Page 25 of My Enemy, My Obsession

“It doesn’t matter. You don’t care what I think about you. You care why I did what I did, as you should. No one wants to be in business with a liar. And I’m not that. The name thing spun out of control.” I motion between us. “You—me—we were just—good for each other that night. I didn’t want it to end, and I didn’t think it would go anywhere else but that room, for any reason at all.” He opens his mouth to speak, and I hold up a hand. “Please let me just get this all out, and then you can judge me how you see fit.” I don’t wait for his reply, driving forward with my explanation. “If you knew who my father was, I thought you’d assume I had an agenda for you to help him, but I don’t. I didn’t. I thought you were the asshole he felt you were to him, so I wanted him to have an investor who respected and cared about him, and again—I know he was defensive. None of this is about butchering you. It’s just explaining.” I twine my fingers together and press my index fingers to the bridge of my nose a minute, willing the burn of embarrassment my confessions have caused to fade before looking at him again. “I’m sorry. And it was probably foolish of me to accept this invitation. Why am I even here?” I ask again.

“You tell me.Whyare you here?”

His tone is cold as ice, and I’m suddenly, or not so suddenly, freezing to death in a stuffy bar. “Because I started working with Moore’s before you were even in the picture, and I didn’t believe you’d actually care about my part of its business.”

“And yet, I was in Hawaii for the event.”

“Yes, but you have many other interests. Why would I present my brand to Moore’s as its own label if I really thought you’d be involved?”

“And yet, you wanted your label to become a major part of Moore’s business.”

“I did, I do, but why would you care if I’m the one who made that happen, if it’s already done, and you benefit from it?”

“You thought you’d deceive me again.”

I feel the words as a stab in the heart and bristle, suddenly defensive myself. “While you sit here finding every angle to turn me into one of the many people who want you for your money, maybe you should consider that by keeping you out of this, I was doing it on my own. I was coming to your business with a way to make money for all of us. You told me if I wanted to compete with Prada, not to settle. You dared me to be more, and I dared to listen. I presented Zoey. And here I am, sitting across from you, being treated like I’m some money-grubbing whore.” The word “whore” is out before I can stop myself, and I can feel the heat of my anger, burning too hot, and too wild. “Obviously, we’re done.” I push to my feet, but I meet his burning stare. “Goodbye, Ethan,” I whisper, and I start walking.

“Sofia,” he says, his voice low, and rough.

I halt, but the burn in my belly is fire, and the anger in my blood is emotion that isn’t professional and will lead me no place good. I force myself to rotate to face him, and for several intense, charged beats, we just stare at one another, until finally he says, “No one but you told you not to go to the meeting tomorrow. Remember that if you choose not to attend. Goodnight, Sofia.”

Not goodbye.

Goodnight.

My lips part in surprise, and a shaky breath whispers from my lips, and I don’t know what to say in return, so I say nothing. I just rotate and start walking.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Once I’m in myroom again, I lean on the door, my heart racing, and my adrenaline off the charts to the point I think I’m trembling. He made me angry, which felt like a good thing at the time because it was a defining emotion, something I could hang my hat on and own. And yet, somehow, just as I was leaving, Ethan had reeled me back in and jumbled up my thoughts and emotions.

“No one but you told you not to go to the meeting tomorrow. Remember that if you choose not to attend. Goodnight, Sofia.”

Those three sentences said everything and nothing.

I could not be more frustrated, and I push off the door and start pacing, repeating the words “if you choose not to attend” with a renewed punch of anger. No, he didn’t tell me not to attend, but he darn sure made sure I know he thinks I’m up to something shady.

“You thought you’d deceive me again,”he’d said, and that accusation makes me want to scream.I am not a liar. I am not that person. And if I leave now, that’s exactly what he will believe. I feel like I’m being manipulated when I’m kind of the one who manipulated him, so Iguess I deserve it.

I walk to the phone and order French fries because I’m not going home and I still want my fries. And a drink, which I won’t get with room service. They have beer and wine, which I do not want. I guess the only hangover I can afford right now is the combination of French fries and Ethan. I sigh and look for my notepad, only to realize I’ve left it downstairs. No. No! Ineedthat notepad. And it’s actually not just my pad. It’s my entire portfolio and phone. The only reason I got into the room is that my key was in my pocket. And now, I have to go back downstairs to the bar. I don’t give myself time to think about how badly that could turn out if Ethan is still down there. I race for the door, and I’m in the hallway in an instant.

In the elevator, I’m a mess of nerves all over again, and I really will be glad when tomorrow comes and goes, when I know what the outcome of all of this will be. Right now, though, if Ethan is still in the bar, it doesn’t have to matter. I will just walk to my table, grab my things, and leave. I never have to look his way.

The car halts and the doors open, and I’m stunned when Ethan appears in front of me. My lips part in shock, and for a moment, all I can do is take him in, in all his hotness. His tie is gone, his shirt unbuttoned just enough for dark, springy chest hair to play peekaboo with my hormones. He’s so ridiculously perfect it’s hard for me to fathom the fact that I was naked with him.

The elevator buzzes, and Ethan captures the door and jolts me back to reality pretty darn hard and fast. My plan to avoid him has failed, and I’m not even sure what is happening right now. How is he here while I’m here? This radical shift in events is for surenot planned. It’s just happenstance in the most awkward of ways, at least for me. “Hi,” I say, like an idiot. I mean, really? Hi? How is that the right thing to say right now and after what has transpired between us this very night? I quickly add, “I wasn’t coming back for you. I left my portfolio at my table.” And somehow, I think that statement helped absolutely not at all.

In fact, Ethan actually laughs, one of those low, rough, sexy laughs of his, and says, “You really do know how to wound a guy’s ego, don’t you?” He holds out my portfolio and offers it to me. “I saved it for you and was going to bring it to tomorrow’s meeting to give to you.Ifyou showed up.”

I blink in confusion.

I know how to wound a guy’s ego? Is he—do I dare believe he’s talking about me leaving him that night in Hawaii? Did I wound his ego? No. Surely not. He’s him, and I’m just little ol’ me.

The car is now beeping again as his shoulder settles solidly against it, clearly planning to stay at least a little longer. Probably to watch me squirm, which is why I’m not going to give him what he wants. My spine straightens, and I accept the portfolio. “You can’t run me off that easily,” I say firmly. “I’ll be at the meeting.”

There’s a hint of what I might call approval in his eyes—maybe? Kind of?—followed by a hint of amusement accentuated by a sexy little quirk of his lips. “Then I’ll ride up with you,” he declares, and joins me inside the elevator, the doors shutting impatiently behind him and with remarkable speed.

He swipes his key, and by the time he’s punched in his floor, glancing my direction to ask, “What floor?” I punch in “eleven” on my own, facing forward, but only for a moment.

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