Chapter 20
Twenty
As a forum about the trending market report on rental increases comes to a close, Dorsen approaches me with a look of uncertainty. “Hey, so uh, I hope this isn’t weird or anything, but I was wondering if you knew if Lucy is seeing anyone?”
Irritation prickles down my spine, licking at my nerve endings, and I surprise myself when I answer him honestly. “To my knowledge, no, she’s not seeing anyone.”
“Damn lucky for me then, eh?” He waggles his eyebrows. “Do you mind if I take her to dinner tonight?”
“Didn’t realize you were into teenagers, Dorsen,” I grumble, lifting my gaze to catch a pretty blonde peering at me over his shoulder. She’s talking to a brunette, and they’re both looking at me like they’re deciding who will approach me.
“Aww, come on. You have eyes, Lawson. She’s a total knockout. If Clemmens hadn’t kept me wrapped up all night kissing the Los Angeles branch’s ass, I’d have taken her back to my room. ”
My eyes veer to his slowly, an unamused glare settling over my face. “Lucy isn’t that type of girl. So, if that’s what you’re looking for—a quick conference fuck—you can forget it.”
“That’s not the type of girl you fuck and leave in a hotel room on a weekend. That’s wifey right there, Law.” He chucks my shoulder like we’re pals. We aren’t good enough friends—merely work acquaintances—for him to use a nickname with me. And I find his definition of Lucy extremely bothersome.
Like I don’t know she’s wife material? Any man would be fucking lucky to have her on his arm.
I’ve been replaying last night over and over again in my mind.
I could have pushed her into that hotel room, and she would have let me have my way with her—let me ravish her body until she was a puddle in the middle of the bed.
But I know myself. I would have left and tried to say it didn’t mean anything.
I would have fucked things up between us for good.
I’m confusing myself with my conflicting emotions. I can’t even begin to fathom how she’s feeling.
One thing I know for certain, though? She won’t give Dorsen the time of day.
“Put in a good word for me, eh?” He elbows my ribs. “Maybe I’ll be taking her off your hands by the time the next big party rolls around.”
As he walks off, the blonde approaches me. “Lawson Morgan! It’s so good to see you!” She presses up on her toes to kiss my cheek as she grips my bicep for balance.
“You as well…” I nod politely, unsure if I’m supposed to know who this woman is .
“Judy Bell, we met in New York last summer. I’m an acquaintance of Jules’.”
Quickly, I search my memory, but come up short, so I lie, “Ah. That’s right. How are you?”
“Dying to finish that night we started… if you know what I mean?” She runs a finger down my chest. “I’m in room 1375 if you want to… catch up.”
The insinuation that anything happened between us last year makes me queasy. I have better taste than a box-colored blonde with bubblegum lips and lashes thick enough to look like caterpillars hanging over her mousy brown eyes.
Being the gentleman I am, though, I flash her a suave smile. “Kind of you to think of me. Perhaps I’ll see you later.”
I don’t wait for an answer before fleeing, rushing toward the lobby. It’s fate that I happen to run into Lucy halfway to the elevator. She’s wrapped in a fluffy robe, her hair tied up in a large white towel, fresh-faced and looking downright fucking beautiful with her glowing skin and bubbly aura.
“Hey! How was the forum?”
“Boring. Honestly, nothing I didn’t know already.” I nod to the towel. “How was the spa?”
“Heavenly.” She grins mischievously. “I might have given your credit card a workout.”
With a laugh, I wipe a stray strand of copper hair off her forehead. “That’s good. You deserve it. Besides, you might have dinner plans tonight. Dorsen wants to take you out.” I don’t know what makes me say it because internally, I scream at myself as soon as the words are out of my mouth .
Her face turns pink, and it’s not a side effect of her facial. “Well… how would you feel if I went to dinner with him?”
What the actual fuck?
Furrowing my brows, I frown at her as I place my hands on my hips like a disapproving father. “You’re actually interested in that guy?”
With a slight shrug, she coyly peers up at me through her lashes—they’re perfect, naturally thick, and not at all like caterpillars. “Sure. Why not?”
Rage floods my system, setting every warning bell in my body off. My brain flashes a big, red “ NO” symbol, telling my body to cool off and remain calm. I count to ten, focusing on my breathing as she analyzes my face, no doubt searching for my reaction.
“You’re a grown woman.” I finally relent. “You’re free to do whatever you want. I don’t care.”
Her shoulders drop slightly before she catches herself and draws her body up to full height. “Okay, then I’ll go,” she informs me in that bratty tone that has my palm twitching. “Have a good night, Mr. Morgan.”
She brushes past me, and even though I want to yell at her to come back so I can tell her I don’t want her to go, I remain silent, inwardly chastising myself for delivering her to Dorsen on a silver fucking platter.
Lucy
I check my appearance in the mirror one last time before I head downstairs.
Sometime between running into Lawson in the lobby and my next appointment at the spa— hello, hot stone massage—Richard asked the front desk to patch a call to my room, leaving a message asking me to dinner at the hotel’s fancy Greek restaurant.
Do I want to go on a date with Richard Dorsen? No.
Am I going just to get under Lawson’s skin? Abso-fucking-lutely I am.
I’ve been damn good all week, and then that fucker goes and pulls the shit he did last night—walking me to my door, calling me a good girl like he doesn’t know it makes my panties flood, and touching me the way he did.
Lawson Morgan is the ultimate definition of the word “whiplash.” The man has no fucking clue what he wants. Well… he does. He wants me. I know he does. But the constant back and forth, the let me get intimate with you only to push you away afterward?
That shit stops now.
Time to put up some fucking boundaries, Lucy.
I primp in the elevator, pushing my hands through my tousled curls to make them look extra mussed, ensuring my red lipstick isn’t out of place or smudged on my teeth, and adjusting the sweetheart neckline of my mini emerald-colored dress to make sure my boobs look incredible.
Lawson won’t see me tonight, but it doesn’t mean Richard won’t brag about it to his friends later.
My date is waiting for me in the lobby. He turns when I call his name, and his crystal blue eyes darken as they inch down the length of my body. I give him a little show, tensing my thighs at his perusal, knowing he’ll notice and think his attention turns me on.
Men like Richard don’t interest me. He’s handsome and charming, but he’s a damn cocky bastard who thinks I’m a sure thing.
“Wow, you look incredible,” he compliments me as he kisses my cheek.
“Thank you. You’re looking dapper yourself.” He does, and his easy smile tells me he knows it, too.
Richard is as tall as Lawson, built like a model, with a trim figure but not overly muscular. But my breath doesn’t quicken at the thought of what his powerful arms would feel like wrapped around me—of what his strength would feel like in bed as he forces me to my knees to take his length.
No, those are thoughts reserved only for Lawson, apparently.
Stupid hormones won’t listen to my stupid heart.
Or maybe they are, and they just know that the heart wants what the heart wants.
“I hope you’re hungry. This place has amazing moussaka.
” Richard wraps his arm around my waist, and I immediately do not like his touch.
It’s possessive and heavy, and we’ve barely known each other for twenty-four hours.
It’s unwelcome and nothing like Lawson when he guides me by lightly touching my back, but I do nothing to remove it.
“Starved,” I lie.
Honestly, I ate a lot of snacks in the spa relaxation center and drank a lot of champagne. Even though I chugged copious amounts of water—as you should on a spa day—and took a nap before getting ready for tonight, my head is still fuzzy, and my stomach is in knots.
Richard opens the restaurant’s glass door with OPA!
sprawled across it in elegant, frosted script before giving the hostess his name for our reservation.
The establishment is cute. It’s dimly lit and covered in greenery.
A heavy garlic scent permeates the air, laced with a slightly acidic fragrance, and it smells good enough to make me wish I were hungry.
Honestly, I’m bummed I’ll have to miss a full meal at this place.
I wonder if I can eat here tomorrow while Lawson attends the goodbye dinner.
The hostess leads us to a double-sided, leathery, eggplant-colored booth. It’s near the back and out of view from most of the other tables—something Richard probably asked for when he made the reservation.
“Well, this is cozy,” he exclaims with glee, as if he didn’t already know we would be sequestered away from the rest of the restaurant.
I expect him to sit across from me, but to my surprise—and slight annoyance—he slides in next to me until our thighs are touching, swinging his arm around me to rest on the back of the booth.
“Whatever you want to get, get it. Don’t be afraid to eat in front of me.
I like a woman with an appetite.” Richard flips open a menu, nudging it between us to share like I’m incapable of looking at my own.
“Hmm… I’m thinking something light. I wouldn’t want to get too weighed down.
” He flashes me a wicked smile. “Want to keep our energy up for whatever else the night brings.”
“And what exactly do you think you’re getting out of me tonight?” I ask in a thick, saccharine-laced tone with a sweet smile. “Because if it’s what I think you’re implying, I’m not that kind of girl. ”