Page 64 of The Love Wager

“I can’t do this with you right now. I’m swamped. Thank you for letting me know. I love you. Got to go. Bye!” I hang up anddrop my phone to my desk, gripping the edge to steal some of its strength.

Honestly, with how busy life’s become, I’ve had very little time to think about Brooks and the what-ifs about us. Unless you’re counting in the middle of the night, by the time I get home from the office, peel off my clothes and fling myself into bed. Then and only then do the memories of his hard body against mine come racing back, so much so that I’ve had to keep my vibrator on the damn charger, so the thing doesn’t die from its constant use.

Taylor bringing it to the forefront of my focus right now as I’m about to walk into my third meeting of the day is the furthest thing from helpful.

My core’s in knots, and my mind’s a whirlwind of wondering if I should finally pick up my phone and call him. We left things on such bad footing that I’m not sure he’d even want to hear from me.

Maybe what I thought we had was all an illusion. It was a fling, a week of fun with a goal we both desperately needed to accomplish. Him more so, I think, now. But I went and blew it to pieces, and he took those pieces and eviscerated them with a few simple words. As much as I didn’t want to admit its involvement, I think my heart still isn’t over everything.

The buzzer on my desk phone pulls me from my sour thoughts. “Yes?”

“Your next meeting is in the conference room whenever you’re ready.” My new executive assistant, Avery, announces.

“Thank you. I’ll be right there.”

I gather my phone, computer, and iced coffee, drawing my shoulders back and putting on my game face. I’ll need it to get through this next meeting after I let thoughts of him slip through my mental walls.

The conference doors are open, which is helpful with my hands full. The last thing I need is to make a fool of myself, tripping into a meeting with a potential client. “Good afternoon. Welcome to Indie’s Event…” but the rest of my warm reception dies on my tongue.

“Hey, red.”

My brain blanks and the floor beneath me might as well have cracked open instantly. There’s no warning, no time to brace myself. That fool I’d been trying so hard to avoid being kicks in right at the worst moment. My feet forget their job, and I stumble forward, tripping over absolutely nothing.

The contents in my arms scatter like confetti in the air. My phone, computer, and—oh god—my coffee fly in all directions, creating a disaster zone in mere seconds.

“Fuck!” I screech as my knees slide against the carpet, ripping holes in my thigh highs and my skin. But I’m too busy watching my work’s lifeline get ruined by caffeine to care about the stinging pain.

“Indie, shit!”

The voice of the man I’ve been avoiding, trying to outrun memories of and forget about, cuts through my haze. He’s here. Right here, in my office, in California. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I’m too busy staring at the wreckage on the floor ahead of me. The damn coffee might have ruined both my phone and computer if the fall didn’t do it first.

“Paper towels. I need paper towels!” I hear the words leave my mouth before my brain can catch up. I’ll focus on something I can control. Something I can fix.

Rushed footsteps and the sounds of fabric shifting tell me he’s closing in on my space.

“Will this work?” he asks, an underlying tone of amusement filtering through.

I snatch the handkerchief from his outstretched fingers like it’s on fire and not the possible savior of my current crisis. My hands tremble from being so close I can feel his breath on my face.

The pooling coffee on my phone gets wiped away with hurried swipes, each motion somehow more frantic than the last.

I keep my eyes trained on the task, avoiding his gaze at all costs. Because if I look at him and admit he’s the one hovering next to me, I might fall apart. I focus, wiping off the last of the coffee that thankfully missed most of my computer, but we’ll see if it still powers on after my tumble. Eventually, the coffee is mopped up. My devices are as good as they’re going to get for now.

My heart’s still racing, but I can’t avoid him forever. I push myself up from the floor with as much grace as possible, but it’s a struggle. The weight of the embarrassment is heavy, and my cheeks are hot, showcasing how well I’m managing his appearance. My knees wobble as I finally straighten myself up and deposit the soaked tech onto the conference table.

I turn, forcing my gaze to meet his, and there it is—the sharp, get-under-your-skin stare I’ve seen a million times. His eyes are focused and concerned, drinking me in from head to toe. My business attire differs from how he saw me during our fated wedding week. My mouth goes dry as I take him in, just the same for the first time since I walked in.

And God, he looks good. So, fucking good.

He’s got that effortless, couldn’t care less, very non-Californian air about him in his worn jeans and scuffed cowboy boots that only adds to his towering six-two frame. The faded shirt stretched across his chest… I can’t help but fall into the memories of being wrapped up in his arms, sleeping against that chest while he held me close. The scruff he’d trimmed for thewedding has grown out, hiding his delicious dimples, but the rugged country boy look does it for me.

Having him this close, within reaching distance, is too much. I back away, stumbling again against one of the conference table chairs. Brooks’ hand jolts out to steady me, and his fingers on my bare skin send sparks shooting through my entire body. He doesn’t let go, but his eyes glace at his hold before slowly tracking up to my eyes. He doesn’t have to say it; it’s clear how his eyes dive into my soul.

Fuck, I’m screwed.

TWENTY-FOUR

Brooks

---