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In a time where I should have been angry at him, I was angry at myself.
Angry because I saw his fleeting, genuine smile that teased a dimple.
Angry because I saw a softness in his eyes when he saw me getting spaghetti all over myself.
Angry because I’d felt him stroke my hair just before I fell asleep. Because I’d felt the heat of his body next to mine all night and felt nothing less than completely comfortable.
I was angry because despite it all, I couldn’t stop thinking about the man I’d been with all night. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way it’d felt to just be with him. How very easy it’d been to sit half-naked in his kitchen, eating food at stupid o’clock at night.
Most of all, I was angry because I couldn’t shake all those feelings. I didn’t want to be thinking about them or remembering anything. I wanted to grip onto my anger toward him and stew in it until it consumed me because then it would be easier to tell him that I never wanted to see him again and mean it.
It would be easier to tell him never to call me or text me. Never to email me. Never to show up. Never to touch me. Never to kiss me ever fucking ever again.
It would be easier to believe it.
Dear God, I’d crossed the line from hating him to wanting him, and then I’d stepped a little further into my own personal hell, wanting him even more than that. Through all the anger and the annoyance, he’d slowly become a part of my life—a part that a small bit of me was getting attached to.
More than curiosity.
More than a to and fro of wills.
More than business rivals.
More than people with the upper hand, sneaky tricks and whatever else we’d been doing for the last couple of weeks.
I wanted him in a way that I couldn’t pinpoint.
I wanted him in a way that scared the life out of me. In a way I couldn’t control.
I didn’t know what to do about any of that. So, I sat down behind my desk, propped my elbows on the top, sunk my fingers into my hair, and dropped my head.
“Never trust a Fox,” Dad had said, looking at me earnestly. “They live up to their name. They’re sly, Dahlia. Cruel and cunning. Whatever you do, never, ever trust them.”
The memory of his words spun around and around in my head. That was just it—I didn’t think I did trust a Fox. I wanted one, but I didn’t trust him. I didn’t think I did. I wouldn’t trust him to catch me jumping off a six-foot-high wall, let alone anything else.
I dropped my hands to the desk and tapped my nails against it. I needed a brain cleanse to be able to do anything today. Finishing tidying the office was all I’d successfully managed.
Even then, ‘successful’ was a matter of opinion.
The office door opened, making way for Abby’s vibrant hair that, today, was twisted on top of her head in a ballerina bun. “These are yours,” she said slowly, handing me five envelopes. “The mail guy was running late today.”
“I don’t think he can call it running late when it’s the regular time he always shows up.” I took the envelopes from her and flipped through them. None looked important.
“I know, but I humor him.” She shrugged and gripped the edge of my desk, leaning forward. “So…what’s up?”
“I can see down your shirt.” I put the envelopes in a mail holder on the shelf next to me. “Nothing. I just finished up here and got off the phone with Geoff.”
“What did he want?”
Sighing, I said, “Benedict Fox made another offer.”
She wrinkled her face, pulling all her features together in an expression of disgust. “What did you say?”
“I responded with a Cease and Desist. To both him and Damien.”
“Dinner didn’t go well, then.”
“It has nothing to do with this.” It came out sharper than I’d intended.
“Good, because he’s called the bar twice to see if you’re here.”
I blinked. Why not call me? “What did you say?”
She straightened, twisted, and perched on the corner, looking back at me. “I figured if he was calling the bar and not you, last night had gone about as well as a sandstorm, so you weren’t available today.”
And just like that, she was off the hook for telling Fergus my bra size.
I grabbed my phone and checked my notifications again. I definitely had no missed calls or messages from Damien, so why was he calling the main phone here? “I don’t get why he’s calling here and not me.”
Abby tapped her finger against her lips. “Did he do something to piss you off?”
“Yes. No. Maybe? Ohhh,” I groaned and sat back. “I did kinda leave and slam his door on my way out.”
