Page 6 of Best Friend's Dirty Ex

Who do I know whose name is Vin?

But as quickly as I find myself falling down the rabbit hole of who this person might be, I find my mind drifting back to someone else who's been in my thoughts a lot more than they're welcome to be - Troy.

I haven't heard from him since the wedding reception, and I'm frankly thankful for that. After all the trouble he gave me, I can't imagine he’d just walk away, but that seems like exactly what he did.

I still can't help but wonder why he'd zeroed in on me like he did, how he’d managed to evoke such a response in me, and how he’d unlocked some part of me I didn’t know existed.

A part of me that apparently likes having my hair pulled and being talked to like I'm a child. Sounds gross when I think about it, but in the moment he could have done whatever he wanted to me and I don't know that I would have said no or tried to stop him.

I wanted him...

... and that thought is very disturbing.

Chapter Four

Troy

The second I open the door to Everly, I see her expression contort as a range of emotions flash across her features. There's anger, frustration, rage, confusion, upset, but she finally settles in on an amused annoyance that’s almost adorable.

“Mr. Vin, I'm assuming?” She arches an eyebrow as she stares up the front of my building that’s both my office and my penthouse on the top floor.

“Vin is my middle name.” I have found that - when I don't want someone to know who I am - using my middle name can often throw people off the scent. And I know for sure that she would not have come here if she knew that I was the man on the other end of the line calling her for her services.

She nods her head. “Well, you tricked me Troy. Do you actually have work for me to do, or is this just a nifty way of trying to get under my skin?”

“I don't want to get under your skin, little one.” At my words, she shivers and gives her head a quick shake, making her long brown ponytail shift back and forth. The very same ponytail I would like to wrap my hand around and pull again. Given the moan she gave me last time I pulled her hair, I know she’d melt into my arms if I did, but I need to pace myself and not scare her away. I'm not a patient man, but I'll wait as long as I need to for her to be ready for me.

Before she can open her mouth to tell me not to call her that anymore, I gesture for her to come inside. I brought her to my private entrance - no one else can enter the building here except me.

She walks past me and her scent, something fruity and delicate, tickles my nose. I close the door behind her and thank my lucky stars she came in before turning in her direction. She stops, angling her body toward me, as if worried I'm going to stare at her ass while she walks. By changing her stance, she takes that option from me and I can’t hold back a slight smile.

She catches my expression, and her cheeks go pink. I have no doubt that we're both very aware of what the other is doing and why. I don't mind. I want her to know that I'm looking at her. I want her to feel overheated and turned on every time she considers what I'm thinking. I want her to know I’m dreaming of being inside her every second we’re around one another, because I am. To be honest, I'm thinking those thoughts when she's not around too, but that’s not important.

“You're lucky I don't just turn and leave right now.” The slight smile at the corners of her lips eases the sting of her words, and I know exactly what she's talking about. She's unhappy that I tricked her to get her here.

“I know, and I'm grateful that you're here. I need a redesign, and I have a feeling you’re the best person for the job.” At my words her shoulders relax slightly and lower a few inches as her expression softens. I can see that a gentle tone and a complimentary attitude is a good way to win her over, and I file that thought away for later.

She nods her head. “I'm ready to get started when you are.”

I fall into step beside her, guiding her toward the elevator, but she hesitates before the shining chrome doors. I feel her hesitation and she glances up at me. “Can I take the stairs?”

No one has ever asked me this question before and I turn to face her, a surge of protectiveness welling up in me. Is she afraid of elevators?

“It would be quite a long climb.” I say the words gently, well aware my penthouse is on the thirtieth floor.

Her expression drops a bit.

“We can take the stairs if you'd like, but we’d be taking them to the top.” There's no way I'll make her climb all those flights of steps by herself - if she takes the stairs, so will I.

She seems to reconsider, then shakes her head. “It'll be fine. We can take the elevator.” I have a feeling I'm not the person she's trying to convince, but I nod my head and respect her decision as the doors slide open. I lead the way in and she follows, every muscle in her body tense as she grips a handrail for dear life. I see her knuckles go white and wonder if small talk or work discussions will help take her mind off her discomfort.

I push the button and the doors slide closed as she flinches.

“It's not an unreasonably large office space and cost is of no concern.” I know we already covered this in our conversation on the phone yesterday, but I want to try to put her at ease by refreshing what she's here to do and letting her know that everything will be just fine.

She seems to recognize what I'm doing and offers a slight smile. Even though she's standing across the elevator from me, it doesn't feel like we're in opposition, rather, this moment feels more intimate than I ever imagined.

Without thinking about my actions, I move closer to her, closing the gap between us as she watches me approach. Despite the stress I see in her expression, I also see a flash of excitement and know my proximity has an effect on her.

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