Page 33 of Hate Mate

SAWYER

“Where is she?” I can't help but check the window again, hoping to find her headlights cutting through the darkness that's begun to fall. Once again, I’m disappointed. It seems that’s the nature of things anymore.

“There's still plenty of time before the meeting.”

The only thing keeping me from lashing out at my brother is the reminder of what this means to him. Brooks is as much a part of this business as I am, and I’m well aware of the slight downtick in events. Normally at this time of year, he’s hurrying around like a chicken without his head, trying to squeeze yet another prospective guest meeting into his already overbooked schedule.

I continue staring out the window behind my desk to conceal the sour expression I’m wearing. “Yes, I know. But I was hoping I could get a little time with her before that, to go over some things.”

“You seem to have a firm grip on the talking points Willow sent over.” Naturally, I sent them his way for a second opinion. Usually, I’d trust my instincts, but this is not a normal situation. Not even close.

I turn to him, where he stands in front of my desk in his usual dark suit. If there’s one thing Dad taught us, it was how to uphold an image. He exudes calm confidence—and he can, because this isn’t all riding on him. He’s not the one lying in bed at night, imagining his employees working at the new Macmillan resort once we close our doors for good.

The very idea makes my temples throb. Because I need to heap more self-loathing onto an already bitterly fraught situation.

“I’m sure you're right.” Because, in the end, what's the good of arguing? I only come off looking like a child. And he is right. I made it a point to study what Willow sent over in prep for the meeting, regardless of how it grates on my nerves that I have to smile like a good boy and keep my mouth shut except when I'm repeating what I've been told to say.

The grin my brother wears, reflected in the window, isn’t helping things. He has to know how this is twisting my balls. I appreciate him believing I’ll get through it, but his obvious glee at not being the guy in the hot seat makes me grind my molars.

“If you don't mind, I’m going to head out. Unless… you want me to stick around?”

It’s that added question that softens me and eases the tightness in my chest enough that I’m able to breathe. Brooks is always ready with a quip or a smartass remark, but that’s surface bullshit.

“Why would I need you?” I smirk at him over my shoulder for lack of courage. I want to thank him. I want to ask his advice. All I can do is watch him roll his eyes before offering a knowing smirk of his own.

“Don’t say I never offered.” With that, he whistles his way out of my office, his footsteps light.

“Where are you headed tonight?” I call out, wishing I could be so carefree.

“I thought I’d grab dinner at Quinn’s place and bully him into going out for drinks.” His best friend runs a popular seafood restaurant in town, and their nights out usually involve one of them acting as wingman while the other picks up his latest conquest.

“No dinner and drinks here?”

He laughs while rounding the door jamb. “I don’t shit where I eat, brother.” In other words, tonight will involve women. I suppose I should be grateful he’s not picking up a daughter of one of our members.

That leaves me alone, fighting to maintain my self-control.

This is nothing.I have to be charming. I know how to turn it on and off—it's a huge part of my job. Making sure our guests feel at home, welcome, valued. If Dad taught me anything, it was how to smile my way through even the most uncomfortable situations.

Has there ever been a more uncomfortable situation than the one I’m facing now? The idea of eating crow in front of these judgmental pains in the ass leaves me with a pain in my chest worse than any heartburn. If Willow were here, she’d call it the pain of a wounded ego.

But she’s not here, is she? Yet I can’t help but hear her voice in my head. There’s a good chance I need professional help.

No, the solution to the silencing voice I hear whether I want to or not is much simpler.

The fact I’ll admit to nobody but myself is this, I’m not anxious for her to get here only for the sake of the meeting. Sure, I need her for it—more than I like, much more—but I would wait for her with bated breath no matter why she was on her way.

And the solution can only be to finally take her, the way I’ve fantasized about doing all week. Taking her until she weeps with pleasure and sobs my name. Breaking down that wall she puts up around herself.

Only Willow could leave me with a semi stirring in my pants at a moment like this.

Focus.I don't need a surprise boner getting in the way of my concentration tonight. There's way too much riding on this.

Riding. Terrific. I have to squeeze my eyes closed and clench my fists and will away the mental image of Willow on top of me. I've never seen what's beneath those buttoned-up suits she wears, but I can imagine. I have done much more than my fair share of imagining. Staring, too, though this week we've worked via phone and text for the most part. I’ve had to rely on memories, though there are plenty of those. I did my fair share of staring when she was here.

Tonight will be my first time seeing her face-to-face since our nearly disastrous meeting in this office. My heart races and my palms are sweaty and if I didn't know better, I would think I'm waiting to pick up my date for the big dance.

No. I wasn't even this bad back then.

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