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Or at least is much better at hiding them than I am.
I take a deep breath. "You did this on purpose."
"And what would that purpose be?"
"To get my attention."
He looks up and finally unhitches himself from the desk. "So maybe I did. But you are the one who came looking for me, not the other way around."
"Of course I came." My throat is dry. "I don't shy away from problems, unpleasant as they might be."
His lips curl in a smile so conceited I briefly consider walking up to him and slapping him. But I stay put, because the odds that I might change my mind on the way and kiss him instead are not low enough. "And we couldn't have had this unpleasant conversation on the phone? Why did you come?"
His words throw me off a bit. Coming here was my first instinct. From the moment the bar owner uttered his name. I thought it was because of the anger. Now I know better. But how do I keep him from figuring it out, if he hasn't already? I look away from him, fearing that my gaze might give me away.
"Perhaps you were looking for an excuse to see me," he says.
There is an edge to his voice despite the coolness in it. It doesn't match the conceited smile.
"That's not why I came," I say and instantly wish I had stayed silent, because what little my coming here didn't betray, the longing in my words just did.
He advances toward me and I take a step back, not putting any distance between us because I bump into the door. He puts his palms on the door on both sides, trapping me between his arms. There's no escape now from his piercing gaze or the intoxicating scent of his skin. My will is my only defense.
"Then why? Why did you come, Serena? Do you miss me?" he asks in an almost pleading tone.
I can see in his eyes that he hasn't forgiven me for those cruel words I spat at him the last time we saw each other. I haven't forgiven him for what he did either. But none of this seems to matter, because the need for each other is stronger than both of us.
"Tell me you do," he whispers in my ear, and the urgency in his voice almost crumbles the last of my defenses. Almost. There is still a wisp of determination in a distant part of my mind that his proximity hasn't taken over. I can't show any sign of weakness.
He's the first to show a sign of weakness. Or maybe it's strength. Courage, even. Because admitting my longing seems like the hardest thing to do.
"I miss you," he says and moves one hand on my waist. Even through the fabric of my black dress, his touch has the power to set me ablaze. "Let's start over. Today. Tonight. There's a charity event I was invited to. I wasn't planning on going, but we could go together."
"You know as well as I do it will end as soon as it starts," I say weakly, wishing I could find a way not to feel his hot breath against my neck anymore. Or at least not respond the way that I do, with a light tremor and a drumming heart.
"It won't. We deserve a chance, Serena. A real one. Come with me tonight."
I'm so close to saying yes. It would be so easy. So tempting. My whole body begs me to say yes. My mind almost decides on saying out loud the word that would surely shatter my heart in no time.
And then my salvation comes, in the form of laughter.
Not mine. Someone else's. A high-pitched laughter, resembling a lark's screech. I can hear it even through the concrete wall and wooden door.
"Please don't read anything into this," James pleads, now putting his other hand on my waist as well. "Natalie owns part of this company. She does come here from time to time."
I leap from his arms just as the door opens and Natalie walks in, her dark brown hair falling in waves, wearing a ridiculously short white dress that reveals almost every inch of her long, perfectly tan legs. The last thing on her mind seems to be checking on her company's state. Good. She reminds me why I must never allow myself to be weak again.
When she notices me, the corners of her mouth instantly lift in a practiced smile that matches the hypocrisy in her tone.
"Serena, how good to see you again. How is your friend keeping up? She looked devastated when she came here."
I take a few seconds to try and make sense of her words. When I still can't come up with a satisfactory explanation, I ask, fighting to keep my voice even, "You mean Jess?"
"Yes. Poor thing was so desperate."
"What are you talking about?" I say blankly. "Why desperate?"
Her eyes light up with maliciousness. "For money, of course. James, darling, tell me you didn't forget to pay her debt. It obviously meant a lot to that girl, insignificant as the sum might be."
