Chapter 18 Tate
TATE
“You didn’t need to walk me to my door,” I protest as I climb the stairs to my building.
“What kind of man doesn’t escort a woman to her door?” Sullivan clips, sounding annoyed that I would suggest otherwise.
I glance at him over my shoulder, and he arches a dark brow at me. Cliff’s waiting in the car, but he’s turned the engine off like he expects to be waiting a while.
“Loser exes,” I offer with a twist of a smile.
“Precisely,” Sullivan grinds out and his eyes take on a menacing coldness the same way they did when I mentioned Brandon earlier this evening.
Tonight with him has been… unexpected. For the first time I found his company tolerable.
Okay, enjoyable. He’s actually nice and interesting, when he’s not in billionaire asshole mode.
We talked about music for most of the evening.
He has a huge knowledge of piano songs, and listed so many of my favorites as ones he enjoys playing.
We didn’t talk about Brandon again. Not after Sullivan’s comments had me excusing myself to the restroom so I could splash cold water on my face.
He was being complimentary. Which in itself was enough to shake me.
But it was the way his eyes heated as he’d pinned me under his gaze and talked about men groaning as they fucked me.
Hearing those words in his gravelly voice had me excusing myself from the table in a rush—before he could catch the heat flooding my face. I didn’t fully get it before, but now I do.
Now I get why people stop and stare when Sullivan Beaufort exits his car at the sidewalk.
Because once you put him and the idea of sex together in the same sentence, you can’t unthink it.
I bet he’d fuck you into another dimension, then pull you back with those intense blue eyes, and leave you boneless.
I drank another two cocktails after returning from the restrooms before I could even look him in the eye again. Maybe he only said those things to flatter me. To cement my acceptance of coming back to work for him. But regardless, I appreciated them.
Because in that moment when I was his sole focus, I felt like a million fucking dollars.
“Oh shit!” I yelp, faltering on the steps because I’m too distracted from gazing back at him.
He reaches out and steadies me with a firm arm around my waist, but it’s too late.
The contents of my purse spill out over the concrete.
Sullivan flexes his fingers where they’ve wrapped around me and flattened over my stomach.
Then he takes his hand back and bends to retrieve the items scattered all over the floor.
His brow creases as he lifts a plastic bottle of pills up.
“Thank you.” I swipe it from him and stuff it back inside my purse along with a packet of tampons, a lipstick, and a hairbrush.
I fumble with my keys, opening the front door, then turning back to him in relief.
“Well, that’s me. Thanks for a nice evening. Your father’s place really is incredible.”
I turn to walk inside, but Sullivan’s hand splays out on the door above my head, the same way it did against my stomach a few moments ago. He holds the door open as though he’s intending to follow me inside.
“I’m fine from here,” I utter unconvincingly. Because despite spending the evening with him and having the courage of numerous alcoholic cocktails flowing through my veins, the man still makes me nervous. Especially when his eyes are on me, all blue and intense, like they are now.
“To your door, Tate,” he says.
“Sure, to my door.” I glance at Cliff sitting in the car and throw him a small wave before walking inside.
The heat from Sullivan’s broad body is like an inferno of flames licking toward my spine as he follows me up the stairs.
“Sorry, the elevator’s broken again. But we have a new landlady, who’s already way better than the guy before her. So I’m sure it’ll be fixed next time. Not that you’ll be coming here again. I mean, you’re welcome too, of course. But why would you? I mean, you’re my boss.”
I keep my eyes fixed on the stairs ahead of me, so Sullivan doesn’t see me cringe. The confidence the cocktails gave me is wearing off.
We reach my apartment and Sullivan walks beside me, before stopping at my door a split second before I do.
“How do you know this is me?”
I look up and he’s already looking down at me with those eyes of his again.
They’re carrying the same heat they were when he talked about the men who gave me their numbers at work.
I stare at him, rooted to the spot as he leans closer.
My eyelids lower of their own accord as his aftershave mixes with the trace of whiskey on his breath.
I incline my chin upward, wondering if his lips are about to meet mine. And whether I even want them to.
“Molly owns the building. I have a list of the tenants.”
“What?” My eyes pop open.
Sullivan’s frowning at the door behind me, leaning closer and studying the locks. “We’ll get the security upgraded for you, and the other apartments.”
He moves back, creating distance between us again. I can’t believe I thought he was actually going to kiss me. Sullivan Billionaire Beaufort.
God, I’m dumb.
“What do you mean Molly owns it?”
“She has a portfolio of investments I’ve set up for her and will manage until she’s older. You told me your dryers were broken, and Cliff knew your address, so I looked it up, knowing if your landlord wasn’t maintaining the building, he’d maybe be open to selling.”
“You did all that for her?”
“Of course. She’s my daughter, and I want her to be financially stable outside of the family business.”
“That makes sense,” I say, like I have any idea what it’s like to run a multi-billion-dollar empire and buy buildings around the city like I’m collecting them on my Monopoly board.
“This neighborhood is a solid investment,” Sullivan adds patiently like he’s explaining something to Molly. “It’s just business, Tate. Don’t read anything into it.”
“I wasn’t.” I pull my eyes away from his and slide my key into the lock. This is what he sees when he looks at this place. Outdated locks. Something shabby and in need of a makeover.
I open the door and step inside, turning back to face him. He doesn’t try to follow me inside, and the tightness in my stomach eases with relief… and maybe a hint of disappointment.
“Thank you for fixing the dryers. My clothes won’t shrink now.”
I wish I could take the words back the moment they fly out of my mouth.
I’m talking too much, back to being intimidated by him again.
I’ve gone from being nervous around him, to angry at him, to enjoying his company, to admiring him for all he does for Molly, and back to being intimidated by him, all in the space of a week.
My head hurts.
“No, they won’t,” he says, frowning as his eyes drop down over me in my dress. “They’ll all fit perfectly.” His nostrils flare before he meets my eyes. “Good night, Tate.”
I stare after him as he strides off in his dark suit like he has somewhere important to be and I’ve taken up enough of his time.
“Good night, Sullivan,” I call.
But he’s already gone.