, I don't know what I could say to help the situation.

I sigh then, lowering my shoulders in defeat as I watch him walking further and further away. He’s buttoning his suit jacket to hide the stains on his white shirt. That wet, white shirt, sticking to his chiseled chest...