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“Knowing Stella, she’ll tell more people than just Camille.”
A nagging feeling stabs at me. Does he still like his ex? I don’t know much about their relationship, but they’ve been divorced for years. I am remembering asking Dad about it, but he didn’t say much. My dad knows how to keep secrets, which makes him a loyal friend but a bad gossip.
I know he helped Maddox and was a good friend when the whole thing happened—they even went on a weekend fishing trip to get his mind off things.
“Are you worried Camille will think we’re sleeping together?” I ask, and the idea doesn’t make me feel sexy, but a strange sensation of rejection spreads through me. Is he embarrassed to be seen with me? Or does he really pine for his ex? Either way is bad news.
He looks at his tumbler, half empty now, and then his gaze connects with mine. “I simply don’t want Stella to spread a rumor that isn’t true.”
“Why not?”
“Because it makes me look unprofessional, and not to mention, a reprehensible friend fucking my buddy’s daughter,” he says, a pang of accusation in his voice.
Aha.So that’s what really bothers him: the idea of betraying my father. I would never hurt my dad, but I doubt he’d understand how much Maddox means to me. How much I’ve dreamed of this moment—I can’t give up now.
“I mean why can’t it be true?” I said, then I lick my lips. My voice sounds a lot more confident than me, but I can’t keep from adding, so there’s no doubt in his head, “Us, fucking.”
Color drains from his face, and I’d think it was funny if my stomach wasn’t tied in double knots. A chill of awareness goes through me. Not sexual awareness, but the realization I just said the boldest line to him ever. I mean, no subtlety.
“Because you’re not my type,” he says, then takes the last swig of his drink and sets it on the table. He looks at me square in the eye, challenging me to protest.
His words sting a bit, I’m not going to lie. It’s not like I’m a world class, sophisticated woman who has taken tons of men to bed. I only dated a couple of different guys, both times in an effort to be with men my age and lessen my obsession with Maddox. Needless to say, it didn’t work.
“What’s your type?” I ask in a neutral voice, like I’m not hurt at all. A thrill of empowerment courses through me, and it’s like I’ve been finally invited to the big kids table when it comes to emotional management. Hopefully my hormones won’t get the best of me and I won’t be kicked from said table soon.
He glances around, like he wants to make sure no one is paying attention to us. “What does it matter? This isn’t about me.”
I lift my hands in surrender. I don’t want to, but need to tread lightly here. If I press on him too hard, he’ll bolt. I’ll be damned if he bolts so quickly. I waited too long to even have this chance, to be around him more, without my father’s presence. Without distractions. “I was just making conversation,” I say in a neutral voice, hoping he buys it.
The way he clenches his jaw makes it obvious he isn’t buying it. “Listen, Whitney… from now on I say we keep all of our conversations strictly business related. Will that be a problem?”
“Won’t be a problem,” I rush to say.
Okay, so this interaction isn’t encouraging. But I can’t make the man admit he wants me… or can I?
5
Maddox
“So,how was dinner with Whitney a few nights ago?” Charles asks me the second he strolls into my office. “I meant to ask but I’ve been busy with our new strategy to increase occupancy.”
I rock back in my chair, inhaling. How was dinner a few nights ago? My pulse races.Your daughter suggested we fuck. And a part of me, most of me, really wanted to say yes.I bite the answer dangling at the tip of my tongue. “Was good. Whitney is smart and talented,” I say, trying to remind myself to see her as a simple employee.
“She is,” Charles agrees, then sits in front of me. “She emailed me some ideas she exchanged with you, so I’m up to speed.”
“Excellent.”
“She said she’ll send her assistant to make a video of you for a post she’ll do about the new hotel ownership. A good way to start talking about Dallas Proper.”
“Sure.” I vaguely remember her saying something about a three question post she makes every week, asking well-to-do and local celebrities some questions and posting the answers with videos or pictures on her socials.
At least her assistant will be there, a good buffer zone.
I’d rather not be alone with Whitney anymore if I can help it.
The way she looked at the club…
Something hot and forbidden stirs inside me, and I try to center myself and continue a conversation with her father who’s sitting across from me. What the fuck.Get your head in the game, man.
