Page 17 of Sever
She holds her hands up, backing slowly out of the room. “Me? Never.”
The ride down the elevator is quiet. I make sure there’s a respectable distance between us, even when two people from the floor below join us, effectively halving the space. It’s a fruitless exercise, though, because the moment we step out, he places his hand on the small of my back and guides me to his car.
His touch feels foreign. Foreign and wrong. It doesn't heat my skin or give me chills the way Ryder's does. It gives me goose bumps, yes, but in completely the wrong way.
We get to the car and the relief I feel when his hand leaves me to open the door is so welcome that I briefly consider calling it off.
But . . . Ryder.
His car is a sleek black car. It suits him. Very put together and polished, quite possibly the same reasons I’ve never really been interested in him. Ryder is so rough around the edges; messy, passionate, unapologetic.
The two of them couldn't be more different.
We pull out of my parking, Connor’s foot pressing heavy on the accelerator and I’m pinned back against the seat. I glance at him but he just smiles.
Boys and their toys.
“This car is amazing,” I say, laughing, some of the tension evaporating.
He flips on the radio and we ride silently to the restaurant. The man on the radio sings about what it would take to heal his broken heart and a part of me sympathizes with him.
I don’t know if it's ever actually possible to heal a heart once it’s really broken. How can you fix all the hurt and betrayal?
I jolt out of my daydream when my car door opens and a valet stands there. I offer him a smile as I get out of the car and Connor takes my hand to lead me inside.
With every passing minute, I realize that this is a mistake. I shouldn’t be here. It isn’t fair to him, and it isn’t fair to me. I know what he wants from me, he’s made it clear for months now.
He’s just a distraction.
The hostess shows us to our table. Walking through the large open room, I feel like everyone’s eyes are on me, almost like they know that I’m a fraud. We sit down at a circular white table and I take a menu, using it as a welcome distraction. The place is expensive and my eyes search for the most inexpensive dish.
Connor has barely said anything, which seems a little odd. At work he’s forever finding some reason or other to come over to my desk, whether he wants to tell me about a live band he saw over the weekend, or ask if I’ve seen the latest paper on forensic accounting strategies. This silence just makes a bad situation worse. I fuss with my hair, desperate for something to do with my fidgety hands.
By the time the waiter comes by to take our drink orders, I know more about the couple next to us than necessary, choosing to listen in to their conversation rather than focus on the lack of it at this table. We both know what we want so we order our food and then he leaves us alone.
“So how has it been working on the new account?” Connor takes a sip of his water, his eyes on the tablecloth.
Terrible,I say in my head,mainlybecause the client broke my heart and I still love him. Now I’m here with you and I’ll probably go to hell for being a manipulative bitch.
I offer a weak smile. “It’s been good. I’m still kind of getting a feel for the different businesses.”
“I have to say I’m surprised you took it. I wouldn't have thought working with the bikers would have been something you were comfortable with. You’re always so quiet and reserved at work.”
I have to hold in my laugh. Quiet and reserved are the last words anyone would use to describe me. It makes me think that if I actually acted like myself around Connor, he might go running for the hills. “They aren’t that bad.”
“I've only seen the one who came into the office, but he looked like a real piece of trash. Just be careful over there.” His hand smooths his shirt as he smiles at me.
My blood begins to boil. Ryder might be a huge asshole, but he isn’t trash. When no one even noticed me, he cared. He taught me to be proud of myself, and not let anyone ever make me feel like I didn’t deserve what I wanted. He showed me what it felt like to be loved.
But then he left.
“Excuse me.”
I stand up, heading for the bathroom, blinking away the tears that threaten to spill as memories fly through my mind.
In the safety of the bathroom stall I sit, taking deep breaths in through my nose. My phone buzzes in my purse and I take it out. I freeze when I see it’s an unknown number because, really, it could only be one person.
Ryder.
