Page 39 of The Single Dad

Finally, he says, “You know, work is… work is never too complicated. There are never extraneous variables—at least, not ones that can’t be dealt with.”

I nod, trying to encourage him to keep talking.

“I’m always in control. I always know what to say. It serves me well in my line of work, and it serves me better there than it does anywhere else.”

I nod again, but as I look at him, I can’t help but think that all of this, the controlling facade, is just that—an act. A defense. His way of trying to protect himself, or something.

And I have to wonder what Cole needs protecting from. What Cole, a man with more money than I can even fathom, with a hard jawline and harder body, could possibly be afraid of.

There’s so much I want to know about him, and this is the best chance I’ve ever gotten to ask any of it. But before I can think of an appropriate question, he stands.

Sheepishly, I remember why he’s here. I lie back down, and to my surprise, he leans over the bed, pulling the comforter back up over my shoulders. I gaze up at him, and that tension is there again, a heat building between us.

For a moment, I think he might kiss me.

Just like I did before I fell asleep, I ask myself if it’s all in my head—if I’m the only one who feels it.

Then his jaw tightens and he pulls away. He groans something under his breath, barely audible.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

My heart thuds in my chest as he shoots me one more glance, then turns to leave the room.

I stare after him. Once he’s out in the hallway, the door closed behind him, I let out a shaky breath.

Chapter 13

Cole

The next day—Wednesday, the middle of an already busy week—I can’t bring myself to focus on anything in the office.

I stare at the same file for approximately two hours. It’s a portfolio of last month’s investments, and it’s completely fucking irrelevant at this point, but it’s the only thing open on my computer as I sit in my office, stare at the screen, and think about Riley.

What was she dreaming about?

The image flashes through my mind of her in bed, the tank top strap slipping down her shoulder. I wanted to reach out and adjust it—or better yet, tear the whole thing off.

The thought alone is enough to turn me on. I’m half hard beneath my slacks.

It’s starting to get a little obsessive, I have to admit.

I shake my head, trying to put her out of my mind. There are more reports I need to go over before the day is done, and the longer I spend daydreaming about Riley, the longer they go unopened.

Handling investments is something I can sink my entire focus into. Something else to think about, far less complicated and far less dangerous. I bury myself in it. Just the way she described me last night, I have to admit.

My distraction is all lined up for after work. I leave the office at five-thirty, a little earlier than I normally would, to meet up with Declan and Reed for dinner.

The dinner was Declan’s idea. I guess Reed kept pestering him about spending more time with us guys, and Declan responded by setting things up, a time and a place and a reservation. That’s one way to shut Reed up: give him exactly what he wants. It’s almost like he spends all his time daring people to do it, but never thinks they actually will.

My driver drops me off in front of the restaurant. We’re part of the early crowd with a six o’clock reservation, and none of us are particularly used to that, but it’s fine by me. I want to get home in time to tuck Archie into bed tonight.

When I enter the restaurant, I approach the host and give him a nod. “I’m meeting with Mr. Wright for dinner,” I say. “I’m assuming he’s already here.” Declan’s not one to be late, and it’s two minutes past six.

The host smiles and inclines his head. “Yes, he is. Right this way, sir.”

He leads me off to the side, away from the main dining area. Declan likes to request accommodations like this when he goes out to dinner, preferring to stay out of the public eye to the best of his ability. Whenever he goes to a restaurant, he pays extra to secure a secluded table, either behind a curtain or in a private room.

Tonight, we get the latter; lucky us.

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