Page 24 of Bad Love

I shift back, my knees still straddling her hips as I glance down at the notebook. “You’re saying ‘living your dreams’ doesn’t include me on top of you in a hotelhallway?”

The breathy laugh and flushed cheeks have my abs flexing. “It’s not on my list,no.”

I let go of the notebook, and she scrambles out from underneath me. “Wait. You have alist?”

“Of course. Technically it’s a list of adventures, notdreams.”

“And what’s on thislist?”

Kendall swallows as she straightens in front of me. “The usual. Salsa class. Origami.Taxidermy.”

My eyes bug out of my head. “Taxidermy?!”

“Animals are beautiful. It’s a way of preserving them for education, like in museums,” she says,defensive.

God, this woman’s like no one I’ve evermet.

It's habit, an impulse that slips past my guard, that has me saying, "Give me yournumber."

"Forwork?"

Maybe the air is dry up here, because my throat has become a desert. “Because I wantit.”

Her eyes warm on mine, then flick past my shoulder to theelevator.

Reminding me, whether on purpose or not, that another woman's waiting for me at thebar.

I have zero interest in that drink. I have a great deal of interest inKendall.

I can’t explain why, but I want to talk to her. Ask why she likes those dumb notebooks. If the gold cross peeking out from under the neckline of her blouse has anything to do with why she sweats when she talks about vibrators or if there’s some otherreason.

With a long, unreadable look, she takes my phone and punches something intoit.

The satisfaction that roars through me is out of line. She's working for me. She would've given me her numberanyway.

But this way, it feels as if I wonit.

“Good luck with your event,” I tell her, riding a wave ofcockiness.

I turn away as I type a few words into a text window and hitSend.

Hearing nothing, I stop. Pivot. “Did you give me afake number?” I call down thehall.

Even at ten paces, I see her indignant brows rise as she shoves hair out of her face. “That’s my officeline.”

I blink. “An office line? Attached to what, a rotaryphone?”

“It forwards the voicemails after hours. So, you can’t text it, but if you leave me a message, I will get back toyou.”

I rub a hand over my face. “That’scold.”

Her eyes spark as the bell dings and the elevator doors open behind me. “I like to keep my work and personal lives separate. I’ll see you Monday,Hunter.”

“Yes, youwill.”

As I walk back onto the elevator, I glance back to see her watching me with an expression that looks a hell of a lot like the mix of desire and confusion I'm dealingwith.

I'm still thinking about it when I notice a single sheet of lined paper on the elevatorfloor.

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