Page 42 of No Headlines Please

She laughed. "Yeah, well…you're earlier."

This was true – and surprising.

Waiting around for anyone wasn't usually my style. And yet, I'd been sitting in the lobby for nearly ten minutes, even though it would've been just as easy to wait upstairs.

In the penthouse.

After Cal had left my office, I'd gone and pulled the trigger. The agent had practically jumped to book it, especially after I'd offered a nice bonus if the place was clean and ready before noon.

Turns out, it was furnished and available for the next five days – maybe longer if I wanted to pull some strings.

This wasn't a big deal.

Or at least, that's what I told myself.

I smiled. "Don't worry. I came down only a few minutes before you did."

Delaney glanced toward the elevators. "You mean…from your apartment?"

The question made me pause. "Something like that."

"So…which floor? I mean…you know I'm staying on the seventh, so where do you live?"

Fuck. Now, I had a decision to make – one I'd been hoping to put off until after I'd heard Delaney's story. But I would never hear it if she bolted now, so in the end, I kept my reply simple. "The top one."

Technically, this wasn't a lie. I did live on the top floor – just not here, that's all. And hey, some might say the fact I'd just rented a top unit in this very building made the reply doubly-true.

Would I say that?

No.

In spite of my other flaws, I wasn't one to play fast and loose with the truth. Shit. At some point, I would need to stop digging.

In the quiet lobby, Delaney's tone grew wistful. "I bet the view's amazing."

It was, actually – meaning at my own place, not here. But the view from the rental upstairs wasn't half-bad. On impulse, I said, "If you want to see it, we could do coffee on the balcony."

I wasn't sure why I said it. This hadn't been part of the plan. And yet, it wasn't lost on me that if we had coffee in private, there'd be no chance of somebody coming out of the woodwork to say, "Hey, aren't you that asshole who left Sloane Hayworth at the altar?"

Sure, Delaney would find out eventually. But the idea of putting it off wasn't sounding half-bad.

She liked me. I could tell.

Odder still, it wasn't because I was rich. Or infamous. Or rubbed elbows with names you see on TV.

She liked me for myself. The sensation was oddly compelling.

Damn it. Cal was right. I was acting funny.

As for Delaney, she was looking suddenly mortified. With a little groan, she said, "Oh, gosh. That sounded like a hint, didn't it? Sorry, I didn't mean it that way."

I studied her face. "What way?"

And now she was blushing. "Like…you know…let's go upstairs for…well…whatever."

At her words, I felt my own skin grow warm – not with a blush, but at the idea of whatever she was thinking.

Or not thinking.