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Unlike Leighton, the desk clerk doesn’t seem to notice the ring on my finger, and if she does, she doesn’t care. I give her a wink that makes me feel dirty and not in a good way before turning back to Leighton. She seems to have better control over herself now. The tears I was certain were going to fall have been replaced with sheer revulsion and anger. She snatches the keycard from my hand when I pass it to her.
“An hour and forty-five minutes.”
“You said two hours.”
“That time started when we pulled up. Don’t be late.”
She steps away, the heels of her shoes on the carpet making it impossible to sound as angry as I know she truly feels. I make arrangements with the concierge to take my suitcase up to my room because even sharing an elevator with her right now would be dangerous. Being on the same floor with her while having her spare keycard in my pocket is trouble. Knowing she’s in the shower? There wouldn’t be a damn thing that would keep me out of her room, and getting arrested in California over two thousand miles from home wouldn’t put Deacon in the best mood.
I take a seat in the luxurious lounge area that’s clearly meant more for aesthetics than comfort and wait, trying to look interested in things on my phone when really, I’m antsy about how the rest of this trip is going to go. I have no real worries about the job. Deacon is a master at picking people. He built Blackbridge from the ground up, and although the guys, me included, fuck around a lot, we work our asses off when the situation calls for it. We get the job done every single time. If he has faith that Leighton Redmond is the right person to build the female team he thinks the company requires to meet the needs being demanded, then she’s the one.
I’m more worried about the working and personal side of it. I can’t think straight around her, and that compromises my ability to get shit done. Like right now. I have a list of things that need to be taken care of—all the things Deacon assured me that I could take care of while traveling, and I sent my fucking computer up to my room with my suitcase. I’ll have to work later tonight to not fall behind, all because I can’t focus.
That’s the working side of things.
The personal side has me even more confused. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not misogynistic. At least I didn’t think I was, but more than once since she walked into the BBS office, I’ve thought, I can’t work with this woman. She doesn’t have any business working in the damn office.
And that’s more on me than on her.
I know it’s not her fault that my cock gets hard nearly every time I see her.
That’s my lack of control.
And it seriously pisses me off, and that makes me hate her a little, makes me want to be mean to her.
I’m not that person.
I’m not a man who is mean to women.
Women are meant to be teased and pleased, pleasured and aroused.
And fuck if I don’t want to do that to her over and over and over again.
And now we’ve come full circle.
Right back to the anger and inability to control myself.
Which of course I blame her for.
See? Misogynistic.
The discomfort that begins to settle is more than just the weird chair I’m sitting in, and the bar has too great of an appeal to avoid any longer, so I make my way in that direction. I order a soda when I really want a whiskey, but more than rescheduling, showing up a little buzzed would definitely look bad for the company. I’ll have plenty of time to drink this evening.
You’d think sitting at a bar in the middle of the day midweek would be lonely, but you’d be wrong. The women sucking back Cosmos on a Wednesday are more trouble than those enjoying a girls’ night out on Saturday. They’re lonely, waiting around for husbands to get out of business meetings and looking for trouble.
I ignore their blatant staring, hating the luck I have with women, and feeling even more like an asshole for even realizing that I’m a handsome guy. I guess being one of those fools who doesn’t realize he’s good looking wouldn’t bring me any more favor at this point in the game so who really cares?
It’s only been an hour when Leighton steps off the elevator looking like a million damn dollars, and once again I forget why we’re even in San Francisco to begin with. I stand, a wide grin on my face, throwing down a twenty on the bar before walking toward her as if I’ve been waiting to take her out on a date. The scowl on her face brings me right back down to reality when she sees that fucking ring on my hand again.
