Page 39 of Hard to Forgive

“Th-The rest of it?” I choked out.

“The user profiles. The input screens. The messenger application.” She ticked each item off on her fingers. “I sent all of this to you on Monday.” Silas and I exchanged confused looks, and then I vaguely remembered an unread email from Yvette on Monday. She looked at the two of us and shook her head. “You realize the client is expecting these mock ups no later than Friday, correct?”

Friday? It had taken us four days to come up with a landing page we didn’t hate. We were screwed.

“We must have missed the email,” Silas admitted. He took the laptop back when Yvette offered it to him. “We’ll make sure to have everything in place on Friday.”

She nodded, waving her hand in obvious dismissal.

We made our way back to the desk I’d claimed. “How the fuck are we getting through this by Friday?” I demanded in a harsh whisper the moment we sat down.

“Looks like we’re doing over time,” Silas answered with a shrug. “My place. Tonight.” I snorted at the demand in his voice. He shook his head. “Oh hell no, don’t snort. You’re coming over tonight. We’re going to get through some of this. And if we’re not close enough to having a finished product by end of day tomorrow, you’re coming over tomorrow too.”

“I have plans tomorrow.”

“Goliath can wait,” he shot back.

He was obviously confused. I didn’t miss Thursday nights with my friends. They were sacred. “I’m not canceling my plans,” I told him plainly with a confidence that I rarely experienced.

“Then I guess we better make good progress tonight then.” He pulled out his phone and hit a few buttons before looking back at me. “Be at my place at six. I’ll order dinner, and we can really buckle into this.”

I wanted to fight him on principle. Instead, I nodded.

Because whether I liked it or not, it was going to be the fastest way to ensure we met our deadline.

“Do you remember where I live?”

I glared at him. Why did he have to remind me that I’d been to his apartment? Couldn’t we have just played pretend? I sighed and nodded before turning my attention back to the computer.

At least we wouldn’t be starting from scratch.

It turned out that I only half-remembered where Silas lived. I remembered the walk from the Rusty Nail. I remembered which building was his. Once I got inside, I realized I didn’t know one very important fact about where he lived: his apartment number.

And of course, I hadn’t thought to get his phone number. I wished one of my friends would’ve known his address. I could have texted them and avoided standing in the lobby of his building like an idiot. The doorman kept staring at me, judging me for not belonging.

I didn’t want to go over and ask him which apartment was Silas’s but at this point, I wasn’t sure that I had much of a choice. I’d already stood there long enough to make it clear that I didn’t belong in the overpriced building. If it wasn’t common knowledge that Silas’s family had money, I might have questioned how he could afford to live there.

I took a deep breath and braved the doorman. Instead of giving an apartment number, he called up to Silas’s apartment. They exchanged a few words before the doorman hung up. “Mr. Morgan lives in unit 707,” he finally answered.

I thanked him and made my way to the elevator, muttering the apartment number on my breath the entire way. I continued repeating it until I reached the seven floor. I remembered his apartment being to the right of the elevator and found it a few doors down. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and then knocked.

Silas opened the door and let me inside.

I tried to ignore the memories that rushed over me when I entered the apartment. Memories of before I realized who he was, that first night, when he’d been nothing more than an attractive man at a bar who had given me an amazing orgasm. I remembered ricocheting around the entry of his apartment, pushing and pulling and kissing.

My cock twitched at the memory.

Well, this was going to be hell. Clearly, walls near doors were an aphrodisiac. I couldn’t have that. I walked past him and out of the foyer. His living room looked the same as it had the last time I’d been there, at least in the little bits that I remembered. Unlike the last time, we stopped in the living room for more than just to step out of pants.

I tried to pretend that I didn’t know that the door on the other end of the living room led to his bedroom. If I let myself dwell on those memories, it would be a disaster.

Instead, I focused on the area he’d clearly set up to work. His laptop was open beside two Pie in the Sky pizza boxes. The smell filled the room, making my mouth water. There were several water bottles sitting in an ice bucket that reminded me of the one you’d find at a hotel, except fancier and metal. Who actually had those in their apartments? It seemed pretentious.

He motioned for me to sit on the couch.

I sat and started pulling out my stuff when I noticed one other thing on the table, sitting where I was about to put my laptop. A simple, dark brown leather bound sketchbook. My fingers itched to touch it.

“That’s for you,” he informed me, motioning to the book. “You said you plan better on paper, and I didn’t want to risk you forgetting yours.”

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