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“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that her assistant is weird. Plus, she keeps flaking on me, making my job difficult to do.”
Kate laughs at some inside joke that I’m yet to be included in on. “Oh, why didn’t I see this earlier? You want to shag her assistant.”
“Shag?”
“Shag, get her panties off, tap that ass. As you American folk so kindly say.”
“It’s not like that, Kate. I just—”
“Can’t stop thinking about her?” She fills my mouth with words. “It’s a trap.”
“A trap?”
“Yeah. That whole ‘playing hard to get’ thing. It does something to our brains which makes us think we should chase them. It’s just like in school. When someone likes you, they do all these nasty things to make you think they hate you when in reality they’re just crushing on you.”
Is Kate right? Had I been looking at this the wrong way? Could it be as simple as she’s crushing on me? The idea—as lame as it sounds—is not as farfetched as one may think.
Kate receives some email about a deal falling through, so she panics and practically hangs up on me. Whatever I try to do, it just doesn’t sit right with me. I pack up my stuff and walk to the car. All I can manage to do is sit for a while, staring out of the window.
I’ve been with many women of all different shades and colors. And as infuriating as this is, I don’t know what irritates me more—her canceling our meeting or the fact she’s wasting my time and I haven’t even met Scarlett yet.
And there’s Kate’s theory.
In a rash move, I slam my hands on the steering wheel, letting out a frustrated roar. Overwhelmed by the complexity of her constant mood shifts, I decide I have to do what’s best for me in this situation.
Confrontation.
I need to find her, right now.
Chapter Twelve
I turn on my GPS and drive myself to Scarlett’s office. I have no idea what I’m going to say. Battling the traffic only elevates my already irritated mood. There’s an endless sight of brake lights and equally frustrated commuters getting nowhere.
Inside my head, I’m talking like a madman, airing my frustrations with no conclusion. I almost miss the off-ramp, swerving the car last minute with a bunch of drivers releasing their horn at my reckless driving. Finally, I reach the office at the exact time we’re supposed to meet at the restaurant.
Driving the car close to the building, I park behind another sedan and place my sunglasses on, disguising
my face and lowering my body incognito.
In my entire life, I’ve never been on a stakeout. Except for every Christmas up until I was twelve, I would wait for Santa to arrive who obviously turned out to be mom.
For ten minutes I wait until I see Morgan carrying a bag and her laptop toward a white Mercedes. She doesn’t see me and dawdles as if she has nowhere to be. She’s dressed fancy today, wearing an ivory pencil dress that stops just below her knees. Around her waist is a skinny black belt, accentuating her attractive curves.
You’re not thinking clearly. Stop looking at her damn clothes and focus on HER!
I open the door to my car, marching toward hers at a fast pace. “Morgan,” I call out stupidly.
She turns around abruptly, shocked at the sight of me. Pursing her lips, and relaxing her worried frown only minutely, she stumbles out, “What... what are you doing here?”
“Why did you cancel our meeting?” My voice is filled with malice and judgment.
“I had another commitment that came up…” she says, uncertain, adjusting her posture and straightening her back “You can’t just turn up here. It’s very unprofessional, Mr. Mason.”
“Why are you calling me Mr. Mason? I don’t understand you.” I raise my voice above normal level, unable to control the anger that’s built up on the drive over here. I run my hands through my hair. Something I do when I’m frustrated and want to shout at someone.
“I need to go.” She opens the car door and I grip her arm, perhaps a bit too tight. She stills, unwillingly making eye contact with me. Her chest rises and falls, and somewhere beneath this tough exterior of hers, I know my presence is doing something to her. I just need to find out what.
