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Four
Hallie parked in front of her half of the rented duplex, her very late take-out lunch on the passenger seat. She’d had a busy day after she left the studio. As she ran errands and took phone calls, Gavin’s words from last night—and his slimy attempt to worm his way out of saying them this morning—loomed in the back of her mind.
After the party, she’d come home and plucked the bobby pins from her carefully coiffed hair. She’d scrubbed off her makeup and hung the plum-colored dress on the colorful side of her closet. Then she’d changed into a gray shorts set and pulled out the notebook where she’d written her checklist for the new year.
She’d grabbed a fat black marker and crossed out Gavin’s name. Honestly, she was far less angry with him than she was with herself. This morning she’d woken feeling more charitable to herself. After a long couple of hours at the party, she’d been too tired to be witty. That was understandable. She certainly wasn’t afraid of Gavin Sutherland. And she wasn’t about to play nice when he’d insulted her to her face.
She fruitlessly tried to unlock her front door while juggling the take-out bag, her purse, a large iced tea and her briefcase when a large truck pulled into the driveway. Gavin stepped out of it, long and lean and looking like a million dollars in a suit that probably cost close to that. His tie was royal blue, his hair arranged in perfect, dark waves. His shoes were shiny and stylish. He’d be so much easier to hate if he wasn’t so damn good-looking.
He didn’t waste time taking her keys from her hand and opening her door for her. He stepped aside to let her go in ahead of him, but then followed her anyway, shutting them into her apartment before she could invite him.
“Won’t you come in,” she muttered as she plopped everything in her hands onto the kitchen table.
He dropped her keys into her purse and then stood, arms folded, and stared at her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked when it was evident he wasn’t going to speak first.
“I texted you.”
Yeah, well, she’d turned on the Do Not Disturb setting for his phone number so she wouldn’t have to deal with him today. Perhaps a juvenile response, but he was disturbing.
“About what?” she asked as she pulled containers from her to-go bag.
“We need to talk.” His tone was both authoritative and grave.
“No, we don’t.” She’d heard quite enough of what he’d had to say last night. “I’m going to eat my lunch. You can see yourself out.”
Being angry with him was much easier than stepping out of her comfort zone. She popped the lid off her poke bowl and tore the paper holding a pair of wooden chopsticks.
“That was you at The Cheshire. You let me think you were Hannah.”
“Yes.” She paused, a chunk of raw tuna inches from her mouth. “And what an enlightening experience that was.”
He leaned over her, his palms flat on her kitchen table. He looked good, but he smelled better. A hint of spice rolled off his neck, making her hungry for more than sushi.
“What is it you think you heard me say?”
Ha! What a lawyer-y question.
“I know what I heard.” She abandoned her lunch to fold her arms over her chest. “I can’t get a date. You said so yourself.”
“I asked if you had one.”
“You asked if I’d landed one.”
He nodded, letting her have that, but he didn’t seem happy about it. “I wasn’t implying you couldn’t.”
“I’m not incapable of being social,” she found herself defending. “I’d been social for hours by the time you said hello. You caught me at a bad time.”
He straightened and threw his arms out. “I didn’t say you were incapable of being social.”
“You said Hannah was the social butterfly, and I work all the time.” Her voice cracked, emotion causing her throat to tighten. She was trying not to sound weak or defensive, but it was hard when the guy she liked way too much thought she was an antisocial stick-in-the-mud.
Rather than lean this time, he pulled out a chair and scooted closer to her. She gazed into his fathomless gray-blue eyes and briefly imagined another scenario that would bring him this close—one where they weren’t arguing about her being a workaholic. One that would give her a taste of the lips she’d been longing for over the last year.
Dammit.Why hadn’t she corrected him at the party? Then he would have been polite and nice and she could have been spared his uninvited opinions.
“I was complimenting your work ethic,” he said. “Granted, I could have done a better job.”
