Chapter 12
Twelve
Jace
I don’t realize I’m holding my breath, hoping to spot a certain brunette until I get off the elevator and slow by the open door to her condo.
But the only people inside are the construction crew.
Who’ve followed the abatement team.
Maybe I shouldn’t have pulled strings and made sure the repair work on Marie’s place started immediately.
Maybe I should have tied her to my bed and never let her up.
Maybe I should?—
A saw turns on, jarring me out of my thoughts, and I start walking again, moving down the hall and jabbing at the keypad on my door.
The lock whirs, and I step inside, dropping my shit on the kitchen counter, trying to pretend my place hasn’t felt empty from the moment I woke up and Marie was gone a week ago.
Trying to pretend I haven’t been looking behind every corner, every door, into every elevator car, even the chairs in the lobby, hoping to see her, to have a chance to talk to her, a chance to talk her back up into my apartment.
But I haven’t so much as glimpsed a curl on her head.
Though, I know she’s been by the building, walked through her condo with the construction team, okayed tearing out the floor and selected the replacement vanity and tile for the bathroom.
How do I know this?
Because I own the fucking building.
Which is why I know that the quickest way to get Marie’s place fixed up is to pay through the nose to use my construction team so work can begin immediately.
And also maybe because using my construction team means that Mark, the general contractor, would be guaranteed to do me a solid and shoot me a text telling me that a certain spitfire was in her condo, checking on the progress to date.
I’m not embarrassed to say that I cut my meeting short and hauled ass from my office here.
Only to find an empty fucking condo.
No. Two empty fucking condos.
I scowl and go to the fridge, yank open the door then pull out a beer.
But even as I suck it down, as I strip off my suit and change into sweats and a tee, I’m restless.
I have work, an ever-overflowing inbox to sift through, phone calls to review, tomorrow’s meetings to prep for.
But I can’t bring myself to open my laptop.
To unlock my phone.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, tossing it on the counter, leaving my laptop closed while I drain my beer. Then I turn back to the fridge, grab a bottle of water, and head back out into the hall. The guys are still working in Marie’s place—something they’ll be doing until the nightly noise ordinances kick in (something I know because I’m footing the bill for the fucking overtime). I still glance inside, still hope to catch a glimpse of her, and when I don’t, I stifle a curse, move to the elevator, and jab at the button.
Once inside, I hit the floor for the gym.
Can’t work, can’t sleep? May as well work off that fucking beer…and maybe exhaust myself so that I don’t dream of Marie’s soft body and breathless moans and the tight clasp of her slick pussy. So I don’t wake up with an erection that could jackhammer fucking concrete.
I sigh as the doors open, turn for the door to the gym, snagging a towel from the rack and?—
Freezing.
What the fuck?
All week, all fucking week I’ve been looking for her…
And here she is, casually walking on the treadmill, her fabulous ass in tight leggings, her pert tits straining at a bra top I want to yank down so I can feast on her naked flesh.
The erection I’ve been fighting all day springs back to rigid attention.
Beautiful.
Intoxicating.
And staring at her phone.
Mischief flickers to life in my belly as I toss the towel over my shoulder and stroll toward the bank of treadmills, not moving quietly, and especially not doing it once I realize she’s so engrossed in whatever she’s reading that I could ring a fucking gong and she wouldn’t look up.
I step onto the machine adjacent to hers, turn it on, and match my speed to hers.
And wait for her to notice I’m here.
And wait.
So, not only would she not notice a gong going off, but she might miss the next big earthquake. Maybe even a nuclear bomb.
Mischief grows into curiosity, and I lean over slightly, matching her strides, trying to see what’s on the screen of her e-reader.
But the letters are too small, especially with the screen in dark mode and me bouncing along beside her.
I scowl, lean a little closer.
And almost eat shit for my trouble.
But just before I topple off the treadmill like I’m a klutzy gym-goer in a bad TikTok video (or maybe a really good one) I spot a word on the screen.
No.
I spot the word cock on the screen.
And I realize she’s not supremely focused on a work email or a reviewing a contract.
She’s reading a smutty—I lean closer, somehow managing not to catapult myself off the end of my treadmill—and I mean smutty book.
A grin spreads on my face.
“ This is what you’re reading?”
She jumps, eyes coming to mine, mouth dropping open…
And then she stumbles.