Page 39 of Silver Fox's Christmas Scandal
He got cold and focused on answering emails on his phone while I stared out the window in sheer panic wondering what he was thinking.
We hadn't discussed anything personal since returning to Chicago, either. Our interactions had been strictly professional, polite exchanges about client follow-ups and meeting schedules.
He hadn't even called me to ask me to come to his penthouse for sex, which I thought was odd, but his sudden shift betrayed how he felt. He was upset, but I didn’t know him well enough to know how he was reacting when I wasn't around.
I'd been expecting him to bring it up all week, dreading the conversation where he'd realize I was planning a future that didn't revolve around our arrangement. But the call never came and he never brought it up at work.
It wasn't up for discussion, anyway. Lucian and I had a no-strings arrangement. He'd made that clear when he threw up that wall on the plane and told me I was allowed to research my options. What would I have said if he was upset, anyway?
It wasn't like I was going to have a baby with him and fall in love and have a family. He had freedom now, like being a bachelor over again, and at his age, he most certainly wouldn't want a baby messing that up.
I fiddled with the computer, drying it off and shaking the last droplets of moisture out of it before pouring a full bag of rice over the keyboard to leave it sit, and my phone buzzed just as I was lifting Mochi off the counter.
Lucian's name appeared on the screen, and my pulse quickened despite my best efforts to remain indifferent.
I picked it up and answered, not sure what to expect. "Hello?"
"Are you free for dinner tonight?"
His tone was carefully neutral, giving nothing away. I glanced around my disaster of an apartment—coffee-stained papers, Mochi's scattered toys, laundry I'd been meaning to fold for three days.
I felt cagey, like I needed air, and though I wanted to avoid the topic of my personal desire to have a baby on my own, I did miss him.
"I could be. Where did you have in mind?"
"My place. I thought I'd cook."
The last time he'd attempted to cook, we'd ended up ordering pizza after I saw the state of his very empty fridge. But something in his tone suggested this wasn't about the food.
My entire body felt tense now, because I knew in order to move past whatever this awkwardness was, I'd have to open up and talk to him about things.
He was likely to disagree with my desires or end whatever this thing was between us, but my plan was still my plan.
Maybe he was even afraid that I'd try to sabotage a condom or something and trap him. I wasn't sure what he was thinking, but I had to push past it, and the only way out was through. "That sounds nice. What time?"
"Seven? I'll send a car."
"I can take the train?—"
"Seven, Tessa."
The line went dead, leaving me staring at my phone. Whatever this dinner was about, it wasn't going to be casual.
I spent longer than necessary getting ready, changing clothes twice before settling on a simple black dress and heeled boots.
Nothing too formal, nothing that suggested I was reading more into this invitation than a continuation of our physical arrangement.
Because that's all this was. All it could ever be.
But I did pick out matching bra and panties, sexy ones just in case it got a little heated, and I freshened up down there too—in case it got a lot heated.
I'd been thinking about the reality of our physical connection constantly since Boston, the way Lucian had looked at me during my presentation, the pride in his eyes when clients praised my work.
For a moment in that conference room, I'd let myself imagine what it would feel like if this were real. If I were more than his assistant who warmed his bed.
But men in Lucian's position didn't settle down with women my age. They had affairs, discrete arrangements, temporary distractions from their important lives.
And when they were ready for something permanent, they chose women from their own social circles. Women with connections and pedigrees and trust funds.
