It’s a red rag to a bull. The flare of my temper catches me off guard.
‘Yes?’ Her voice is soft, almost dismissive.
The elevator doors part but she holds them open rather than stepping inside. Only, I move into the space, leaving her with little option but to join me.
She hesitates though—a clear sign that something’s wrong, something’s bothering her. I rack my brain, trying to think what the hell’s happened since the night before last, when we spent a glorious few hours enjoying each other completely. She finally moves into the elevator and the doors ping shut.
‘Just what the hell is going on?’ I ask, sounding angrier than I mean to. I cross my arms over my chest to stop myself from reaching for her.
‘What do you mean?’
The wide-eyed innocence is more frustrating than anything else. I make an effort to control my voice. ‘Why are you pushing me away?’
Her lips part in obvious surprise. ‘I’m not.’
The elevator doors ping open and she steps out, keeping her head dipped low.
‘I’m just being practical. You said you were getting on the road today; I know you must be keen to see your family. I’ve got some loose ends here …’
‘What loose ends?’
She reaches her room and swipes the card, pushing the door open. I move in behind her quickly, closing my eyes on a rush of desire and familiarity that make it hard to keep my head in the game.
‘Work stuff.’ She gestures to her laptop like it’s some kind of shield. I make a sound of impatience.
‘Aren’t I your “work stuff”?’
She puts her delicate hands on her hips and glares at me. Good. Anger is better than cool indifference. Just like riding a bull, anger is an emotion I can surf, keeping above it, turning it into something better. Anger helps me understand because at least it leads to communication.
‘I don’t need time with you to write an article about you.’
‘Don’t you? I thought that was the point of these three weeks.’
‘Exactly.’
I laugh sharply. ‘You realise you’re contradicting yourself, right?’
She clamps her lips together. ‘What do you want, Beau?’
‘I want to know why the hell you’re ignoring me.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You didn’t text back last night.’
‘I was asleep.’
‘Bullshit.’ She glances away from me. ‘I saw your light on when I got back to the hotel. Your window looks down on the parking lot, darlin’. I messaged because I knew you were up.’
She closes her eyes then, and I feel something like guilt for pushing her so hard on this.
‘Yeah, well … so what? Is it a crime to want some space?’
I’m not expecting that to hurt the way it does, but her words land like a thud to my side, making me feel like I’ve misread everything we’re doing here. Making me feel stupid as shit, like I always did as a kid. Making me feel like I don’t know jack and got everything wrong.
I don’t show it though. I suck it up, like I always do with hurt, pushing a breezy smile onto my face and shrugging nonchalantly. ‘No problems, Bailey. If it’s space you want, have at it.’ I move to the door, keeping the smile locked in place, my tone easy, like she hasn’t just sucker-punched me in the gut. ‘I’ll see you in Arizona.’
I open the door and step out, exhaling hard once the latch clicks, then stride down the long, deserted corridor toward my own room, and wish, for the briefest second, I’d never fucking met Bailey James.
