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She decided to text him, even though that wasn’t a normal way for her to communicate with him. But it worked. He pulled up five minutes after Ferro had already left.
“Mr. Calvaresi’s house?” he asked.
Her stomach tightened, stealing her breath. Oh, yes, because that’s where she’d gone every night over the course of the past week.
“No. My house. Thanks.”
“Did the presentation go well, Ms. Anderson?”
“No,” she said, leaning her head against the seat. “It did not go well.”
* * *
In the end, she decided to do a big blanket, sweats and a glass of wine on her own. She didn’t need Ferro to sulk with. She could sulk all by herself. And if it was a little lonely, a little cold and a whole lot sadder, then fine. She could deal. She was sulking after all.
She picked up her remote from the couch and hit the stereo button, then pressed Play. A little smooth jazz would make a nice soundtrack to her hard times.
She was a billionaire. She should totally blow off sulking over a man and fly to Paris to sample wine and cheese or something.
No, she wasn’t sulking over a man, though. She was sulking over the presentation. The presentation was the important thing. It was why she’d agreed to the Ferro ruse in the first place.
Ugh. Then why didn’t she care more?
She set her wine on the table beside the couch and drew her knees up to her chest. An alarm pinged, the sound of a vehicle at her gate, and she sat up straight, grabbing the remote again and aiming it at the TV, turning on the security feed.
It was a dark sports car, but she couldn’t see the driver. She hit the intercom button. “Can I help you?”
“I hope you can.”
The sound of Ferro’s voice made her heart jump up into her throat.
“I hope I can, too. Come up.” She pushed the button that released the lock on the gate and sat back down on the couch, wringing her hands. What was she doing? Why had she told him he could come up? She should be all mad at him.
Except she still wanted to be with him. Even when she was mad.
She jumped up from the couch and downed the last of her wine, then looked down at her sweats. “Mmf.” They weren’t exactly what she wanted him to see her in. But then, the other option was stripping down to her undies or further really quick and she wasn’t sure he was here for that.
Anyway, he’d seen her in sweats before. Just not so much since they’d become full-time lovers.
Then he was knocking on the door, heavily, and she didn’t have time to waffle. She set her glass down and went to the door, bent on owning the sweats look now.
She pulled the door open and stood there, her hand on her hip. “What brings you here?”
Ferro looked down at Julia, her curves concealed by her baggy sweats, and he nearly sank to the floor in relief. Just the sight of her did so much to him. Just the thought of her was enough to keep him awake, to drive him from his bed in the middle of the night so he could see her. So he could be near her.
“I could not sleep,” he said, walking in past her.
“Come in.”
Ferro set his computer bag down on the floor and started toward her living room.
Much like their offices. Hers was what she’d thought an important businesswoman might have in her house. Neutrals, large windows that overlooked the sea. Beige and lots of it, with little pops of lime and blue here and there. Sedate and expensive.
It was starkly different to his house, his office. Which was what he’d imagined someone with money should have. Everything he owned was a testament to disposable income, while Julia’s was so much more…normal than she was. Normal and boring. Nothing like her. But it would show the world that she was more like them. Would make her look like less of a bubbly, eccentric genius.
It was a shame. A shame that anything, any man, anyone, had made her hide herself. He wanted to tell her but the words stuck in his throat.
She put her hands on her hips. “Are you blaming me for your lack of sleep, or just coming to share the misery?”
“I am blaming you,” he said, anger so much easier to find than sincerity. “I have never had a problem dealing with sexual frustration, and trust me, Julia, twelve years of celibacy means I had my share.”
