Page 27 of Broken Deal

He nods, tensing a little at the mention of Isabella, who’s sitting in front of him, silently watching our interaction.

“Yes. Totally built it from the ground up and abandoned people he claimed to care about in the process,” Isabella remarks, abruptly standing and throwing her linen napkin on her empty plate. “I can’t do this anymore,” she mutters, grabbing her purse. “Thank you for a lovely dinner, guys,” she says in a clipped tone then storms away.

“I’ll walk you out,” Aria says quickly, standing and following after Isabella.

Matteo’s demeanor crumbles, his sunny personality nowhere in sight as he quietly gets up and picks his suit jacket from the back of his chair and puts it on. “I’d better get going, too. Long day tomorrow.”

Damian gives Lorenzo a knowing look before standing and walking Matteo out.

I rise from my seat, silently gathering the empty plates and cups, the tension still heavy in the air. I head to the kitchen to start washing the dishes. Even though summer is starting, I get cold easily, so I decided to wear long sleeves today. I roll them up then take the hair tie from my wrist and put my hair in a messy bun.

From my peripheral vision, I see Lorenzo striding into the kitchen with the rest of the dishes. He drops them onthe sink then rolls up his dress shirt sleeves. My eyes shamelessly follow his movements, admiring the way his veins trace intricate patterns beneath his skin, accentuating the muscles beneath. Small, random tattoos that I’m sure have some sort of meaning behind them adorn his tanned skin.

He lifts his gaze and catches me staring but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he smiles knowingly. I straighten my shoulders and look at the sink, becoming very interested in the soapy, dirty water.

I haven’t forgotten about our moment the other night. It’s all I’ve managed to think about. I’ve been wondering what would have happened if we had kissed. Chances are, we would have ended up in my apartment. And that would have honestly been a huge mistake. But I think it’s pretty safe to say, when it comes to men, I don’t make the smartest decisions.

He approaches me and takes the sponge from my hands. “I’ll wash and you dry. Okay?”

I lock my gaze with his, and God, I wish I hadn’t. His eyes are so intense and warm at the same time. His right eyebrow has the tiniest scar, barely noticeable unless you really look for it.

I clear my throat and grab a clean drying towel. “Sure.”

We quickly fall into silence as we work on the dishes. But here’s the thing about me: I don’t do well with silence. Chalk it up to my childhood, I guess. My house was loud, mostly with my father’s drunken screams. When there was silence at home, it was never a good thing. Something bad would always inevitably happen. I associate silence with danger, and it settles a dread in the pit of my stomach. I know my friends consider me loud, and some people who don’t know me well even find me obnoxious, but I can’t possibly stay quiet or bear silence.

“That was intense.” I nod toward the dining room.

“That was nothing, trust me,” Lorenzo asserts, his voice laced with conviction.

“What’s the story between them, anyway?”

Lorenzo lets out a long sigh. “It’s not my story to tell. I’m sure Isabella will tell you when she’s ready.”

I nod, even though I would love for someone to clue me in on what the hell is happening. That’s another thing about me—I don’t do well with altercations. I always go into problem-solving mode. My brain is wired to automatically search for a way to make the situation right. With my upbringing, I was kind of forced to do so.

Lorenzo drops the sponge on the sink as he turns to face me, casually leaning against the counter. “So, when do you start drilling me with all your journalist-type questions?”

I scoff. “No one is forcing you to do this. You’re the one that wanted to do it.”

He raises an eyebrow, the one with the tiny scar, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Never said it was going to be easy.”

Even though the smile is small, his dimple manages to make an appearance, and something in me wants to reach out and trace it with my fingertip. Instead, I slam the door on that thought before it goes any further.

“Never expected that, anyway.” I shrug. “How about we meet tomorrow?”

“It’s a date.”

“It’s not a date,” I correct, dropping the towel on the kitchen counter and mirroring his pose, crossing my arms. “It’s a business meeting.”

He smirks, standing tall and closing the gap between us. He sure loves to get close to me at the most untimely moments. His intoxicating scent envelops me once again,and I lift my chin slightly, trying to maintain my composure, hoping he doesn’t notice how my chest heaves. I refuse to take a step back. He started this, so he’s the one who has to finish it. Backing down isn’t an option, even though my body itches to reach out and touch him.

He brushes his knuckles against my cheek for a brief moment, giving me a quick chill. “Whatever you say, Blue.”

Okay, then.

This will be fine. Totally fine. I can do this.

You literally can’t.

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