Chapter 13 Addison
THIRTEEN
ADDISON
You know those times when situations are awkward because you both agreed that it wouldn’t, in fact, be awkward? Yeah. That.
After the disastrous end to my club excursion with Roman—wherein the man I want more than my next breath ravished me, insulted me, and then disappointed me when he had no idea why I was insulted in the first place—I spent the rest of my weekend pulling on my big girl panties and getting over it all so that I could come into work today, and Friday night would be as if it never happened.
I suspect Roman did something similar, but being a guy, he probably only needed a good ten to fifteen minutes before he was over it.
Unfortunately, anything we did over the weekend to put that night out of our minds has done diddlysquat for us as Monday rolls around.
All day, the tension between us has been so palpable I’m convinced the conference room where we’ve been working together has a different barometric pressure than the rest of the office.
Maggie gave us a raised brow when she brought in our lunch, John gave Roman a knowing smirk of some kind when he thought I wasn’t looking, and shortly after that, Roman snapped at Martin for asking a clarification question.
And that’s only how he acted with our colleagues. With me, it was a whole other bucket of worms. He hasn’t made more than ten seconds’ worth of eye contact, total, and when our fingers brushed as we transferred a document, he muttered an apology as he yanked his hand back like I’d burned him.
But probably what bothers me the most is what he’s been calling me.
If I had to break it into percentages, I’d say that 90 percent of the time, he calls me Addison, which makes sense since it’s what I go by in my professional circles and 90 percent of our time together is in that capacity.
My friends and family, however, all call me Addie.
I can probably count on both hands—so no more than 2 percent—how many times Roman has used my nickname, and I’ve caught on to the fact that he only uses it when he’s feeling very familiar or friendly with me.
Otherwise he prefers to use my full name as it gives him that bossy, alpha dynamic he’s so fond of.
And the other 8 percent is for when he really wants to kick the boss dynamic up a notch.
Those are the times he calls me Ms. Paige.
I won’t lie. It’s fucking hot and turns me on something fierce.
I don’t know if he realizes he does it, but his voice drops an octave when he says it, he drills into me with those icy-hot light blue eyes, and it makes me want to die on the spot.
I have fantasies where he ties me up and punishes me for not filing something correctly with the courts and— Well, you get the picture.
The point is I like it when he calls me Ms. Paige.
Even when he’s saying it to tease me on the rare occasions he opens up and lets me tease him back.
But not today.
Today there is no Addison, much less Addie, and the Ms. Paiges aren’t uttered with any kind of heat or teasing behind them. They’re clipped and cold.
Ms. Paige, please hand me that file.
And what do you make of his testimony, Ms. Paige?
If you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, Ms. Paige, I have to take this phone call.
That’s why, when we’re finally packing things up at seven thirty and he apologizes for brushing shoulders with me, I snap like my great-grandmother deprived of her afternoon Jell-O. “Would you knock that shit off already?”
Rearing back like I slapped him, he stares at me—finally, some steady eye contact!—and says, “Beg your pardon?”
“No, don’t. Don’t beg my pardon. Stop apologizing and averting your gaze and acting all weird around me.
” I stand up from the conference table, the agitated energy buzzing inside me too hard for me to sit still any longer.
“There’s acting professional, and then there’s acting like I’m a stranger with leprosy.
I have to say, Roman, I’m not fond of the latter, which is exactly how you’ve been treating me all damn day. ”
Blowing out a breath of exasperation, he runs a hand over his face.
The rasp from his five o’clock stubble draws my attention to how stunningly beautiful he is right now, even as he appears exhausted.
Whether it’s the long Monday or this tension that’s drained him, I’m not sure, but it’s wholly unfair that he can look this sexy after twelve hours in the office.
“I’m sorry, Addison,” he says, his eyes on some fixed point on the table. “I’m just not sure how to handle things. I’ve never been in a situation like this before.”
“You mean you’ve never had to face a woman you’ve messed around with, or you’ve never messed around with a colleague?”
Swearing under his breath, Roman pushes to his feet and paces away from me until he reaches the wall. Apparently satisfied with the distance he’s put between us, he spins to face me again. “I had no business coming on to you like that the other night. You’re my employee, for fuck’s sake.”
“Jesus Christ, give it a rest,” I say, tossing my pen onto the table.
“I get that you’re my boss and that from the minute I step into our office until the minute I leave, that professional relationship has to stay intact.
But we’re both mature, consenting adults, Roman, and it’s not like we have to worry about breaking fraternization clauses at work because you own the fucking firm.
If you have no interest in a repeat performance with me, then just say so.
I’m a big girl; I promise I won’t wilt from the rejection.
But stop hiding behind the boss-employee excuse.
It’s weak, and frankly, it’s beneath you. ”
“Beneath me,” he repeats. His frustration is palpable, and I can see the small muscles in his jaw jump as he takes his time formulating his next argument.
I know that’s what he’s doing. Roman is a lawyer through and through.
He’ll argue every angle he can think of before ever backing down.
“Fine. For argument’s sake, let’s forget for a minute that you work for me.
That still doesn’t absolve me of my actions on Friday. ”
“Oh, that’s right,” I say, with just enough smartass injected into my tone to make my point clear. “If I remember correctly, the issue is that you took advantage of me. Is that it?”
“Exactly.” His tight expression and the hands clenching at his sides tell me I’m scraping a raw nerve, but I don’t give a shit. He’s been scraping mine all damn day.
I jab my fists on my hips. “What the hell makes you think that you took advantage of me? Did you ever stop to think that maybe I was the one doing the manipulating?” His brows draw together over the bridge of his nose, so I take that as a ‘no’ and continue.
“For as professional as we’ve been, I’d have to be dead not to notice the sexual tension thrumming between us at any given hour, Roman.
You think I didn’t know I was poking the beast when I fed Austin that cherry, or when I danced with him and Liam? ”
Storm clouds gather in his eyes, and he finally loosens his slate-gray necktie and unfastens the top button of his crisp, white shirt, exposing the tan skin at the hollow of his throat.
He starts to take slow, deliberate steps back to me.
“Are you saying that you purposely tried to make me jealous?”
When he’s only a foot away from me, he stops.
Twelve inches isn’t enough space to set me at ease, so I cross my arms under my chest, hoping to keep my tough girl appearance while also protecting my metaphorical vulnerable underbelly.
“Are you saying you didn’t purposely use Misty to try to make me jealous? ”
“Oh, I was using Misty all right, but it wasn’t to make you jealous.
It was to distract me. To keep me from dragging you into a darkened corner of the club and fucking you until neither of us could stand.
But it worked for shit because Misty isn’t even a second-rate version of you, and apparently my dick knows the difference. ”
His response throws me; the conversation has taken a hard left onto a hidden dirt road not marked on the map I was happily following.
According to him, he hadn’t been playing head games.
He’d been trying to control his desire for me.
To swap out the woman he wanted—me—with a woman who, by his own admission, didn’t even come close to comparing.
I have no earthly idea how to respond to this, so I do what I do best in these situations. I pick out something that’s so totally not the point, and I focus on that. “A darkened corner, huh? Sure you didn’t want to just do it on the stage next to the DJ so everyone had a good vantage point?”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t have cared if the entire club watched us.
Any discretion I secured would have been for your sake alone.
” He takes a single step backward and slides his hands into his pockets slowly, like he’s holstering dangerous weapons.
Remembering what it was like to be ravaged by them, I can’t help feel it’s an accurate analogy.
“And that, above all else, is the reason there’s no point in pursuing whatever this is between us. ”
Now he really has lost me. I tilt my head to the side and ask, “What reason would that be? Because as far as I’m concerned, all you need are the three Cs: chemistry, consent, and plenty of condoms. We have the first two in spades, and if we run out of the third, we can grab another box at the corner drug store. ”
“Funny.”
“Fact.”
“Maybe for normal people.”
I arch a dubious brow. “And you,” I say, “you’re not normal?”
He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the front of his strong neck, then shakes his head once, as though reluctant to commit to the admission.
And that’s when I realize it.