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“So I’ve heard.” He winks at her, and she giggles. Giggles.
Rolling my eyes at the two of them, I move down the counter where Asia is fixing our drinks and dishing up the slice of cheesecake Dominic ordered for me. I’m starting to seriously consider that he can read minds. Or he’s just super observant and saw me eyeing the chocolate decadence when I was pretending to be engrossed in the menu. I pick up the two cups of ice water the younger sister has just put on the counter.
“Hey, Asia!”
She rubs her pregnant belly and arches a brow at me. “Don’t ‘hey Asia!’ me. We just saw each other four hours ago, and we have more interesting things to talk about.”
With a pointed look at Dominic who’s still being interrogated by Maya, she tries to lean over the counter towards me then gives a frustrated huff when her belly stops her.
I can’t help but laugh. “There’s nothing to talk about. He’s Eric’s best friend, and we’re just grabbing a bite to talk about work.”
The panini press sizzling on the counter behind her beeps, letting her know our sandwiches are ready. She spins around and dishes them up on two plates before placing them on a serving tray. Sliding the tray towards me, she looks thoughtfully at Dominic.
“He’s the one you don’t get along with?”
I nod. Though a part of me feels like that statement might not be exactly right anymore. Things are shifting. We aren’t best friends, not by a long shot. He’s still infuriating, but between the events of Saturday night and his apparent knowledge of my likes and dislikes as far as food, I’m starting to think there might be hope for us to be something more than enemies.
Acquaintances. Colleagues. Associates. Maybe even….friends.
Dominic walks over to me and gifts me with another smile. It happens in slow motion. A slow and easy curving of his lips that exposes his straight white teeth and makes warmth flood my chest. I can’t ignore the rush of satisfaction I feel at finding myself on the receiving end of two of his smiles in one day.
Relax, Sloane. It’s a smile, not a peace treaty.
He takes the tray from my hand, managing to send another zip of electricity up my spine when his fingers brush mine. “Maya suggested we sit over there.”
I follow the direction of his tilted chin to the cozy-looking sofa facing a mural of Black poets and flanked by two oversized armchairs. It’s notorious for being used as a make-out spot for couples who frequent the cafe. Behind me, I hear Maya and Asia whispering conspiratorially, holding back snickers as they stare at us. I make a mental note to strangle them both the next time I come in for a coffee and cinnamon roll then turn to Dominic.
“Sounds good.”
.
12
Sloane
Now
On Friday afternoon, I leave work and head straight to my parent’s house. The long drive from Studio Six to Walnut Grove—the upscale country club neighborhood my parents have lived in since before I was born—usually wears me out, but today I’m thankful for the time to think after a week of Dominic and James wreaking havoc on my nerves.
Since lunch on Tuesday, things with me and Dominic have been friendly, which has been confusing for me after years of being on guard around the man, but it’s James who seems bothered the most by it. Even Mal, who probably has the most to gain from our tentative truce, isn’t as interested as he is.
First, it was the weird look after Dominic brought me back to the hotel to pick up my car. James was standing outside talking to a new group of valets when we arrived, and his brows pulled together in clear confusion as he watched Dominic open the passenger door for me. He then proceeded to spend the rest of the afternoon peppering me with questions about our lunch with an irritated look on his face.
Then on Wednesday, when I stopped by to discuss tile choices for the fireplace in the Presidential Suite with Dominic, James came strolling into the construction site to interrupt us. He looked completely ridiculous in his three-piece suit and Italian loafers. Especially in comparison to Dominic and his men who were all wearing variations of the same outfit: steel-toe boots, rugged jeans, and form-fitting t-shirts. I could have sworn I saw a flicker of annoyance cross Dominic’s face when James walked into the room and pressed a kiss to my cheek.
And yesterday, I had to come up with yet another excuse to get out of another one of James’ dinner invites. This time, he’d asked me to accompany him to a gala that was happening in two weeks. I lied and said I had a family reunion scheduled for that weekend. And I was so caught off guard by his attempt to make plans with me weeks in advance, I even broke down and told Mal about it. To my surprise, she laughed and said I was being ridiculous for turning him down. I just rolled my eyes and kept my mouth shut because there was no point in telling her about my decision to never pursue a romantic connection again.
But today? Today took the cake when Dominic, with his annoying habit of being aware of every move I make, strode into James’ office just as he was planting an unexpected, and completely unwelcome, kiss on my lips. He’d prefaced it with a speech about his feelings for me and his hope for us to be something more than friends, and I was searching for the right thing to say when he grabbed me by the shoulders and pressed his lips to mine.
Which is how Dominic found us.
When I heard the door open, I pushed at James’ chest with both of my hands to put some space between us. I spun around to face the person who’d interrupted us and almost dropped dead from the darkness filling Dominic’s eyes. It was a living, breathing thing. Pouring out of him and slithering into the room, wrapping its tendrils around me and squeezing like a vice. My breath left me in a shallow wheeze, but James wasn’t phased. He moved around me, clapping Dominic on the shoulder and ushering him back into the hallway. The heavy mahogany door fell shut behind them, leaving me frozen in place.
The look in Dominic’s eyes haunted me for the rest of the workday.
And it’s still in my mind when I park behind my mother’s sleek sports car and cut my engine. I lay my head back and fight the urge to skip this dinner altogether and go home. My stomach is in knots. A mixture of guilt and anxiety over the entire situation has me feeling nauseous and being around my mother when I already feel like crap never goes well. I eye the tall and opposing Craftsman skeptically, wondering what’s waiting for me inside the strategically placed vines of ivy and white brick exterior. Nothing in me believes I’ll find comfort in the marble floors, art-covered walls, or mahogany cabinets filled with crystal and china no one ever eats off of.
“It’s more of a museum than a home.”
