22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
O nce I’m in my room again, I lean on the door, my heart racing, and my adrenaline off the charts to the point I think I’m trembling. He made me angry, which felt like a good thing at the time because it was a defining emotion, something I could hang my hat on and own. And yet, somehow, just as I was leaving, Ethan had reeled me back in and jumbled up my thoughts and emotions.
“No one but you told you not to go to the meeting tomorrow. Remember that if you choose not to attend. Goodnight, Sofia.”
Those three sentences said everything and nothing.
I could not be more frustrated, and I push off the door and start pacing, repeating the words “if you choose not to attend” with a renewed punch of anger. No, he didn’t tell me not to attend, but he darn sure made sure I know he thinks I’m up to something shady.
“You thought you’d deceive me again,” he’d said, and that accusation makes me want to scream. I am not a liar. I am not that person. And if I leave now, that’s exactly what he will believe. I feel like I’m being manipulated when I’m kind of the one who manipulated him, so I guess I deserve it.
I walk to the phone and order French fries because I’m not going home and I still want my fries. And a drink, which I won’t get with room service. They have beer and wine, which I do not want. I guess the only hangover I can afford right now is the combination of French fries and Ethan. I sigh and look for my notepad, only to realize I’ve left it downstairs. No. No! I need that notepad. And it’s actually not just my pad. It’s my entire portfolio and phone. The only reason I got into the room is that my key was in my pocket. And now, I have to go back downstairs to the bar. I don’t give myself time to think about how badly that could turn out if Ethan is still down there. I race for the door, and I’m in the hallway in an instant.
In the elevator, I’m a mess of nerves all over again, and I really will be glad when tomorrow comes and goes, when I know what the outcome of all of this will be. Right now, though, if Ethan is still in the bar, it doesn’t have to matter. I will just walk to my table, grab my things, and leave. I never have to look his way.
The car halts and the doors open, and I’m stunned when Ethan appears in front of me. My lips part in shock, and for a moment, all I can do is take him in, in all his hotness. His tie is gone, his shirt unbuttoned just enough for dark, springy chest hair to play peekaboo with my hormones. He’s so ridiculously perfect it’s hard for me to fathom the fact that I was naked with him.
The elevator buzzes, and Ethan captures the door and jolts me back to reality pretty darn hard and fast. My plan to avoid him has failed, and I’m not even sure what is happening right now. How is he here while I’m here? This radical shift in events is for sure not planned . It’s just happenstance in the most awkward of ways, at least for me. “Hi,” I say, like an idiot. I mean, really? Hi? How is that the right thing to say right now and after what has transpired between us this very night? I quickly add, “I wasn’t coming back for you. I left my portfolio at my table.” And somehow, I think that statement helped absolutely not at all .
In fact, Ethan actually laughs, one of those low, rough, sexy laughs of his, and says, “You really do know how to wound a guy’s ego, don’t you?” He holds out my portfolio and offers it to me. “I saved it for you and was going to bring it to tomorrow’s meeting to give to you. If you showed up.”
I blink in confusion.
I know how to wound a guy’s ego? Is he—do I dare believe he’s talking about me leaving him that night in Hawaii? Did I wound his ego? No. Surely not. He’s him, and I’m just little ol’ me.
The car is now beeping again as his shoulder settles solidly against it, clearly planning to stay at least a little longer. Probably to watch me squirm, which is why I’m not going to give him what he wants. My spine straightens, and I accept the portfolio. “You can’t run me off that easily,” I say firmly. “I’ll be at the meeting.”
There’s a hint of what I might call approval in his eyes—maybe? Kind of?—followed by a hint of amusement accentuated by a sexy little quirk of his lips. “Then I’ll ride up with you,” he declares, and joins me inside the elevator, the doors shutting impatiently behind him and with remarkable speed.
He swipes his key, and by the time he’s punched in his floor, glancing my direction to ask, “What floor?” I punch in “eleven” on my own, facing forward, but only for a moment.
We both seem to just rotate in unison to face each other, and now we’re staring at each other, and there is no mistaking the burn of that night in Hawaii between us, but so is the ice of my departure and his distrust. It’s a weird dynamic that doesn’t last long as the elevator halts and suddenly, a group of people seem to want to join us.
To my shock, Ethan steps to my side of the elevator, and offers the group his back, sheltering me from the onslaught of bodies, and just in time. The crush follows, and yet I’m in a cocoon in the corner of the car created by the most gorgeous, arrogant man I have ever met. I can feel the heat of his body, and I’m reminded, oh, so easily about me against the wall in his hotel room, and him in front of me, touching me, making me feel things I have never felt, making me moan.
His eyes narrow, and I can see in the depths of his stare that he too is thinking of that night. Voices lift behind him, laughter rattling about, bouncing about the small space, but everything fades but me and him. He is studying me, oh, so intensely, and I have this sense of him trying to read me, figure me out, understand me, and I don’t look away. I don’t know what he will find, but I pray it tells him I never meant to deceive him. I never meant for things to go so wildly wrong between us. The car halts, and abruptly, it empties. The crowd is gone, and the doors are shutting again, but we have not moved. I can smell him—spicy, woodsy, perfection—and I remember the morning after our night together—washing him off of me and doing so with so much regret.
“Ethan,” I whisper, not even sure what I plan to say, but suddenly, the car halts again, and the floor indicator dings.
“Your floor,” he says, and I watch the coldness seep into his eyes, and I do not understand why. “I’ll see you in the boardroom tomorrow, Sofia,” he adds, and then he steps away from me, leaving me no option but to throw myself at him or get off the car.
I get off.