Page 22 of Devilish Bully
“Okay, son.” He shrugs. “I believe you.”
“I’m not attracted to her in the slightest and there’s nothing there.”
“I said I believe you.”
“Then can you stop giving me that smile that implies you think I’m lying?”
“You are lying.” He laughs. “But IPO-mess aside, I’m glad I got to see the delusions for myself. I owe Brian a thousand dollars on our bet.”
“Come again?”
He steps onto the elevator, still flashing that annoying smile. “I’ll see you again soon, son. Tell Brian I stopped by and he was right.”
“Brian might get fired tonight.”
“You would never.” He laughs as the doors slide shut on his face.
I’m tempted to follow him, to keep pleading my case, but I don’t have time.
Pulling out my phone, I fire off a few text messages.
Penelope, my father is a no-go on any media/interviews for the IPO. Delete his number and tell the rest of the board.
Penelope
Awww :-( Okay.
Brian, you’re two strikes away from getting fired. You can thank my father for that.
Brian
I appreciate your sense of humor, sir. I needed it today.
I roll my eyes and return to the office.
Kendall has pulled her desk closer to mine, close enough that I can smell her coffee and her perfume mixed together.
She looks up, catches me watching, and my checklist collapses.
We work in silence, stealing glances we pretend not to notice, the hours slipping past until the sun sinks behind the skyline and I’m no closer to forgetting the taste of her.
By the endof the week, Kendall and I are working on the final parts of the marketing campaign together—making sure the faulty timelines and emotional appeals line up.
Even though her specialty is numbers, she’s very talented when it comes to crafting sentences with emotional punch, too.
And she’s even more talented at pretending like there’s no tension between us.
“Can we call it a night?” She looks at her watch. “It’s almost nine and I need to get home.”
“Sure,” I say. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Kendall.”
“Lucian.” She smiles and begins putting away her things. She looks at me as if she’s about to ask something—and whatever it is, it’s a yes, but her phone suddenly buzzes.
“Sorry.” She pulls it out and glances at the screen. “I’ll be back. I have to take this.”
She rushes away, her heels clicking on my marble floor and leading the way into my side room.
I shouldn’t follow, but there’s one thing about her that’s still nagging at the back of my mind.
