CHAPTER 6
“We have to deal with disappointments day by day, since we can’t always control our thoughts…”
COLIN ADAMS
How long has it been since I took a woman out—actually picked her up and went somewhere together?
Years.
I wasn’t even sure if that kind of thing was outdated now, or if modern women still liked men who did that sort of thing. But I’d already screwed up and invited her, so…
Yeah, I thought about it later at home and realized it wasn’t my brightest idea—she talks way too much. But that wasn’t the real issue anymore.
When I saw her walking out of her house in that red dress…
I can’t even describe it properly. To me, it was just a red dress—simple as that. But on Isabelle, it looked perfect. Women would probably go on about the fabric, the fit, the texture, whatever.
I was thinking about something else entirely. I wanted to know what that dress was hiding.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Define ‘like that,’” I said, though I knew exactly what she meant.
“Oh, I don’t know… different. You know what I mean,” she muttered, and I caught the flicker of embarrassment on her face.
“It’s all in your head.”
It wasn’t.
“Okay then.”
Silence hung between us for a few minutes. I could tell she wasn’t comfortable around me—and I couldn’t blame her. I’m not exactly the best host. Hell, I’m probably the worst.
When Isabelle’s working, we usually stay out of each other’s way, and that arrangement works just fine. But having to look at her like this was twisting my head in knots. That damn dress…
“How long are we staying here?” she asked, snapping me out of my thoughts about her body. I forced myself to look at her again—carefully this time. I wasn’t sure if studying her more closely would do me any good.
“As little time as possible,” I said firmly.
She let out a muffled laugh.
“What?” I growled.
“Nothing. I just thought you’d have to, you know, play nice or something.”
“I don’t need to!” I snapped. “I’m confident in my work—and so are the people who hire me. I’m direct and practical. I’m only going because of pointless pressure.”
“I was just saying—”
“Don’t say it,” I cut her off again. “Just do what I asked. Be good company, and don’t make my life harder.”
I felt the burn of her dark eyes on me. Isabelle wasn’t to blame for my bitterness or the way I barked at her—but I can’t go back.
I’m not that Colin anymore.
Not anymore.