10. Organism Reproduction #3
“Huh,” I said, feeling oddly disappointed by his answer. But at least I knew for certain the source of his motivations. “Well then, how about this: If we fail, you cover all the expenses. But if we succeed, I cover all the expenses.”
“Why not split?—”
“That’s my final offer.” I sat back in my chair again.
“I’ll move in here and you’ll foot the bill for the apartment and living expenses, you pay for the bodyguard, and so forth, because we both know I can’t.
That answers a lot of my questions and concerns about the logistics.
But if we succeed, I pay you back for everything. Take it or leave it.”
The calculating quality had reentered Andreas’s gaze. “This offer sounds unnecessarily transactional. As though you are paying me for services rendered.”
I shook my head. “No, I am reimbursing you for services rendered. There’s a difference.”
As if at all possible, his features grew colder, and I was reminded of that infamous meme of Andreas, staring at an opponent over a chessboard, with the words: “My mouth may not say it, but my face definitely will.”
Yeesh. If I didn’t have memories of him bawling over the cadaver of a baby bird, he might’ve been sort of scary right now.
Finally, after a prolonged period of frosty contemplation, he said, “Then I have more conditions.”
I picked up my pen, poised to add another item to his list. “What’s that? I’ll add it for you.”
Folding the piece of paper with my list on it in half, he gave his head a slight shake and stood.
“No. We will discuss over dinner tomorrow. In the interim, I will write down my additional conditions along with responses to yours. The summary of ‘realistic expectations’ will be finalized at that time.”
Attempting to stand as gracefully as possible given the tightness of my dress, I shrugged.
“Fine. But it’ll have to be a late dinner.
I have a meeting tomorrow evening with my—uh—work colleague.
” James Nieminen had requested that we meet tomorrow at 6:00 PM.
Who schedules a meeting at 6:00 PM on a Friday night? Such a dick move.
“No problem. What time shall I arrange the car?” His tone was solicitous and soft, once more at odds with the frostbite of his stare.
“You’ll meet me at my work?”
“Yes.” His gaze moved over me again, his expression still calculating. “I will send over something for you to wear and I will make sure the table is by the window.”
“Okay. Then seven thirty should be fine.” I slid the adoption packet back in the envelope and picked it up. “And I’ll take this to my lawyer.”
“Let me know if you require any changes to that as well. My attorney is flexible.” Andreas adjusted the chessboard he’d pushed aside earlier back to the center of the table.
I nodded, momentarily mesmerized by his long, elegant fingers resetting the pieces, and said without thinking, “That’s a pretty chess set.”
He met my gaze briefly. “Would you like to play a game before you leave?”
I eyed the board. “Only if you promise not to go easy on me.”
His hand holding the black queen paused for a beat before he placed her on a dark square. Lifting his eyes to mine, a faint smile curved his mouth. “I never go easy on anyone.”
“Really?” I tilted my head to the side and set a hand on my hip. “You used to be such a softy.”
Andreas shoved his hands in his pockets, his gaze never leaving mine, and said quietly, “Only with you.”
I made a face of disbelief, but let his comment go.
He used to be a softy with nearly everyone.
All the staff in his father’s house had babied him because he was so sweet.
Maybe he liked to think of himself as tough and intimidating now—and no doubt his cold stares absolutely were—but I’d likely never stop seeing flashes of the sensitive, soft boy he used to be.
The one I loved.
Tensing at the thought, I tore my eyes away from his and gave myself a mental shake. “Right. Well. Let me get out of your hair.”
Pointing then walking toward the entrance, I wracked my brain trying to remember where he’d put my coat when I arrived, ignoring the tingling sensation running down my spine at the sound of his steps behind me. Once I reached the entrance, I sorta spun in a circle until I found the closet.
Not looking at him, I pulled my coat from the hanger where he’d left it. “I guess I’ll see you tomorr?—”
Andreas was suddenly next to me, taking my coat and helping me put it on. Then he reached inside the closet and withdrew another coat, the camel-colored cashmere one from the time he’d cornered me outside of my department building so many days ago.
“What are you doing?” I watched him push his arms through the sleeves.
He glanced at me, then pulled out a pair of slip-on, yet exceedingly fancy-looking, black loafers. “I’m walking you home.”
“Why are you?—”
Feet now ensconced in shoes, Andreas stepped close, pulled my grandmother’s scarf from the pocket where I’d stuffed it earlier, and draped it around my neck. He then turned and grabbed the doorknob. “What kind of fiancé would I be if I allowed my future wife to walk home alone at this hour?”
I stared at him and his aloof expression, contemplating his terse-sounding words while he opened the door.
“You know,” I said, “I walk around the city by myself all the time, even late at night.”
“And?”
I rocked back on my heels. “So, I know how to keep myself safe. You don’t think Henrik is already planning an offensive, do you?”
“No. But this is not just about safety.” He gestured for me to go first.
Exiting his apartment, I asked over my shoulder, “Then what’s it about?”
He pulled his door closed and it beeped. “Never too early to make our relationship appear real. As your soon-to-be fiancé, I will use this and every opportunity.”
Confused, I frowned at his profile, then at his back as he walked around me and pressed the call button for the elevator. “Use for what?”
He glanced at me, a hint of incredulousness pulling his eyebrows together. “Samantha, people who want to marry each other usually also want to spend as much time together as possible.”
“ Ohhhh .” I walked forward slowly to stand next to him. “Yeah, of course. I know that.”
He sorta smirked, the incredulousness persisting, and faced the elevator doors.
A sensation of unease prickled down my spine.
I’d always ended my situationships if or when the guy started doing these types of things.
Calling me or texting me frequently, wanting to hang out every day, telling me about his feelings, hopes, or dreams. No matter how upfront and transparent I’d been about my lack of interest in a committed relationship, this sometimes happened. Not every time, but sometimes.
How funny. Now I’d have to do it with Andreas. And it was all fake.
The elevator dinged, announcing its arrival, and again he gestured for me to go first. I did, and then pressed the lobby button.
He stepped in next to me and we stood quietly as the elevator descended, the same thick energy from before in his apartment making the surrounding air feel heavy while I actively avoided the sight of our reflection in the paneled mirror.
At least, it felt heavy to me. It felt like hasty decisions and a precursor to regret.
But it also felt like a means to an end and the beginning of my revenge against his family, and that’s what I focused on.
All of this charged atmosphere and these awkward elevator rides would be worth it, in the end.
As the doors slid open revealing the lobby, I moved to exit.
Before I could, Andreas smoothly slid his palm against mine and entangled our fingers, making my heart stutter and my feet stumble at the sudden, electric contact.
Just like at the café, a jolt of something warm traveled up my arm at his touch and I struggled against the instinct to prolong the contact.
This inability to pull away meant I allowed him to grasp my hand and lead me out of the elevator, the lobby, and the building.
The doorman I’d spoken to earlier might’ve greeted us. But I didn’t hear what he said.
I continued being led by Andreas down the sidewalk for two blocks before I finally found my voice and whispered, “Why are—must we hold hands?”
“Do you want the smoke screen to look real?” He spared me a side-eye.
I sighed, resolving to add a new condition to my list when we met tomorrow: Plot out every incidence of PDA before it occurs in order to mitigate prolonged contact. And absolutely no kissing!
My stomach twisted at the thought of kissing Andreas. I shivered.
He looked at me. “Cold?”
Obviously, I wouldn’t explain. I nodded.
Eyes skating over my upturned face, Andreas lifted my hand in his grip and put both of ours in the pocket of his coat, giving my fingers a squeeze. “Better?”
I caught a whiff of rosemary, which I now assumed must’ve been his shampoo, and nodded again with a small, tight smile as I thought, No. Worse. Much, much worse. The man was painfully handsome, and he smelled so good, and his hand felt so good and strong and warm. And this was torture.
But this torture would be worth it, in the end.