“The Neanderthal routine doesn’t suit you, William. What can you possibly care about who I date?”
The expression that flashed over his face might have been hurt, but it was gone before she could identify it. “Did that night mean so little to you, Brynn? You’re already looking for your next conquest?”
She looked at him more closely. “Aren’t you? Wasn’t what happened between us just the latest move in the power game we play?”
And then she saw it again. It wasn’t just hurt. It was vulnerability. Had that night mattered to him? Did she matter to him?
“Never mind,” he said roughly. “I’ll be going. I didn’t mean to intrude upon your postdate euphoria.”
The moment had passed and damn if she didn’t want it back. “No, Will, wait.” She reached out a hand, but stopped before she touched him. “Can’t we just…can’t you…”
“What?” he asked, watching her intently. “What do you want?”
“I…I just wanted to make sure that you hadn’t told anyone about us.”
His eyes went colder than she’d seen them. “No. Not a soul. You weren’t worth the bragging rights.”
That stung, but she didn’t let herself swipe back. “You should go. And I’m sick of skipping my own family’s dinners so that we can avoid each other. Maybe you could miss one once in a while?”
Will gave her a disgusted look. “Exactly how old are you, Brynn?”
She blushed, but stood her ground. “Look, I know it’s immature, I just…I can’t see you after knowing that we…”
She shuddered a little at the intensity of the memory, and saw immediately that he misinterpreted the reaction as disgust.
“All right. If that’s what you want.”
His voice was so dead that she almost panicked. Almost begged him to take her again. But instead she gave a businesslike nod. “Good, then we’re agreed. It doesn’t have to be forever. I just need a little space.”
“Baby, I’m about to give you all the space you need,” he said with a blank expression.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she yelled at his retreating back.
But her only answer was the resounding slam of her front door.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sophie hurriedly closed the e-commerce website she had up on her work computer when Gray walked by. He was growling into his cell phone as he passed, but he gave her a small wink.
Her toes curled. She couldn’t help it.
Watching as he headed toward the kitchen, she pulled up the website browser window again. She couldn’t believe she was shopping for ties.
She felt oddly giddy about it, even if she was mostly doing it out of guilt. She’d thrown out one of his ties last night. The one Brynn had gotten him.
For starters, it was the clothing equivalent of a coma. And second…well, it was just weird to see something in his closet that her sister had picked out.
And even though Gray hadn’t seemed the least bit fazed by her demand, she was feeling just the tiniest bit guilty. Just because the man was practically made of money didn’t mean he wanted to be throwing his clothes out on a whim.
So she was buying Gray Wyatt him a new tie. One that left her mark on him.
Now if she could only decide between the purple penguins or the salmon-colored polka dots…
Sophie’s eyes bugged out when they caught on the clock. It was practically noon and she’d barely started her work. The tie would have to wait. She bookmarked the site and reluctantly pulled up the Blackwell deal. Negotiations were nearly final, but the details seemed to change every second Sophie thought she’d finally get the chance to hit print.
She tried to force herself to focus.
Coming into the office after sleeping with Gray hadn’t been nearly as awkward as she’d feared. He treated her more or less like normal. And if he sometimes asked her to stay late and, ahem, “visit the copy room,” well, that was just fine by her.
Granted, nobody else in the office knew that they were bed buddies. Just the way she wanted it. And the way Gray wanted it. Which, okay, maybe bugged her, just a little. Not that she wanted their mattress acrobatics going out in the company newsletter or anything, but she couldn’t hide the suspicion that he was ashamed of her.
Knock it off, Sophie. Disparaging self-talk was so last year.
Digging through the papers on her desk, she looked for the notes Gray had left her after his call with Peter Blackwell this morning.
“Where the hell is it?” she muttered, rummaging through the stacks. Some people would call the mountain of crap “disorganization.” These people didn’t understand the appeal of structured chaos.
Finally she found the paper she was looking for. Under her coffee mug. And her water glass. She winced as she saw that the classy notepaper with Gray’s initials at the top now resembled a well-used coaster.