Page 42 of Choosing the right Man

“I’m not doing this,” I mutter, my voice foreign to me, jagged.

Her expression darkens. “It’s your loss,” she says, trying to gain back her confidence.

I don’t bother explaining anything. I turn and walk away, shoving through the VIP doors and out into the cool night air. I drag a hand down my face, my jaw clenched so hard it aches.

This is only an obsession because I haven’t had her yet.

I try convincing myself it’s the truth. One night with Chloe and I’ll be free of her. But something inside of me calls me a liar. No other woman will ever satisfy me again. This is my biggest fear. I hang my head and move to my vehicle. It’s time to go home. It’s time to finish this thing with Chloe.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chloe

I’m home sipping on a cup of coffee when my phone rings. I ignore it. I’m not interested in visiting with anyone. Paul’s in New York at some huge work event. He was overly excited about as he told me this could be his big break for the promotion he’s always wanted. He invited me to come, but I’ve only been at my job a couple of months. I don’t want to take time off. To be honest, I don’t feel like spending a week with him in New York either. I’d feel alone in an even bigger city than I’m in now.

My phone rings again, and I ignore it as I mope. I don’t know why I’m acting this way. Audrey’s busy this weekend, so it’ll be a good time to paint my living room. I love to paint. It makes things fresh and new, a cheap makeover. My dad let me paint my room often. For fifteen dollars, I could make a crappy room come to life, make it look and smell great.

I went through pink phases, blue phases, even a black and white phase. I finally settled into more neutral colors. But my dad never minded, and always helped me, then told me it was stunning when I finished.

I don’t have the proper motivation this morning. When my phone rings one more time, I turn it to silent. I want to finish mycoffee, then go to the hardware store to pick out paint. Maybe I’ll go back to pink. A subtle pink might look pretty.

There’s a knock at my front door. Irritated, I look up. It’s too early for someone to stop by. I’m in my favorite pink robe and not much more. UPS is early. Paul gets deliveries all of the time, and I’m used to it.

I wait a bit, wanting the driver to leave before I grab the package. I take my cup to the counter, and start a fresh pot of coffee then finally go to the front door. When I open it, there isn’t a package, and the doorway isn’t empty.

Mason Alexander stands on my front porch, looking far too beautiful in a pair of... sweats and a T-shirt. I’m so stunned by his casual appearance it takes anything I might say right out of my mouth.

His eyes travel my body from head to toe before coming back up. His gaze heats as he meets my eyes. I tug on the sash of my robe, tightening it, making sure I’m covered. I feel as if I don’t have a stitch of clothing on.

“Good morning,” he says in a low, deep voice smooth enough to frost a cake. It doesn’t matter what he says, as long as he speaks.

“What are you doing here?” I ask when I come to my senses.

It’s wrong to have him at my house, so wrong. It feels like I’m doing something immoral. I remember how I felt when I found Paul’s work associate in my home. And I’m fifty percent sure nothing went on between her and Paul. But somethinghashappened between Mason and me. And now he’s standing at my doorstep. I can’t invite him inside.

“You’re stunning,” he breathes. He doesn’t answer my question, just devours me with his eyes. I want to tell himhe’sthe beautiful one. Even out of his perfectly tailored suit, he’s incredible, maybe even more so.

It takes me a moment to realize he’s most likely been working out or taking a run. I don’t want to ask. But why is he at my door at nine in the morning on a Saturday?

“We have a work event tonight. I tried to call you, but you ignored me.” I seem to be moving slowly this morning. I can’t process his words.

“A work event? Jenny didn’t say anything was going on this weekend.” I wrack my brain to see if I somehow missed something.

“This came up last minute,” he says. “Are you going to invite me in?”

“No. We both know that’s not right.”

He smiles. “Yeah, I don’t think I can continue keeping my hands off you. I don’t want to do that here.”

He isn’t holding anything back anymore. At least he’s honest. I’m not doing the same — not with him, Paul, or myself.

“What’s the work event?” I ask.

“It’s a dinner with clients. They set up the event. I have to make an appearance.” He shifts, moving a little closer. I’m not retreating.

“Why do I need to come?”

He raises a brow. “Do you have a problem with after-hours work?” I feel scolded.

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