Page 12 of Without Regret

CHAPTER SEVEN

Emma

I hurried away from Trevor and the beast as fast as my heels would take me. I didn’t like dogs. Actually, scratch that. It wasn’t that I truly disliked them, but rather that I was terrified of them. It all stemmed from a particularly mean, big dog who had bitten me at a foster home when I was a small child. And Trevor’s dog was massive. So much so that it was difficult to avoid shaking from fear. It might seem silly, but I hadn’t been around a lot of dogs since childhood. And then the beast had shaken his head, allowing the most disgusting thing ever to fly from his mouth.

Bollocks. Would this stain?

I removed the dress the moment I was in my flat and blotted it with soda water.

Gross.

I couldn’t believe that sort of slime came out of his dog’s mouth often enough that Trevor carried a drool cloth.

After stripping out of the rest of my clothes and changing into yoga pants and a tank top, I made a quick salad. I then sat down to eat it with a glass of chilled Pinot Grigio. I enjoyed dinners alone. Peace and quiet with no agenda or anybody asking me about my day. Some people might feel lonely, but not me.

The sound of a knock on the door thirty minutes later made me sigh. Taking a quick glance through the peephole, I was not surprised to see Trevor on the other side. I opened the door, but any words died on my lips because he was holding a bouquet of flowers.

“These are from Rufus. He sent me straight to the store to get them in an effort to apologize. He can’t help his jowls drooping, which causes an inordinate amount of slobber that sometimes finds an unsuspecting victim. He does hope the dress survived.”

I fought the grin, taking the flowers in hand. Lilies, my favorite. If, you know, I was into getting flowers from a handsome guy. “The dress will live to see another day. And perhaps Rufus should go have a consultation with a plastic surgeon. Get a little tuck there under the mouth to help his unfortunate droopy jowl problem.”

Trevor threw his head back and laughed. The effect of this took me off guard with a sudden wave of attraction. I didn’t know him, but there seemed to be no pretense in the man.

“Maybe next time we’re in LA, we’ll keep it in mind. Can I maybe interest you in dinner tonight?”

“Thanks, but I’ve already eaten and—”

“What did you have?”

I’d been about to tell him I wasn’t interested in dinners with him, only to be thrown by his question. “A salad. And—”

“That’s not enough. No wonder you’re so skinny. What you need is a steak.”

His comment completely derailed my train of thought. First, no one would ever mistake me for skinny. Voluptuous, curvy, but never skinny—especially with my ass. And secondly, why was he so interested in my diet?

“I don’t eat red meat.” I did, but I tried not to make a habit of it. I kept to a limited daily caloric intake.

“Shh. You can’t go and say something like that in the middle of cow country.”

God, he was adorable and sweet. And he was a serious threat to my rule not to date a suit again. “Look, although I think you’re nice and funny, you’re not my type. Okay?”

“Nice and funny guys aren’t your type?”

Actually, nope. I preferred them dark and tortured. Just like me on the inside. “I don’t mean to sound bitchy.”

“Which is basically a disclaimer that whatever you’re about to say might be.”

Once again, he’d thwarted my next words—because he was right. “Okay. Probably. The bottom line is we’re working together.” I held his gaze to ensure he understood this wasn’t a game. I was serious. Perhaps with some regret, but he didn’t have to know that.

He smirked, which was even hotter on him than the grin. “Got it. Then we can be friends.”

No. I didn’t want to be friends. But how do you nicely say to someone you were going to work with ‘we can’t be friends’ without it sounding like a dick move? “Sure. Friends. Uh, thanks for the flowers from Rufus and good night.”

He smirked a second time. “Good night, Emma.”

Damn. It was as if he knew what hearing my name in that slow, honeyed accent did to me.

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