Page 55 of Take Me, Sir

Hell, who was I trying to fool?

She'd gotten so far under my skin that I didn't believe I could ever walk away, not under my own strength. If she asked it of me, though, I would try. If it meant her happiness, I'd try.

But first, I’d try everything in my power to fix what I'd broken.

Actually, before I headed over to Kyndall's place, I needed to shower. An unpleasant aroma would not be the best way to ingratiate myself. I didn't believe that Kyndall was the sort of woman who focused on physicality, but it wouldn't hurt to, as the Americans said, cover my bases.

Twenty minutes later, I was bathed, clothed, and still trying to figure out what to say beyond I'm sorry.

I smiled at the doorman when I passed by, but I didn't really feel it. I wouldn't feel like smiling until Kyndall forgave me. If she forgave me.

I'd never felt less in control, less sure of myself than I did when I stopped in front of her door. I knocked and tried not to look as impatient as I felt while I waited for her to answer. A minute passed. Then a second. I knocked again, working on keeping a frown off my face. I didn't want her to think I was upset with her.

Still nothing.

I hated to think of her being so petty as to ignore me when I was right here, but I tried one more time. When she still didn't answer, I pulled out my phone. I didn't like the idea of calling her rather than having our entire conversation face-to-face, but I needed to know where she was before I could do that.

The call rang through, but midway through the second ring, I was sent to voicemail. I scowled at the screen, knowing that meant she'd purposefully declined my call. After our argument, I could understand her reluctance to speak with me, but that didn't mean I had to like it.

I headed toward the elevator and told myself that I wasn't retreating, merely regrouping and analyzing my approach. Clearly what I'd originally planned wasn't working, so I needed to think of something else. Giving up wasn't an option.

A small café around the corner from the building was the perfect place for some thinking, so I went inside, grateful to be back in the air-conditioning. I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, but the day was already promising to be a hot one. I ordered an iced coffee and found a seat in the farthest back corner I could find.

Kyndall was ignoring me, but that could be because she didn't know I was calling to apologize, so I needed to try to get that message across before anything else. If she still chose to ignore me, I'd take things from there. Where I'd take them, I had no idea, but it was, at the very least, a place to begin.

I kept my text simple: I was a complete and utter ass. Please call me so I can apologize properly.

Send.

And then I waited, watching as my phone showed the message delivered, then read.

But no response came through.

I checked my email, typed out a few replies, and finished my drink. Still nothing. I went back to the counter for another iced coffee, hoping that if I dawdled long enough, Kyndall would finally respond and I could go back to her place and start on making things right.

“Excuse me.”

I half-turned toward the tall blonde standing next to me at the counter.

“Are you English?”

I gave her a polite smile. “I am.”

I'd hoped my brief answer would convey a lack of interest, but she either didn't get it or didn't care.

“I've always wanted to go to England,” she said, sidling closer. “Do you know the Queen?”

I stared at her, waiting for the punchline. Because that had to be a joke. No one was that naive. But she didn't laugh and say that she was joking. Instead, she just looked up at me with wide hazel eyes, clearly anticipating my answer.

“I don't,” I said as I turned back to the counter and prayed that my drink was coming soon.

“I'd love to meet the Queen,” she continued as if I hadn't said anything at all. “I'd love to ask her what it's like to be in charge of everything and get to do whatever you wanted.”

I debated explaining to her that the Queen of England didn't actually rule the country like the kings and queens used to, and that good royalty rarely were able to do what they wished, but I suspected all that would do was make her think I wanted to talk to her. So I said nothing.

And it didn't help.

“My ex-boyfriend and I used to pretend that I was the Queen, and he was my handsome bodyguard who I ordered to–”

---