Page 10 of Tender Offer
This is a first.
People usually trip over themselves to kiss my ass. The attempts to earn my attention get old, but they come with the territory. There’s always someone waiting to pitch a business proposal that is neither original nor feasible. My name alone opens doors…except this one, apparently. I anticipated Heather’s reaction but didn’t move quick enough.
Madison, not Heather.
Time sped up the steps it took to reach her door and slowed when it opened. Her presence froze me in place, imploring me to reacquaint myself with the soft lines of her body, a body I exhausted for hours at a time.
The indent of the full waist I held.
Round hips and shapely thighs.
Toned legs that still hold definition.
The fresh scent of magnolia that once drifted through the open French doors of the balcony still coats her skin. The blissfulhazel eyes that once held a world of excitement are now cold. Distant.
Guilt wedges itself deep. Being this close to Madison lulls me back to a euphoria—when life was simple and status didn’t matter.
I’ve missed Heather, but I won’t lose Madison.
“Puff,” I sigh. The nickname is now foreign, much like the actual name of the woman I’ve loved, a name I only learned yesterday.
Madison’s love of puff pastries threatened shortages in every bakery within walking distance of my penthouse. Her sweet tooth is next level. The name “Puff” stuck after teasing her about the eclair she stuffed into her school bag and the mille-feuille we’d eat for dessert on the weekends.
I knock again. “Come to the door. We need to talk.”
Silence drowns the sound of my heartbeat. A thousand and one scenarios raced through my mind on the way to her room. What I would do. What she would say. It took a pep talk just to make it down the hall and work up the courage to knock.
Business hardened my exterior over the years, gave me the necessary calluses to lead with logic, not emotion. I don’t get nervous, but I haven’t got a fucking clue how to start a conversation that’s fifteen years late.
“Puff. I’m not leaving until you open up.” Call it possessiveness or stupidity. I can’t will myself to leave her doorstep.
Sweat dots my hand as I form another fist to knock again. I’ve closed multimillion dollar deals with less hassle.
The door swings open to a face that looks ready to rip it off its hinges. Below my eye level is a woman who’s contemplating how to get away with murder. For a long moment, she stares up at me with narrowed brows and a dangerous scowl.
My pulse charges at the ache to touch her. Flames ignite from the edges of her glare. The pull to close the short distance between us demands action.
I open my mouth to speak, but it’s quickly closed by a slap I didn’t see coming, one that connects with my jaw.
Damn.Does she box?
“I deserve that.” She almost lifted me out of my shoes. “Ma—” The door slams in my face again.
I’m a prideful man but am not above begging.
The door swings open again, and I hop out of the way. Madison’s once-bare feet are now in black riding boots. A knee-length peacoat covers endless curves in a storm that passes me with her luggage in tow.
“Puff.”
“Don’t call me that! You lost the right to.”
I lengthen my stride to follow her down the empty corridor and into the lift before the doors close. Madison shifts to the back of the car to make space for a couple with two children. One is in a pushchair that faces the metal doors holding Madison’s distorted reflection. The other is a toddler in corduroy, wiggling in a man’s arms and staring straight at me.
Slobber coats the tiny fist attached to her mouth. Her chubby face scrunches in a fury I diffuse with a wink that earns me a toothless grin.
If only I had the same effect on the woman who refuses to acknowledge my presence.
I step out of the lift once it reaches the foyer and nod my goodbye to the family. Madison brushes past me with a high chin, her magnolia scent taunting my nostrils.
