Barclay

“Sir. It’s after seven.” Mrs. Mackenzie stands at my office door, wearing the same trench coat that hugged Tessa’s curves twenty-four hours ago. The cleaners returned it this afternoon, pressed and bagged. It seems Tessa was an apparition, appearing in my life to haunt me.

“Enjoy your weekend. I’ll see you Monday,” I say, eyeing her over my computer screen. She flings the long strap of her purse over a shoulder, but doesn’t leave. There must be unfinished business. “Anything else?”

“I wanted to follow up on the awards dinner. They’ve asked the name of your plus one.” She waits for my reply, tapping a sensible heel on the marble floor.

I want to say it’s none of their damn business, but only because I haven’t secured a date yet. Tessa’s the one woman I’d like to bring, but happens to be the last woman I should take.

Cold turkey, I keep silently chanting, but I’m not convincing myself. I’ve opened my phone and glanced at her saved number a hundred times since I left her on the sidewalk yesterday. I almost had Lawrence circle the car back around to the hotel. Driving away from her and ignoring the powerful connection between us was one of the hardest things I’ve done in my life. I still regret it, but what choice did I have? Our timing is off by at least ten years.

A part of me hoped to hear from her today too, acknowledging that she’d received the chocolate-covered strawberries I had placed in her room. But she’s been silent. It’s for the best.

“Tell the event coordinator you weren’t able to confirm the name.” Mrs. Mackenzie tilts her head, giving me a puzzled look. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, sir.” She sighs, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “You did get the message from Mr. Black requesting Tessa Holly sits next him?” The slightest smile moves across her face.

“I did,” I say, matter-of-fact, giving nothing away. “That nosy man needs to mind his own business.”

“Good luck telling him that.” She laughs at my expense, straightening her coat belt, just like Tessa did the day before. “Good night, Mr. Hammond.”

After Mrs. Mackenzie leaves, I scan the weekly sales figures. When the numbers blur before me, I give up for the night and shut down my computer. Preparing to leave, I grab my phone off the desk and stare at the black screen. Ignoring the voice of reason, I pull up her number and pound out a text. My finger hovers over the send button, but then I remember her cloudy blue eyes calling to me as I walked away and push send.

Did you like the strawberries?

I stare at the screen and wait. A minute passes, then another, until finally, it displays the bubbling dots of a possible incoming text. I hold my breath like a desperate sixteen-year-old schoolboy. Even my hands start perspiring.

Yes. They were very juicy.

Jesus. My mind flies into overdrive. I imagine her biting into the chocolate layer with the fruit beneath. Juice spills over her full pink lips, running down her chin. My mouth starts to water, and not for the strawberry—for her. Kill me now.

I should just let it go, let her go, but I can’t. It does feel safer just texting. It’s not like I’m actually going to see her again. It’s completely harmless.

What are you up to?

At least I didn’t ask what she’s wearing, though I’d love to know.

Getting ready for a drink date.

Date? The word slaps me across the face, and the floor drops out from under me. Who the hell is she going out with? I fear it’s some wolf wandering the streets looking for an innocent young woman to devour. It’s how I felt about her, but I stepped away, controlled myself.

I want to ask who she’s seeing, find out all the details, but I’m too late. I should’ve never left her alone.

“Dammit.” My voice fills the empty office. I scrub a hand over my face, frustrated and unsure how to respond … if at all. I decide not to text her back. Why torture myself? The sweet, beautiful woman with the blue eyes and legs for days will never be mine, no matter how much I want to possess her.

Well, I sure as hell don’t want to spend tonight alone, especially with her out having fun. I need to blow off some steam, drink till this ache in my chest fades. There’s only one thing to do: call my best friend, Lucas. I locate his number on my contact list and press the call button, determined to forget Tessa, even as her beautiful face and beaming smile flash in my mind. The vision makes me smile too.

“Barclay,” Lucas shouts over loud background noise. “What you doing, man?”

“Calling you.”

“But not Barbie.” Great. He had to mention her. “She’s been waiting for your call too.”

“Yeah, paying for a date isn’t for me,” I confess, and regret asking Lucas in the first place. Lesson learned.

“So, everything worked out?”

“Not really.” I want to tell him about what happened with Tessa, but he’d probably tell me to run away, like I did, bringing me full circle to the reason I’m talking to him. “Where are you?”

“PH-D at the Dream Hotel. You should come down and join us.”

I hear a woman’s muffled giggle, and ask, “Us?”

“The usual crowd. Lance and Alex from the firm, along with a few hot blondes. Whatta ya say?”

“I don’t know.” I stand up and pace to the window. The setting sun reflects an amber color off the mirrored buildings as night starts to fall.

“You’ve been working too hard, Barc. When was the last time you had fun, or got laid, for that matter?”

When was it? There’s been no one since Amanda and I broke up two months ago. No wonder my nerves feel frayed.

I have two choices, and neither one of them appeal to me. Head back to my apartment, drink too much bourbon, and jack off, like I’ve been doing for too long. The other option is meeting Lucas at the club, and I know what usually happens after a night out with him. I wake up to find a woman in my bed the next morning, but at least it isn’t empty.

I cradle the back of my neck and close my eyes. “Okay, I’ll meet you there. I need to go home and change.”

“Better throw back a few shots before you get here,” Lucas adds with a laugh. “We’re at least three drinks ahead of you.”

Drinks mixed with hot, willing women. This is going to be a big mistake, but I’m not going to sit around by myself tonight. I have an itch that can only be scratched by the touch of a woman’s hand, the feel of her lips, and the softness of her skin. Lucas is right. I need to get laid.

“Don’t worry. I’ll catch up with you lushes.” I grab my jacket off the back of my chair and head out into the night.