Chapter 11 #3
The thought is so vivid it knocks the air out of me. I drag my gaze back to her eyes. They’re blazing. She hasn’t moved an inch as she shakes her head. “Not until you tell me why you’re acting like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like being in the same room with me is some kind of punishment.”
I almost laugh. Almost. Because she has no idea how close to the truth she is.
“Just move.” I try to step around her, but she shifts with me, blocking the path again. “Please.”
“No.” Her jaw is set, her eyes bright with frustration. “Not until you give me a real answer.”
“Don’t have one.”
“Bullshit.”
The word cracks through the air. My control slips another notch.
“Daisy—”
“Tell me.” She steps closer. Too close. I can feel the heat radiating off her skin, can see the way her chest rises and falls with each breath, and my traitorous gaze drops to her mouth for half a second before I wrench it back up.
“Tell me why you can joke around with Colt and talk to Rhett for hours and smile at Shelby like she’s—” Her voice catches. “But you can’t even look at me.”
That’s what she thinks. That I can’t look at her.
The truth is so much worse because I can’t fucking stop looking at her.
I can’t stop noticing the way her lips part when she’s angry, or the way her throat moves when she swallows, or the fact that she’s standing close enough to kiss and the only thing between us is a fight I’m losing on every goddamn front.
“That’s not—” I stop. My back hits the edge of the desk. Nowhere left to retreat.
“It is.” She follows, closing the distance I keep trying to create. “So what is it? What did I do that was so terrible you can’t stand to be around me?”
“You didn’t do anythin’.”
“Then just answer the question, Wyatt. What the hell is your problem?”
“You.” The word rips out of me before I can stop it, low and raw and nothing like anger even though that’s what I need it to be. “You’re the problem.”
She blinks. Once. Like she’s absorbing a blow. “Wh—what?”
“You—” I drag a hand through my hair, my heart hammering against my ribs.
She’s so close I can count every freckle dusting her nose.
So close I can see the hurt blooming in her eyes, the confusion, the anger underneath.
So close that my hand aches with the memory of hovering one inch from her shoulder in the barn, and every nerve I own is screaming to close the distance and find out if her skin is as soft as the heat between us promised. “You make it impossible to—”
I stop and focus on clenching my jaw so hard my teeth ache.
“Impossible to what?” Her voice is barely a whisper.
The truth sits on my tongue, heavy and dangerous.
You make it impossible to think straight, Daisy Monroe. Impossible to breathe, let alone to keep my promise.
“To do my job.” The lie just about chokes me. “You’ve been underfoot all week. Asking questions. Getting in the way. Making everythin’ harder than it needs to be.”
The words hit exactly where I aimed them, and for a second, she just looks at me. Then her expression shutters, like a door I’ll never get back through.
“A distraction.” Her voice is flat. Cold. “That’s what I am to you.”
“I didn’t—”
“No, I heard you.” She steps back, and the distance between us feels like a canyon opening up. “Loud and clear.”
“Daisy—”
A knock at the door cuts through the tension. June pokes her head in without waiting for an answer. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but Shelby’s askin’ again whether I can talk you into the bachelor auction. I told her no for the fifth time, but you know how she is.”
Daisy lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh. Almost.
“Well.” She grabs her notebook from the chair and turns to me. “Don’t let me get in the way.”
“Daisy—”
“No, really.” She grabs her notebook, and for just a second, her hands aren’t quite steady. Then her spine straightens, her voice levels out, and she’s walking toward the door. “I wouldn’t want to be a distraction.”
She’s gone before I can find the words to stop her.
June stares after her, then slowly turns to look at me. “What the hell did you do?”
“Nothin’.”
“That wasn’t nothin’.” She steps fully into the office, arms crossed. “That was Daisy Monroe leaving here like you just kicked her dog. What happened?”
“The interview didn’t go well.”
“No kidding.” June’s eyes narrow. “What did you say to her?”
“Drop it, June.”
“Wyatt—”
“I said drop it.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment, her expression shifting from confusion to something that looks uncomfortably like disappointment. Then she shakes her head.
“Fine. But whatever you did, you better fix it before tonight.” She turns to leave, then pauses at the door. “She’s scheduled for the bachelorette auction at eight. So you’ve got until then to smooth things over.”
The door clicks shut behind her.
I stand there in the silence of my office, the smell of her shampoo still lingering in the air, the echo of her voice playing on repeat in my head.
I wouldn’t want to be a distraction.
I told myself one more day. One interview, and then I could go back to keeping my distance.
Instead, I burned it all down.