Neither new nor relevant. Dinner is still on.
I squeezed my phone so hard I probably almost broke it. There were so many responses rolling through my head, complete monologues of speeches I wanted to deliver.
I settled on, Fuck you.
Then I threw my phone in a drawer and ignored it so I could attempt to get some work done.
It didn’t really help.
I was still mad. Still hurt. And now I wouldn’t get the evening I’d needed so desperately, so I was also still horny as hell, which just pissed me off more.
Another thing that pissed me off? Donovan had been right—the fact that he was an asshole was irrelevant. I knew it from day one, and I was still drawn to him. I was drawn to him because of it, even.
What did that say about me?
It was just after six when I finally pulled the phone out of my desk and read his response. The car will be there at 8. You choose whether or not you get in.
The ball was back in my court. And I’d already decided I wasn’t going, so it wasn’t an issue.
Except, I was curious about what his dinner would entail. Or rather, his dessert. Last time had been impromptu. Would a planned rendezvous be different?
It didn’t matter. He’d been a giant dick and a half. He hadn’t trusted me, he’d manipulated me, he’d betrayed me. He’d hurt me.
What if he tried to make it up? If I just gave him a chance?
Clutching the phone to my chest, I threw my head back against my chair and sighed. For a relationship based only on sex, these kinds of choices should have been no-brainers.
Why, then, did this one feel so hard?
Twenty-Three
I got in the car.
It wasn’t a last minute decision either, though I tried to pretend that I was only doing a quick shave because that was standard behavior for a Friday evening. And the expensive lingerie and stockings that I put on after my shower? Well, sometimes it’s nice to be alone and pretty.
And when I took the elevator down to the lobby, I convinced myself I was only checking my mail, even though I’d checked it earlier, so when the driver texted he was outside, and I was down there, it was easy to say, Well, I’m already here.
I stewed the entire ride, but it was harder to validate being as pissed as I wanted to be with Donovan when I was on my way to meet him. It gave me less credibility. If I were really mad, I wouldn’t have gotten in the car. Or so logic said. Reality, on the other hand, said differently. I still felt the way I felt, and yet I was driving toward him when all instincts said I should be running the other direction.
Maybe I was mad at myself the most. Either way, I still planned on being a bitch when I saw him. I wasn’t sure I could be anything else with Donovan at the moment. Luckily, I didn’t think he’d mind.
The drive was farther than usual. This time, I was dropped off in Lower Manhattan. I hadn’t been there before, and I didn’t see a name anywhere on the building, but it seemed to be a hotel.
So Donovan had rented a room?
Practical, I supposed.
Cold and efficient, as well. Were we even having dinner? From what both Weston and Donovan had said about his sexual relationships, it made sense if there was only one thing on the menu. Donovan did straight-up sex, nothing else.
Why was that having such a hard time sitting in me?
“I’m not sure where I’m going,” I said to the driver, after he let me out and shut the car door behind me.
“Inside the main doors. The hostess desk for the restaurant is to your left. Wait there for Mr. Kincaid.” He got in the Jaguar and drove off before I could think to ask anything else.
Then we were eating dinner. And the hotel was just a coincidence. Or it wasn’t. We’d see.
I found the restaurant easily. According to the sign, it was a Japanese place called Okazu. I checked in at the hostess desk. They didn’t have my name down, but they did have Donovan’s—who hadn’t arrived yet. I scanned the lobby and didn’t see him anywhere.
“You’re welcome to wait in the bar,” the hostess suggested, a pale young woman who looked one hundred percent like she’d come from East Asia but talked like she’d lived one hundred percent of her life in the Bronx. “I’ll let him know you’re there.”
Fine. I’d wait at the bar. But his tardiness wasn’t helping my already sour mood. He knew I was pissed at him. Shouldn’t he be trying harder than this to be smoothing things over?
Apparently the rules of social etiquette weren’t foremost on Donovan’s priority list.
With a sigh that could be construed as grumbling, I sat down at a high-top and considered ordering a martini to settle my nerves. Before I’d decided, I got a text. On my way. Take off your panties while you’re waiting.
I grumble-sighed again, though this time butterflies did a bunch of aerial tricks in my stomach simultaneously.
He really wanted me to take off my panties? Why? Just so he’d know? That was kind of hot. Thinking about sitting, bare, next to him did a bunch of fantastically scandalous things to my mind.
Or was he planning on more? Like fingering me discreetly at the dinner table?
I blushed at the completely impractical idea.
And then was struck with a totally practical thought—take them off and put them where? My purse was exactly big enough for my phone, my house key, my credit card, my ID, and a tube of lip gloss. Was I supposed to carry them? Stuff them down my bra? Leave a hundred dollar pair of La Perlas in the trash?
Nope. I wasn’t doing it. Besides, I wouldn’t reward him for his tardiness. I wasn’t even sure I was staying.
Another quarter of an hour later, he still hadn’t arrived, and I was irritated. Especially since I had decided against ordering the martini. This was beyond rude. He could have just let me cancel when I’d told him I wanted to. This was intolerable. I refused to wait another minute.
I stood up and headed out of the bar toward the front of the lobby, and walked smack into the most delicious smelling man wearing a fitted suit over a solid chest. I recognized him by the feel of his torso and the way he gripped my arm to steady me. I didn’t have to look up to know it was Donovan.
But I did look up. So I could shoot poison-tipped daggers with my eyes.
“I apologize,” Donovan said with a decidedly unapologetic smirk. “I got wrapped up in something last minute at work and lost track of time.”
I jerked my arm away. I would have understood if an emergency had come up. He was one of the CEOs. He sometimes had to put out fires. That he’d just “lost track of time”, however, added insult to injury. I’d been irritated with him all day long and not for a single moment had I been able to forget that I had plans with him later.
Was I that unremarkable? Was that the point he’d been trying to make when he’d told me we weren’t in a relationship?
I crossed my arms over my chest and frowned. “I think it’s interesting that you can’t even leave work when you have plans. Nothing’s important enough to tear Donovan Kincaid away from his office before he’s ready.”