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We’re in a showdown. It’s Dex who settles it.
“Take this discussion behind closed doors. We don’t do business in the hall.”
Atlas has the nerve to wave his arm in front of him like a fucking Vanna White welcome. I’m being played. I know it. Atlas knows it. Hell, Dex knows it.
Fine. I’ll show him I’m not just gonna fall into his bed. We’re adults. I can get what I came for and leave.
But the second the door slams behind me, I know I’d made yet another error because right in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling window looking out onto Central Park is a dining table set for two.
Dinner would be one thing. It’s the candles burning and bottle of champagne chilling that tell me he’s planning on getting lucky again.
“Looks like I’ve interrupted something here. I’ll just get my Seurat and be on my way,” I announce.
Ignoring me, Atlas leisurely crosses to the bottle and starts opening the bubbly. “You made it here faster than I’d hoped. We should eat soon. It’s still warm.”
“You’re insane. I’m not having dinner with you.”
He finishes pouring the French wine before coming to hold a flute out in my direction like a peace offering. When I don’t take it, he adds. “What a shame. I’m guessing you get homesick for Boston sometimes, so I made a call. The currier just dropped off our lobster, prawns, and ribeyes from Sorellina’s.”
What. The. Fuck.
“You ordered takeout from a city hours away?”
“Sure. I was in the mood for lobster and theirs is the best.”
“You’re insane. Truly. And for the record, if I were homesick for Boston, it wouldn’t be Sorellina’s I’d order since it is the most expensive restaurant in the city. I’ve never even been there.”
Only after the words are out of my mouth do I realize how vulnerable my admission makes me feel. I hate that he not only knows about my humble past, but now has just another thing to make fun of me about.
Only Atlas doesn’t laugh. He slowly steps closer and holds out the flute again. “All the more reason for you to sit and enjoy the meal. You’ve worked hard. You’ve earned it.”
As temptation gnaws at me, I realize this suave version of my enemy is more dangerous than when he is shouting at me. This version confuses me. Makes me feel soft, and I can’t afford to be soft.
“Give me my paintings, Atlas.”
“After dinner.”
We’re in a standoff. I’m not folding that easy. I tear my gaze away from him, looking all around his opulent room, searching for traces of my artwork. When I don’t find it, I step away from him, using the excuse of looking for my things to put some distance between us.
Once I’ve looked in the closet and the bathroom and have determined that my art is not in his room, my temper burns hot again.
“I swear to you, Atlas. If anything happens to my Seurat…”
“It’s a nice piece. I was a bit surprised you’d have it hanging in your bedroom.” He takes a leisurely sip of bubbly.
“Where I hang my artwork is none of your business.”
“That may be true.” Then he changes the subject. “Why did you assume you’d even find me here?”
His question throws me off guard. Before I can formulate a response, his voice takes on a new edge as he reminds me, “Considering I almost lost my room. That was very naughty of you—checking me out. Did you really think I wouldn’t find a way to pay you back?”
“Oh, come on, these aren’t the same thing at all. Mine was a prank. Your best friend fucking owns the place. Of course he’ll always have a room for you. But you, going into my apartment… that is unforgivable.”
“What? Did you not want me to see that big ‘ole vibrator you keep in your bedside table?”
Christ. I hadn’t even given it a thought that he’d go through my personal belongings. Of course, he did.
“Give me my Seurat. I’m leaving.” I can feel my panic growing.
“No.”
“I mean it.”
“What are you going to do, Valentina?” he taunts again.
My heart is pounding hard in my chest. I so want it to be because of anger, but the truth is I’ve gotten too close to those damn pheromones again. Just being in this room—close to him—it’s like a damn magnet. I have to leave. Walk out. I’m better than this.
I spin around, taking long strides in the direction of the exit, but when I hear his glass fall and his long strides chasing after me, I have to run the last few steps.
My hand is on the doorknob when his body crashes into me, crushing my body against the door. I place my hands flat and use all of my strength, but I’m still not able to push away. Twisting and turning, I do my best to find some leverage to escape, but he is too big…too strong…and he has me in a vulnerable position.
