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‘God only knows. She’s staying here and she wanted to use the lobby for her birthday party. I said no.’
‘And?’
‘And I thought that was it. I arranged for someone on staff to show her the various salons where we host parties, and the next thing I know Spencer is calling me claiming this Caris woman has called him a dozen times, demanding that I attend her birthday party.’ He shook his head in a kind of disgusted amazement, and Olivia tilted her own, her lips twitching in amusement.
‘Poor you. So Caris Dowling wants you for her newest boy toy.’
‘Not a role I’m keen to fulfil.’
‘She’s quite good-looking...’
He grimaced. ‘Not my type.’
Olivia almost asked what his type was, but fortunately she bit the question back. ‘So what are you going to do?’
‘Well...’ Ben cocked his head, his gaze sweeping over her. ‘I think that should be fairly obvious.’
‘Oh?’
‘It’s only fair that our little arrangement has some benefit to me, don’t you think?’
Olivia just waited warily, not sure where he was going with this. ‘You can come with me,’ Ben explained. ‘The party’s tomorrow night. You’re my date.’
* * *
Ben adjusted the bow tie of his tux with a grimace. He hated these monkey suits, and he hated the thought of going to this blasted party just to satisfy some over-entitled movie star. The only good thing about this evening, he mused, was that he was at least going to spend it with Olivia.
And that was a very complicated good thing. He hadn’t meant to kiss her the other night when she’d come to his bedroom. His brain had short-circuited at the sight of her standing there, looking so outraged and delectable and warm. And when she’d started going on about how he’d pushed her away...
Well, it had been so ludicrous, because of course he wanted her. He’d pushed her away because he’d thought that had been obvious, and that she’d only been kissing him for show.
But after the kiss—and more—in his bedroom, he was starting to reassess the situation. They were attracted to each other. They’d both admitted it. And despite their rather rocky beginning, Ben thought they actually liked each other. They’d had a surprisingly honest conversation over omelettes, and while that kind of honesty could be unsettling and uncomfortable, it had also been strangely good. Maybe even needed. And he was realising he and Olivia were more like each other than he ever would have expected.
So where was he going with this? Because their relationship was still definitely in the pretend-only realm, and that was the way Ben wanted it. He didn’t have room in his life or his heart for anything else. He didn’t trust himself enough to handle an actual, real relationship.
The anger was still too present. Olivia had seen it in little things, the way he’d lost his temper with her in the pool or with Spencer on the phone. He hated that she’d seen it, hated what it revealed in himself.
He’d kept his anger under control for fourteen years, but coming back to The Chatsfield had been like prying open the lid on the Pandora’s box of his emotions. He hated how much he’d felt since walking these halls, dredging up old memories of the family he’d tried to please, the boy he’d been.
Attempting some kind of relationship, even a casual fling, with Olivia was way too complicated for him to think about now.
He headed up to her suite, rolling his shoulders in a useless attempt to dislodge the knot of tension that had settled between them. He knocked on the door and the breath dried in his throat as he gaped at Olivia for a moment.
She looked stunning. She always looked stunning, perfectly coiffed and made-up and glamorous, but the emerald full-length gown she wore now took her beauty to a whole new level. The vivid colour brought out the glints in her eyes and hair, and moulded to her body in a way that left just enough to the imagination. High, firm breasts. Tiny waist. Endless legs.
Eventually his gaze made it back to her face and he saw she was grinning mischievously. ‘Finished?’
‘Almost,’ he answered, and just for the hell of it, he let his gaze go walkabout again. She laughed, shaking her head, her hands on her hips, which showcased her breasts even better.
They were definitely flirting, and this time they didn’t have an audience. Their relationship, Ben acknowledged, had just gone up a notch. The conversation and the kiss had changed things between them. They weren’t, he knew, pretending so much any more, and he didn’t know how he felt about that.
‘You look fantastic,’ he said, and she tossed her head in what was, he realised with a jolt, a perfect imitation of Caris Dowling.
