“Maybe their names are Charlotte.” I close the fridge and crack the bottle open.
“All three dozen of them? No way.” He shakes his head and wiggles his eyebrows. “There’s only one Charlotte as far as I’m concerned . . . and unfortunately, there’s also only one Charlotte as far as Matt is concerned. He can’t stop looking at you.”
“Mark . . . nothing’s going on.”
He grins then, and he leans an elbow on the doorknob.
“Good. Do you want to go out with me this weekend?”
“Excuse me?”
“A date.” He grins.
I hesitate, then realize Matt is still a few steps behind him. He’d been in a conversation with Carlisle, but is now looking in my direction.
If I’m determined to get him out of my system and nix any rumors about us, too, a date is a way to go. Other fishes in the sea, no need to go for the Great White Shark. But all I can say is, “Not until we win.”
Then I quietly step out and go back to the viewing room, sipping my water.
The crowd soon disperses, and I find myself battling the urge to linger behind and ask Matt about his weekend. I head to the elevators with the crowd, doing my best to force myself to go home.
Matt frowns when I pass him dismissively. He moves abruptly to stop me, taking me by the elbow. “Hey.”
I look up and glance around, concerned that anyone could have seen. But they’ve all shuffled into the elevators.
We stare at one another, and there are a thousand messages in his stare that I can’t decipher but somehow feel, in my belly, like a tangle of crackling wire.
Lips tipping upward in an adorable way I try not to notice, Matt waves me forward. I cautiously walk with him. He has so much power he’s not just a person, but a presence.
He’s wearing a smile, a wicked little twinkle in his eyes as if he knows . . . everything.
He frowns down at me and jerks the knob of his office door open. “After you, Miss Wells.”
He smiles like a gentleman, but his stare is that of a naughty caveman as I go inside and he shuts the door behind him.
I inhale for courage, but there’s one thing about his office here in headquarters. The upper half is glass, and anyone who returns to the building could see us.
My heart is thudding madly as I hear him approach from behind. He slides one hand around my waist and pulls me back against the wall of his chest. “Hmm. Your hair smells good.”
I exhale.
“Always different,” he adds as an afterthought.
“We’re always hotel-hopping; I’m at the mercy of what’s offered in my room.”
“This is real, though. This is yours,” he murmurs.
He seizes my shoulders. His tanned, long-fingered hands giving me a delicious little squeeze.
I try to suppress my reactions as I turn around in his hold and lift my eyes to his face. He’s staring down at me quietly, as if trying to figure me out.
“So, Mark,” he says, his eyes scanning me.
“What Mark?”
He lifts his brows pointedly.
“Oh, you mean Mark.”
“Mark Conelly.” His eyes flick to the door, then to me. “What does he want with you?”
“Nothing. He’s just a friend.”
“You sure?”
There’s an odd little hum in my body when I see the roiling swirls of darkness in his eyes.
Is Matthew Hamilton, the man who has everything, the world at his feet, jealous?
The angle of his jaw looks about as sharp as ever. “I’m sure. Nothing’s going on yet.”
“Yet?”
“He wants a date, but I want to concentrate on the campaign first. I didn’t decline him outright because he was . . . speculating about us.”
“I see.”
I want to know what he’s thinking, but he shutters his gaze and simply looks at me.
“He’s too old for you,” he finally states.
“He’s one year younger than you,” I counter.
“He’s divorced. Completely ineligible for you.”
I shrug. “I have other options. My friend Alan has been trying to make things serious for years.”
His eyes widen. “There’s no winning this one with you?” He laughs and rakes his fingers through his hair, frowning in a mixture of amusement and puzzlement.
Although Matt looks calm, I fear there’s some sort of tempest lurking in his gaze. Something being held tightly under control.
I remain silent while I struggle with a thousand things I want to do or say. I missed him. I missed his face and the way he smells and the way the office buzzes when he’s here. I missed waking up with tangles in my stomach simply because I know I’ll see him. I also don’t like these feelings, but it’s hard to push them away when they’re simply . . . there. Stronger than ever when he’s near.
“Why are you even considering going out with him?”
“Because.” I glance away, and then whisper, “It could help dissipate any rumors between us. And because . . . you’re under my skin, Matt.”
There’s a silence.
I stay in place even when all my instincts tell me to walk away and not look back.
“Don’t go out with him.” He waits a moment, then adds, “With any of them.”