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He could go to Hell on a first-class ticket with a martini in hand for all I cared.
And I didn’t. Care, that was. All I cared was that he took himself the hell out of my life and let me get on with getting back to my new normal. This wasn’t what I’d planned on upon my return. Granted, I’d still be in Cali if it weren’t for his constant going on, but still. Semantics.
It was whatever.
I locked the door behind me, grabbed the phone, and headed up to my office. I had a little time before Damien showed up, and all I could do with it was attempt to make my office a little tidier.
Not that it would make a big difference because not much could make this office tidier than it was. A hurricane could blow through this mess and make it better than it was right in that moment.
I’d barely put a stack of papers back in the right pile when the phone rang. The time flashed as nine-fifty, but the number was unknown. This was Damien, no doubt.
“The Scarlet Letter,” I answered. “Dahlia speaking.”
“Ms. Lloyd. I’m at the front of the building.”
“You’re—” my attempt at telling him he was early was cut off by what was quickly becoming his trademark hang-up move.
I slammed the phone down on the desk.
If I’d been in a better frame of mind, I’d have left him waiting for fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, I wasn’t in that frame of mind. I wanted to get this crap over and done with so I could carry on with my life.
“Sonofabitch,” I muttered, pushing off the desk.
At least I knew my makeup wasn’t smudged. I hadn’t had a chance to have coffee yet, and I paid good money to ensure that my lipstick didn’t come off with the sip of a glass of water.
I tugged my dress down as I headed down to the bar. I had to walk through the entire bar to reach the front door where he was waiting for me. Keeping my temper in check was harder than I’d imagined it would be—annoyance crawled over my skin, twisting and turning it into goose bumps I couldn’t will away.
Stopping in front of the double, wooden doors that made up the front doors to the bar, I did my best to school my expression into one that didn’t give away how I was feeling. Judging by my inability to not purse my lips, I was failing.
Abysmally.
Whatever. If he didn’t want to annoy me, he should try leaving me alone.
I unlocked the door and opened it. I’d seen Damien Fox before, but never in person, only in pictures. And in fact, that pissed me off even more, the photos I’d seen apparently didn’t do the man justice.
He was devilishly handsome, from his dark hair to his dark, calculating eyes. The stubble that coated his strong jaw was trimmed short, but just long enough to be the perfect length to rub your fingers over.
Not that I wanted to rub my fingers over his anything. It was just an observation.
“Dahlia Lloyd, I presume?” His voice was just as deep and rumbly as it was on the phone. Better, actually. If horniness had a sound, it would be his voice.
Damn it. I was not one of those women.
I straightened my spine and met his gaze. “Were you expecting me to be anyone else?”
“A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ would have sufficed.” His eyes glittered with amusement.
“Ask a stupid question and you’ll get a stupid answer, Mr. Fox. Come on in.” I stepped to the side for him to pass.
He joined me inside the bar. I locked the door behind him and waved him to follow me.
“Please excuse the mess in the office. I’m in the middle of sorting it out.” I rounded my desk and offered him the seat on the other side.
His dark gaze cast around the room as he sat. A rectangle shape the size of a phone pressed against the fabric of his dark gray pants, and the matching jacket he wore seemed to stretch across his broad shoulders as he got comfortable.
I knew what he was seeing. Boxes upon boxes, random stacks of paper and folders, and an empty Coke bottle.
Whoops.
“Would you like a coffee?” Why was I offering him a drink? I didn’t want him here long enough to finish one.
Thankfully, he shook his head. “I just had one, but thank you. I’d like to get straight to the point.”
“I’m not selling The Scarlet Letter.” What? He’s the one who said we needed to get to it.
He arched one dark eyebrow. “You haven’t heard what I have to say yet.”
“Quite frankly, Mr. Fox,” I said, resting my forearms on the desk in front of me, “I don’t feel the need to hear it. I can’t imagine that anything you say will make me change my mind.”
