Page 48 of Simply Irresistible
“I know...but I’m just not sure what exactly I want to do with these columns and until I do, I don’t want to make any rash decisions. Plus, if I left the magazine, Preston would want to know why. Then he’d probably be pissed at me for not telling him about Roger sooner, and I’m not sure I want to deal with that either.”
“That’s understandable, but I hate seeing you so upset. I know Roger’s probably giving you hell since he got reamed out.”
“You know about that?”
“The entire building is talking about that.”
Tyler grinned. “It was epic. Roger was acting so blasé, like he had a handle on everything, and Preston flipped. He called him out on acting smug and started asking Roger questions he didn’t know the answers to. Things he should have known, like circulation numbers. It was fantastic. Almost worth the extra bullshit he’s been giving me.”
We paused in front of our building, as we always did. Despite working for different magazines on different floors, we kept our personal relationship outside of the building. He gave me a soft, lingering kiss, before pulling me into his chest and wrapping his arms around me.
“I love you, my Spicy girl.”
I grinned; my face still pressed against his chest. “I love you, too.”
“I know you only want me to be happy. I’ve got this, okay? I’m not letting it consume me. I promise.”
“Just your lunch…” I said, pulling away and looking up at him. The guy liked to eat, and the fact that he didn’t finish his plate said something about his mood.
“I had a big breakfast,” he lied, and I let him. He wanted me to let it go, so I let it go.
“Okay. How about dinner at my place tonight? I’ve got a project I’m almost done with, so I want to camp out with my sewing machine for a bit.”
“Sounds good to me.” He kissed my forehead, the tip of my nose, and then my lips.
“I’ll see you later,” I told him and winked. He returned the wink, which told me we were going to have some frisky time later. At least, I hoped we would.
Sigh.
I couldn’t get enough of Tyler Winston Scott.
26
Tyler
“Here you go,” I said, as I set Melanie’s plate in front of her on the bed. The lights were dimmed and there were candles lit on the windowsill. It wasn’t exactly fine dining, but it was still a candlelit dinner...right?
Melanie grumbled a thanks, focused solely on the embellishment she was sewing onto a blouse.
Embellishment and blouse...two terms I never thought I’d be able to define.
I went over to the small counter where I’d plugged in the electric grill and plated my food, then returned to the bed and sat next to Mel, careful not to shake the bed where she was seated with her legs crossed, carefully sewing by hand.
Melanie sniffed. Then she sniffed some more, eyes still glued to the delicate stitches.
I don’t know what people think designers do, but she truly was an artist. I haven’t seen her work much, but what I’ve seen her do since I arrived an hour ago is mesmerizing. The intricate beadwork she had sewn into the fabric...she’d even shown me some lace she’d made by hand. She was amazing.
“What’s that smell?”
“Dinner.”
She lifted her eyes to my plate. Then her eyes darted to the plate I’d set before her. “You made that?”
“Yes.”
“In my apartment?”
“Yes.”
