Page 12 of Best Friend's Dirty Ex

“Okay, great.” Even though her words are positive, her tone has a slightly negative note, and I wonder if she was hoping that I would order her around and push for us to meet sooner. One thing she needs to learn about me is that once a boundary is put in place, I'm not going to push it unless I know it's a lie. Her telling me she doesn't want me is not true. I'll push that boundary until I can prove it to her. But if she's not willing to meet until a certain time, date, or at a certain place, I'm not going to push that boundary.

The fun part of a game of cat and mouse like this is being the cat, anticipating the next move, surprising the mouse, and pouncing when she knows it’s coming but is powerless to stop me - because she doesn't wish to stop me.

“I will see you then. In the meantime, if something comes up, don't hesitate to text, call, or drop by.” Again, I reiterate that she is welcome to come here anytime because I want her to know that that door is truly open and that offer stands regardless of any boundary she puts in place. I won't force her, but I absolutely give her the option of choosing to come.

“Thank you. I'm looking forward to talking further.” With that, we say our goodbyes and hang up the phone. I wait for the line to be completely dead in my ear before hitting the red button.

I sit back in my seat and steeple my fingertips together. There's something so satisfying about the way a plan comes together, especially when that plan involves seducing a woman that I've had my sights on for a while.

I glance around the ugly office, glad that I will be rid of the ugly decor soon enough. I'm looking forward to a place that I can be proud of, enjoy spending my time in and to be able to work in without distraction. While hiring her might have been a ruse of sorts, I actually need her services. It's an interesting position, to need her as much as want her. Sure, I could hire a different interior designer, but I trust her judgment. As it is, she doesn't trust me, so clearly she's a good judge of character at least.

Before I can set my phone down, it rings again. At first I think that Everly must have forgotten to discuss something with me, but when I glance at the screen, I see that Arson is the one calling me. All the good feelings leave my body and suddenly, I feel cold.

For a moment I consider not taking the call. Of course, doing that might be a stupid move given the bet we have going, the other men after Everly, and his ego that will no doubt make him think that if I don’t answer, I’m avoiding him, and if I’m avoiding him, that’ll likely look like defeat.

Taking a deep breath and staring at my ugly, heavy wooden office door, I answer the call.

“Have you won our little bet yet?” There's an amused tone in his voice that I don't like, and I can't help but wonder if somebody else beat me to the punch. I can't imagine someone would have; Everly has been very even keeled and nothing about her has changed, which tells me there's not another man in her life. Yet. Still for some reason, applying logic to this moment doesn’t stop the sharp, very real stab of fear that perforates my heart.

“I have not. But trust me, when I do, you'll be the first person I call.” I don't care about the money; this bet, this situation, my need to have her, isn’t even about that anymore. It's all about possessing her. Hell, it's about more than possessing her. It's about relieving this ache I feel deep in my balls every time I think about her. I want her more than I've wanted a woman in a long time, and I don't give a damn what Arson - or anyone else, for that matter - has to say or think about it.

“I probably shouldn't be telling you this because it's not in the spirit of a fair game, but you should probably hurry. Konan is hot on her tail and has a full-fledged plan to win her over.” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice, and I know that this isn't about helping me get a head start or leg up on what Konan's going to do. This phone call and information is about stirring the pot, making more drama, causing problems, and pitting me against another man.

As much as I want to say that his shitty tactic is failing, I can't. The second I hear that Konan has a plan, that he’s zeroing in on Everly, I find myself wanting to rearrange his features with all eight of the main knuckles in my fists.

“Good for him.” I keep my statement as cool and nonchalant as possible to assure Arson that I have no fear of what Konan might do. There's no way he's going to win her over, I’m sure about that.

“I see you're feeling rather cocky.” His amusement has only grown. “I'd be careful considering it a win before it's over. Any good businessman knows that.”

I recognize a cheap shot when I hear one, and I'm not about to rise to the bait. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?” The disdain in my voice is designed to make it very, very clear that he's wasting my time and I don't appreciate it.

“Not at all. I just wanted to warn you about what's coming.”

“If there's nothing else, then I hope you have a productive, lucrative day.” I have no doubt that my net worth is higher than his, that my company has a stronger foothold in the industry than his, and that I am above all superior to this man and I want him to know that I know that. Sure, maybe I’m being petty, but he can go fuck himself for these games he’s playing.

Chapter Seven

Everly

I'm not really sure why I told Troy that I wanted to meet him tomorrow.

Sure, it gives me a day off in between talking to him on the phone to really finalize my ideas and thoughts to make sure they all resonate within me. But I'm also excited to share my ideas with him and see what he thinks.

I step into a patch of sunshine on the sidewalk as an owner with a beautiful golden retriever walks by. The woman gives me a friendly smile and I smile back before talking to her. “Beautiful dog. What's his name?”

She gives a gentle tug of his leash and he stops walking, planting his fuzzy bottom on the ground and staring up at me with a smile while his tongue hangs out of one side of his mouth.

“Her name is Goldie. I know, it's not original.” From the way she says the words, I imagine she has to defend her choice very often to strangers.

“I think Goldie is a beautiful name for a golden retriever.” I glance down at the dog. “Hi, Goldie!” Her tail starts thumping on the sidewalk and her owner smiles even wider.

“She is friendly if you want to pet her. Do you have dogs?”

I reach out and scratch Goldie behind the ears, loving the soft sensation of her fur. She turns her head into my hand, as if showing me the right spot to scratch, and I oblige while answering her owner. “I don't, but I wish I did. My place doesn't allow pets.” Honestly, it's one of my only complaints about where I live. The strict no pet policy might protect the landlords from unexpected stains or damage in their apartment, but it absolutely doesn't protect the mental health of their residents living there. If I want some time with pets, I come to this park so I can pet strangers’ dogs instead, like some kind of creepy weirdo.

“Those places are the worst. I'm sorry.” She chuckles as Goldie’s back leg begins to kick.

“It was nice to meet you and Goldie.” I give the pretty dog one last pet and she stands up, looking up at her owner as if asking if it's time to go.

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