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She sat up and rested her head in her hands, letting the tears come. She cried for her mother, doing Popsicle-stick crafts in a room with a window that didn’t let in any light. For her father, tossing dice on a table surrounded by strangers. She cried for Jill, trying to pretend she didn’t miss her mom anymore and only cared about fun, fun, fun. For her big brother, fighting to pretend that he didn’t want anything more than beer and babes.
And she cried for herself, for so stupidly falling for someone who couldn’t have been more perfect for her if she’d created him with her own hands.
When she didn’t have any more tears left, she rose and took a hot shower. She dressed quickly and threw her hair up in a bun.
Throwing herself into work helped the day pass more quickly, though she really wasn’t in any hurry for the night to arrive. Eventually she forced herself to stop checking her phone.
He didn’t call until late afternoon. She’d known he would eventually. He might be as hard to pin down as an eel in a bowl of Jell-O, but he took his responsibilities seriously. While she was his fake girlfriend, he counted her as one of them.
She let the call go to voice mail. And the next.
What was she supposed to say to him now? She could always tell him she didn’t really love him. Or pretend it hadn’t ever happened. Better yet, she could avoid his calls until she absolutely had to see him tomorrow for their magazine meeting.
Option three worked for her.
By the time she entered his office on Tuesday, she’d snapped her impenetrable emotional guards on nice and tight.
Then he opened his mouth.
“Why the hell haven’t you returned my calls?” He stood behind his desk and gestured for her to shut the door. When she didn’t, he did the honors himself with a slam. “I’ve been worried.”
She gestured at her belted wool dress and knee-length leather boots. After a brief warm-up, the temperatures had dipped yet again. “Don’t I look fine?”
He stalked toward her and jerked her face up to his, staring so deep into her eyes that she would’ve sworn her soul quivered. Then he crushed his lips onto hers, staking his claim. His fingers tensed on her chin while he destroyed her composure with thorough licks of his tongue. He gentled the kiss after a moment and drew back, reaching up to trace her jawline.
It took everything she possessed not to respond to the tenderness in his gaze. That was just fool’s gold. A false reflection of what he didn’t truly feel. If he cared for her at all, he wouldn’t have left her alone in bed after the night they’d shared. Without a note, without a text, nothing. He’d fit her in after lunch, which was just too damn late.
She turned away and dragged the back of her hand over her mouth, eager to wipe his taste away. “Let’s get to work,” she said, walking to the side table.
“I asked you a question. I called you. Why didn’t you respond?”
“I’ve been busy. I told you I had meetings yesterday. I’m here now, aren’t I?” Catching a glimpse of a trimmed stack of glossy paper on his blotter, she stepped forward and slammed her hands on the desk. “What the hell is this, Cory?”
He picked up the object in question. “That is the printer’s page proof of Simply Home. Take a look at your cover shot.”
She was already looking, through the steam she knew had to be shooting out of every available orifice. She snatched the pages from him, not caring that she was crumpling the expensive paper. “I didn’t pick this shot. I didn’t even get to see the photographs. I thought we’d agreed I’d be with you on every step.” Fat freaking chance there. She wasn’t part of every step of anything with him. Sex, maybe. But what came after? Nope. Fury swelled in her chest and she forced it down, focusing on the magazine. She couldn’t do a frigging thing about what he did—or didn’t—feel for her, but she sure could demand her rights regarding Simply Home. The amount of creative control she had over his magazine wasn’t usual, but he’d agreed to it, dammit. “Since when do you cut me out of this part of the process?”
“Since there was an issue at the printer and schedules changed. If you’ll just calm down, I’ll—”
“You did not just tell me to calm down like I’m a spastic child.” He’d already broken—no, not broken, nicked—her heart. She wasn’t going to let him affect her professional life, too.
“If you stop acting like one, I won’t treat you that way.” He took back the proof and spread it open on his desk. “Why don’t you see how it looks before you get your panties twisted?”
She white-knuckled the edge of his desk to keep from hitting him—hard. It wouldn’t be the first time, but she’d vowed to be cool in all further dealings with him, at least until the crust of ice on her heart grew thick enough to stand on.
“How it looks isn’t the point.” Even through her narrowed eyes, the cover looked incredible. He’d chosen well. Of course. “Our arrangement was that we’d mutually agree on what photos were used. What happened to joint quality control? Or did that go out the door the minute you fucked me?”
His jaw cracked. “Keep your voice down. This is a place of business, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“How could I? It’s all that matters to you, isn’t it?” She started to whirl away, but she got as far as a half step before he grabbed her elbow and whirled her right back. How he altered her position with such force without hurting her, she couldn’t fathom. “Let me go.”
“Make me.” He drew her up on her heels so they were practically nose to nose. “Speaking of fucking, is that your problem? Do you need me to bend you over this desk until you aren’t so edgy anymore? I told you to call when you needed it.”
God, he could be such an arrogant jack-off. Edgy? She’d show him edgy. “What I need you can’t give me.”
“Try me, Vic.” His breath coasted over her lips and made them part with want. He glanced from her eyes to her mouth and back again. “Right now, I think I could give you plenty.”
“In your office in the middle of the day? With the blinds up? I highly doubt it.”
