Page 26 of Eluding the Billionaire
“Drew’s book signing tour dates are being finalized,” I draw in a deep breath, then, as if I’ve just finished a marathon, I pant out, “which means he’ll be in the office next week … And I’ll have to see him again.”
“Whoa! You sound like you’re losing your shit.”
“Maybe because I … am … losing … my … shit. And the shit is about to get real.” I’ve known this was coming, just not so soon.
Jackie spoke to me a couple of months ago about scheduling the book tour for the end of January because these things need to be planned way in advance. The author then comes into the office for a final confirmation six weeks before. Next week will be seven weeks to the start of Drew’s book tour, but with Christmas in between, Jackie has decided to bring the meeting forward.
“Girl, please calm down. Why do you have to see him when he comes into the office?”
“Do I need to remind you that I’m the boss? It’s my job.” I rub my eyes with the stress of it all.
“Exactly, you’re the boss. You were planning to go to the States at the end of next week for the Christmas break. Surely, you could leave a little earlier. Maybe work out of the Manhattan office for the week or something?”
My friend is a genius. “Oh my God, you’re the best. It’s perfect. You’re right. I can leave early, then I won’t have to see him until January. If I’m lucky, maybe not even then.” With Jackie handling all the details, my involvement should be minimal. If I have to, I can call into the meeting next week from the States. At least I won’t have to see him face-to-face. My mind races with thoughts of bringing my travel plans forward.
I tune back into Sarah’s voice, and she says, “Do I need to remind you of our conversation from the weekend? You are supposed to be moving on. Remember, drinks with the neighbor.”
I take another sip of wine. “Well, I can’t ask him now. I’ll be flying to the States next weekend. Perhaps after New Year’s I can move on.”
Her light chuckle can be heard over the line. “Sure. Any excuse.”
She’s right. It’s another excuse so I can cling to the possibility that when I see Drew next, our timing might be right.
Sarah’s voice comes through my earbuds again. “Look, I get that things are going to be awkward with Drew after your tumble in the sheets down in Cornwall, but that was months ago. Why are you so worried about seeing him again?”
Sarah doesn’t really get being hung up on a guy. She’s never had that problem. Men are always hung up on her, while she remains happily carefree. Her heart never takes a beating. I’m the complete opposite. I tend to fall quickly. I’m honest enough with myself to know I was falling for Drew. Probably from that first night, but definitely after the time we spent together in Cornwall.
“Hey, are you still there?” Sarah asks when I sit silently, looking down at my phone.
“Yes, still here … Honest answer? I don’t trust myself around him. It’s like he casts a spell over me, and before I know it, I’m stripping off my clothes and jumping his bones. Even when I tell myself I’m not going to.”
“Is he that good?”
“Unfortunately, he is.”
Three days later, there’s a knock on my door, and when it opens, Laura, my personal assistant, steps into my office. I raise my head, and the worried expression on her face has me bracing for bad news or details of some new crisis. A print run to be redone, a deadline missed.
But the reality is even more shocking when she tells me, “Andrew Campbell is in reception, and he’s asking to see you.”
My mouth drops open, and literally nothing comes out in the form of words. Just a pathetic, weak excuse for a gasp. So many questions spin through my head.
Why is he here?
Why has he asked to see me?
I try to pull myself together by shuffling, then straightening the papers on my desk. I don’t want to lose it in front of Laura.
When every piece of paper is neatly stacked, I continue to stare down at my shaking hand and say quietly, “Please ask Mr. Campbell to wait for me in the conference room. Thank you, Laura.”
Laura leaves my office, and as the door clicks closed again, I release the breath I was holding. Damn that man. There’s no avoiding Drew anymore. I’ll have to see him. But not in my office. Not anywhere private. The conference room with its wall of glass is the complete opposite.
I take a few more deep breaths before standing and walking to the door. It’s only a short walk along the corridor to the room but each step feels like I’m dragging a heavy load. I stop briefly outside the open door to calm my breathing and slip what I hope is a neutral mask over my features. One step into the room is all it takes for his familiar cologne to reach me and pull me back in time. It beckons me closer, but I resist the temptation. He doesn’t turn, but he knows I’m here. His back straightens imperceptibly, and it’s hard to ignore the way his shirt stretches across his broad shoulders. My fingertips tingle at the memory of how his muscles felt under my hands.
When I draw level with his chair, I say, “Drew,” and it catches on a breath. Not firm and professional like I wanted, but fluttery and weak.
He stands—unaided, I notice—before he steps toward me. I hold up my hand. “Stop right there,” I demand, and this time, it’s almost a shout. I recognize the intent to kiss me in his eyes and no way am I letting him that close. We need boundaries. Hard, immovable boundaries.
I quickly step around to the other side of the large mahogany conference table. The solid bulk only providing a false sense of security, but I’ll take what I can get. Slowly, I pull out one of the leather chairs and sit down, linking my hands before resting them on the table in front of me.
