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I never thought I’d see him twice in one day, and yet here we were.
I was painfully aware of my rumpled jumpsuit. My hands were sticky thanks to something that had clung to the garbage bag I’d emptied, and my hair was falling loose from its bun.
Still, he wanted to go out with me? He might as well know just who he was interested in.
This was me.
Where this morning he’d rolled out of bed with tangled hair and jeans, now, he looked razor-sharp and dressed to kill in a pinstriped suit. His blond hair swooped up in that oh-so-casual way that bespoke of its rumpled, roll-out-of-bed look from earlier today—made better by hair gel.
My pulse ratcheted.
Part of me wondered if he’d even notice me standing here, but from the flicker of recognition in his eyes as he passed, and the way he veered away from the stairs to my direction instead, he did.
“Hey, there,” he said as he approached. He greeted Charlotte, but then his attention fixated on me. “Hard at work?”
“Just about to clock out for the day,” I said. I jutted my chin toward the stairs. “No elevator for you?”
He shook his head. “I’m not getting on that thing again.”
A laugh burbled up my throat. “Not even if I go with you?”
“If you go with me…”
His gaze flickered to Charlotte, who made no secret of her listening in on our conversation. I was weirdly eager to hear what he’d been about to say.
Hawk cleared his throat. “I’d love to stay and talk with you, but I’m actually meeting with a client. I’ll call you later?”
“Y-yes.”
Hawk was going to call me.
He was going to CALL ME. He could have at any time before now, but he hadn’t, and I respected the heck out of him for it.
“Have a good one,” he said before casting an acknowledging nod to Charlotte and swaggering to the stairs.
I exhaled the minute he was out of sight and rolled the garbage can just enough to regain my posture. He was going to be friggingcontacting me.
I couldn’t believe he wanted to. I’d shot him down hard at the wedding. I’d kept him at virtual arm’s length during each of our text chats for months. I’d snubbed him after our time in the elevator.
And he’d persisted anyway.
Charlotte fanned herself. “Oh, my gosh. Who knew the Candy Man was such a hottie? No wonder Pris has her panties in a twist.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, my defenses rising.
“Pris told me this morning—but I didn’t believe it. The seggsy owner of Ever After Sweet Shoppe came at four a.m. to invite you to the ball with him? Why? I mean, how? You, like, know each other?”
“I met him at my cousin’s wedding,” I admitted, not wanting to share too many details because as kind as Charlotte was, she was a Malus, and the mention of Pris had my back up.
What exactly had Pris told her? And why did she even care?
I already knew the answer to that. Everything was a battle with her.
Forget the fact that this was matters of the heart we were dealing with. If I were dating a guy who was hotter and wealthier than her, she’d never let me live it down.
Charlotte’s gaze became serious. “Ella, you know Pris.”
“Yeah, I do.”
