Page 20 of High-Rise Heat

His gaze flutters with anger and recognition, not liking the truth.

“Yeah, exactly,” I say, grabbing his hands from my shirt and tossing them aside. “So, here’s the deal. I’m going to go back into that ballroom bar and get drunk off my ass, and then I’m going to go back to our suite, lock myself in my room, put on my headphones, and pass the fuck out. You can forget I’m even there. Then, I’ll get on a plane in the morning and be out of your hair.” He lifts his chin, but I’m not done. “Only—” I continue. “That’s not the last you’re going to see of me. Because in one month, if you don’t call me up and tell me that you and Ilsa are fucking like bunnies, then I’m going to look her up myself and get the job done.” I stab a finger into his chest and he stiffens. “And I mean it. I’m going to swoop in and make that girl scream like she’s never screamed before. Because Dom, she isn’t yours until you make her yours.”

Dom steps back like I’ve punched him. Sure, what I said is brutal, but it’s the truth. And cliché or not, the truth fucking hurts.

Ilsa doesn’t belong to anyone.

“You can hate me all you want, Dom,” I say, stepping back and adjusting my tux. “You can stand there and sulk and fume all night. But what you should actually be paying attention to is Ilsa.” I point back to the ballroom door she ran out of. “Ilsa doesn’t have tosayshe’s in love with you. All she had to do was run out of that ballroom crying and walk away from a sure thing.” I point to myself. “I’m the sure thing. So, the only person who’s allowed to sulk in his whiskey tonight isme. You, on the other hand? I don’t know what to do with you if you don’t pull your head out of your fucking ass and look at what’s in front of you.”

Dom is a fist of bunched up nerves, his face stricken. He stares at me like I threw champagne in his face.

“Seriously?” I say, wanting to slap him. “How many times do I have to say it? Ilsa is in love with you.”

Dom bunches up his fists again, like he might punch me for telling him the one thing he wants to be true, which just shows exactly how stubborn he is.

“Why are you still standing here?” I ask, baffled. “Everyone in that ballroom already saw you punch me for dancing with the co-worker you’re in love with. No one expects you to walk back in there. Your deal is signed.”

“That shows how little you know about business,” Dom clips out.

“Or it shows how little you know about women,” I throw back. “This is exactly the reason Ilsa believes you’ll always put business before her. You get that, right? Because, you always do. Like right now. And hey, maybe that’s your first and only love anyway, and I just took a punch from you for no fucking good reason at all. Ilsa deserves better.”

I turn and walk away, my jaw aching. I don’t know if he heard any of that or not. Maybe it doesn’t matter. People don’t change, right? People always stay stuck in a rut with their head up their ass and never give a shit that they’re miserable, because it’s easier and more comfortable for everything to just stay the same. Right? Which is exactly why I quit my job, because if you don’t grab life by the balls, then what have you got?

Safety? Comfort? Stasis?

Fuck that.

8

Ilsa

Ilie on my bed and stare out the floor-to-ceiling window at the skyline, exhausted. Curled up with the pillows, my face is tender from crying and my hair wind-blown and wild. I’m still wearing the dress from the banquet, which I should take off, but somehow I know that when I do this will all really be over.

I’ve thought about changing my flight, packing my things, and flying back to the states tonight. Alone. I could avoid Dom altogether and go straight to the office and ask for the promotion. This deal went beautifully. All I have to do is tell them I’m ready and I want to start as soon as possible. Show initiative. Explain that I’m eager for new responsibility, a change of pace, a fresh start.

That’s all I wanted with Isaac in the first place, wasn’t it? To start over? To be someone else? It’s an alluring proposition until you realize what you want is the man who quietly stole your heart … but somehow doesn’t want it.

I sigh and get up, walking to the window. At least I know how Dom really feels and I can get over it and move on.

Of course, that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

A soft knock comes at my door and I look at the clock. It’s almost midnight and I haven’t heard either Dom or Isaac come back from the banquet. I toss my wrecked hair out of my face and drag a finger under my swollen eyes. I probably look like a terror, but at this point, I’m sure it doesn’t matter.

I open the door tentatively and my skin prickles when I see Dom on the other side. I don’t regret saying the things I said. I don’t regret telling him any of it, but … my stomach turns at the sheer fact that now I have to face him.

Dom looks as distraught as I feel. His face is grim and his green eyes are hidden in the dark. I open the door wider to let the room light illuminate him and see that his hair is a wreck. His tuxedo coat and bowtie have been discarded and the top of his collar is askew. I’m surprised to see that even a few of the top buttons are missing.

“I have four questions,” Dom says quietly, his voice almost a whisper, and he looks to the ground as if he’s not sure if these are questions he should ask. After all, he didn’t like the answers to the last ones.

“Okay,” I say softly, catching the storm in his eyes, but it’s a new storm that’s windblown and uncertain. It’s not the stone-cold fury from before.

“First, I need to apologize,” he asserts, leaning his hand against the door jamb. “I’ve been caught up in my own …” He frowns, his thumb tapping against the door with a surprising nervousness. “Caught up in my own psychosis,” he says finally. “I suppose we all live in our heads sometimes. And me … maybe I do a little too much.”

He runs his other hand through his hair, strangling the wisps between his fingers, causing them to stand on end. Those elegant fingers clutch the back of his head intensely, and I catch the wobble in his breath. It makes me want to reach out and cup his face to comfort him. But, I can’t. I’m too wrecked and confused about what he wants and why he’s standing here.

“I did hear everything you said back there,” he continues and I swallow hard, unsure if that’s a good thing. We all have our own distorted filters. We tend to see the world the way we personally want to, rather than as it is. “I don’t know why I was so resistant,” he continues. “But I heard you. I was just … I was caught up in proving that you and Isaac …” His words catch and a sheen of emotion softens his eyes.

I force myself not to react. I know those emerald eyes are the death of me, and my instinct is to reach out and brush the hair from his face. But that’s not how this works, not after what happened in the ballroom. I laid myself bare and he didn’t say anything. In fact, he let me walk away. Yes, it’s possible I shouldn’t have said those things to my boss. But right now, this isn’t my boss I’m talking to.

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