Page 129 of Hale Yes
The guykeeps up an easy chatter with my father and the other diners as I quietly eat my roast chicken and veggies just to give myself something to do. The food is good, and I realize how hungry I suddenly am. I haven’t been eating well the past couple of weeks, and my stomach is pleased I’m no longer neglecting it. My skin, however, feels like someone washed it on hot and ran it through a dryer, shrinking it to the point of discomfort.
“Can we talk?” he whispers in my ear as I pick at my slice of chocolate cake. It feels dry on my tongue but it’s probably more to do with my body’s response tothe guythan any fault of the baker.
I risk a glance at him, and that’s a fucking mistake. His eyes are a rich cobalt, only made more brilliant by the matching shirt he wears beneath his charcoal-gray suit. His tie is the same dark-gray, and I wonder what it would feel like wrapped around my wrists while he tied me to the bed and worked that beautiful, filthy mouth of his down my body.
Stop. It.
His smirk tells me he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Or we could act on whatever dirty thoughts are going on in that head of yours,” he murmurs so only I can hear. “My tie has a nice texture that would leave the prettiest patterns on the soft skin of your wrists.”
That pops my hazy bubble, and I grit my teeth. “Not going to happen.”
His smile is easy and devastating. “Okay. We can just talk then. I have a lot of things to say to you.”
“I’m sure you do,” I shoot back. “The answer is no.”
The guy’sjaw tightens stubbornly. “I’m coming to the wedding tomorrow. I’d like to be able to get everything out in the open so we can relax and not have so much tension between us.”
“You’re not coming,” I state firmly.
“I am coming,” he retorts with just as much vehemence. “Do you really want to sit all night with these people with no buffer?”
He has a point. Tonight hasn’t been horrible.
“Fine,” I acquiesce through gritted teeth. “You can be my fake date for the wedding.”
“And you’ll listen to me tonight? I have a room in the hotel, or I could come to yours, if you’d feel more comfortable.”
I open my mouth, close it, and open it again as my brain has an all-out battle with my heart. We do need to air our differences, and maybe I would feel better if I got to get some things off my chest too.
We need privacy, but there’s no way he’s coming to my room. I’ll go to his so I can leave whenever I want. That puts me in control. Right?
Fuck if I know, but I hear myself say, “I’ll come to yours.”
I hope to god I can handle what’s about to go down because I feel so vulnerable when he looks at me with those pleading blue eyes.
“Can I get you a drink?”
Of coursethe guyhas the penthouse suite, complete with a full bar in the living room. My eyes search the selection and fall on a bottle of my favorite cabernet sauvignon on the top shelf.
“A glass of the cab,” I say before reiterating, “Only one glass to take the edge off.”
He smirks and expertly uncorks the bottle before pouring us both a healthy glass of the deep red wine. I’d like to down it like a shot of tequila, but I force myself to sip asthe guymakes himself at home beside me on the burgundy couch. He removed his jacket when we got up here and rolled up the sleeves of his blue dress shirt, showing off his tattoo. He’s also wearing gray suspenders, damn him.
“First of all,” he says, brushing the backs of his knuckles down my bare arm.
“First of all, no touching,” I say pointedly. “You said you wanted to talk.”
Looking chagrined, he pulls his hand back and rubs it up and down his own thigh. His thick, muscled thigh that I’m definitely not thinking about right now.
“Okay, first of all, I want to start by apologizing.” He wets his lips, and swallows. “I was one-hundred percent wrong, Nicolette. You have more integrity in your pinky finger than most people have in their entire bodies. I know you would never steal or do anything to hurt our company. My issues are my own, and I was projecting them onto you, and that was absolutely a mistake.”
I sense he’s not done, so I remain quiet as he takes a long sip of his wine. “I haven’t trusted anyone outside my family in a long while, but when I fell for you, I gave you my heart and my trust. I let that trust waver, and for that, I’m truly sorry.”
Okay, as far as apologies go, that was a good one. He owned his mistakes, apologized for them, and didn’t blame anyone else for his fuck up. But I’m still so hurt.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “I accept your apology.”
The tight set of his shoulders releases a bit of tension, and he gives me a fleeting smile. “Thank you. I know I don’t deserve it, but thank you.”
