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“I mean antisocial with me.”
Pulling a face, Rigger points hard at me, pulling the front door open. “I might be with someone. Just … call me first.” And then he disappears.
I twist my gaze at Ritz, sitting on the arm of my couch, and I shake my head. “Men.”
He meows and jumps down, prancing to the litterbox to assume the poop position. Seems about right.
I get the last few things picked up in the living room, scoop the litterbox, then pull out the hors d’oeuvres from the fridge. Seconds before I hear a knock at the door, I’ve set a new bottle of The Macallan whisky on a diamond studded mirror tray I got from Daddy on my 16thbirthday. If this $20,000 bottle of single malt doesn’t show Benjamin I can put my money where my mouth is, nothing will.
Peering through the peephole after a knock at the door, I’m attempting to get a look at my invited guest before I pull the door open. I want to gage his mood, and so far, it’s not looking great. I’ll have to pump him full of expensive liquor to wipe the frown off his face. As I twist the knob, I force a natural smile.
The second I’m face to face with Benjamin, his eyes drop to my chest. Right where I want his attention. I straighten my back, making myself more prominent.
“Mr. Figueiredo, thank you for coming.”
I wave him in, sweeping my gaze over him once he’s in the door. Sporting a tight, navy-blue t-shirt and faded blue jeans with black Doc Martens boots, Benjamin is showing his more casual side. I’m definitely overdressed but that’s okay.
“I was just about to pour myself a drink.” I gesture to the whisky, feeling his presence on my heels as I walk into the kitchen. “How do you take yours?”
“I don’t drink.”
I wrap my fingers around the neck of the bottle. “Mind if I have one?”
If he says he minds I’ll set the bottle down. If he asks me to drop to my knees and beg for a sip I’ll do that too. I’m at his mercy.
But he doesn’t know it.
Which means I still have the upper hand.
Letting out a sigh and floating his gaze to my living room, he says, “Knock yourself out.”
I pour two fingers and knock it back in one sip. Flames from the alcohol lick my insides. “Let me know if you change your mind. I don’t mess around when it comes to my liquor,” I say, tapping the label on the bottle with the back of my fingernails.
Flicking his wrist and glancing at his watch, Benjamin seems to have a penchant for watching the time. “You’ve got about thirteen minutes left to plead your case. I’ve got places to be.” He pauses, tosses a look down the hallway. “Where are your kids?”
I click my tongue and roll my eyes for dramatic effect. “My son got invited to a sleepover last minute, and I thought it would be cruel to make him stay here just to meet the developer of his favorite app. Then my daughter said if her brother got to spend the night with a friend, she should be able to as well.”
He quirks a brow, glances at my chest. Sweat breaks out on the palm of my hands as he takes a step closer to me. “So how shall we pass the time if the whole purpose of me coming here no longer exists?”
I lick my lips, taste the sweetness of my cherry red lipstick. “The reason you came here still exists, Mr. Figueiredo. I can still share my story.”
“Call me Ben.”
I gulp down the fear he’s eliciting from me. I think it’s his size. And the fact that he’s quite possibly the most attractive man I’ve ever been in the presence of. A scar on his chin trails all the way up the side of his cheek. I didn’t notice it before. I follow it further, to his eyes the color of mocha. My nostrils flare, taking in the sweet and sour hint of sweat drifting my way. I pegged him wrong earlier because he struck me as the cologne type. I really hate it when men try to mask their natural scent. Let me smell your thoughts, your arousal, all the things that show who you are to your core.
My tenth-grade biology teacher’s voice echoes in my head. He taught us that pheromones are released in sweat, and people unconsciously decide whether they are sexually attracted to someone based on how they smell. A lot of animals even have an organ in their soft palate that detects these pheromones. Well, humans still have the organ but it’s evolved over time to be non-functional.Mosthumans, I should add. In me, it’s extremely functional. I can smell a man and know right away if I want to fuck him or kill him.
And damn this man standing in front of me right now because he has pheromones that are messing with my head. I’ve only felt this tug to one other person. And there’s no denying that if I didn’t know who Benjamin was or what he was capable of, I’d give him a second glance.
Idoknow who he is and what he’s capable of, though. Which means that no matter how sexy he is or how delicious his pheromones, he’s still going to end up on my chopping block.
“Do you have children, Ben?”
“No,” he deadpans.
“Well, I have to assume that you at least care about kids in general. Or have some knowledge of the challenges and dangers they face with social media.”
“Yes, to both.” He rests his hand on the counter, gliding it across the granite surface as he approaches me, rich brown eyes circling my face like a predator his prey.
