Page 10 of Love or Tequila in Unexpected Places

He must’ve heard him wrong. Lockwood must have said something else—something that merely sounded like “daughter,” like… “slaughter”?

Sure.

Or maybe “water”?

Yeah, definitely.

And then he heard it again. Apparently, Lockwood only used the word daughter when addressing her, even though she had previously called him Sir.

That somewhat clarified the palpable tension between the two of them. She had sat rigidly in her chair, her body language radiating discomfort as if she would rather be anywhere else but in that conference room. Positioned next to herfather, she maintained a perfectly straight posture, her eyes focused intently on the table in front of her. Throughout the meeting, she had remained mostly silent, only breaking her stillness to offer a few muted hums of acknowledgment and the occasional, hesitant “yes, sir,” her voice barely rising above a whisper.

I fucked the daughter of my enemy and she probably has daddy issues, considering that monster she has for a father.

Marvelous.

At least that saved him from having to ask her out. She was still hot-as-the-fucking-sun, radiating an allure that could set fire to a snowman, but now she was officially off-limits.

The thought of pursuing her made his stomach twist like a pretzel. He couldn’t even look at her right now without feeling like he’d committed some kind of cosmic faux pas.

Every time he caught a glimpse of her dazzling smile, it felt like an electric shock, igniting all those mixed feelings that had bubbled to the surface during their brief encounter. It was a maddening combination of attraction and guilt, and he decided that staring at the bland, beige walls would be a much safer option.

“Right,” he heard her sweet, sweet voice again as she came back to his side.

Stay down, big guy.

Angelo had apparently lost all control over his own body. A surge of frustration coursed through him, tightening his fists and setting his jaw. Suddenly, he was engulfed in a wave of anger that he couldn’t shake off.

He had envisioned a night filled with the sweet taste of the woman before him, a night where every glance and smile would lead to something more. But now, those plans lay in ruins, shattered by one man’s interference. It was all her fucking father’s fault.

Little cock block.

“Mr. Lockwood is available in three weeks, Mr. Taylor. Is the 26th okay for you? Four o’clock?” she asked as the old man retreated to his office. But he had absolutely no idea. He couldn’t even think at that moment.

Calliope—bless her for actually doing her job—stepped up to his side with his calendar open on her phone. “Let me check.”

A bitter thought crossed his untrusting mind.

Did she know who I was that night?

His anger multiplied, bubbling up like a pot of water left on the stove far too long, threatening to boil over at any moment. As his blood began to simmer, he had to fight the urge to lash out, reminding himself that losing control wouldn’t help anyone, especially not him.

He tuned back into the conversation between Calliope and the seemingly deceiving woman. She was definitely still pure sex personified. Too bad he couldn’t make her drop to her knees right then and there and force her to choke on his cock for not recognizing him—or telling him who she really was.

“I believe we are all set,” Allison chirped. He had finally remembered her name but kept it to himself. Angelo originallyhoped she would recognize him or at least reveal her name, but it was evident he had thought wrong.

“May I have a word, Miss? Privately,” he grunted out, determined to get some answers.

She seemed confused and intimidated, but she nodded nonetheless and led the way to an empty conference room with significantly less lighting than the one where the interrogation had taken place.

Small mercies.

Allison sat in the chair closest to the door—a smart move, as it gave her a quick escape route if things went south.

Angelo stalked closer, his presence looming as he tried to exude an air of intimidation. He straightened his posture and narrowed his eyes slightly, letting the tension in the room thicken like a storm cloud. He could see her pulse quicken as she avoided his gaze, her fingers nervously tapping on the armrest.

Angelo could almost hear her thoughts racing, and he relished the power dynamic, feeling like a predator circling its prey. The air was charged, and he intended to make sure she understood the seriousness of the situation.

He stopped when he got so close that he could breathe in her sweet scent: honey and lavender.

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