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She stretches her legs, moves her chair sideways and eats out of a container, abandoning the plate. Her attention is on the food.
I swallow and try to come up with an answer. Preferably one that buries this conversation. “Are you pleased with the amount you raised last night?”
London whips her head to face me and studies me for a beat. I’m a well-practiced lawyer and an experienced liar. Tonight my verbal skills have taken a day off.
“It’s never enough.” She sighs and returns to her food. The weight of the world is in that sigh.
“How did you get involved with the cause?” I really want to know. I care to know more about this woman. The piqued interest rubs me the wrong way. I shouldn’t have come here. I don’t even know what I was expecting.
“I’m not ready to talk about it.” She stands up and leaves.
Great. She is not willing to talk about her lack of furniture. I’m not ready to talk about my breakdown. She is not ready to talk about her work. I have no work to talk about. That leaves us with a severe lack of topics. And a whole lot of attraction.
I’m not sure where she went, but I continue eating. Would I find her in her bedroom if I went after her? My mind wanders to her cleavage. Those bare shoulders. I clearly need to fuck someone soon, because my cold shoulder neighbor is more trouble than I care for, and yet… I care. Or not care per se—
London returns, wearing a hoodie. Interesting.
She pulls out two wine glasses and saunters away again. I hear a swoosh and she comes back with a bottle of wine. “Red or white?”
“Thank you, I’m fine.”
She cocks her head, narrowing her eyes. “I don’t have gin. Or vodka.”
What? I frown.
“That’s what you drank last night.” She gets an opener from the drawer and knocks it closed with her hip.
It’s a simple movement. And yet, it stirs something in me. Something that alerts my dick. If I watched a model coming out of a pool, tossing her hair in slow-mo, I wouldn’t be as aroused as I am now.
Jesus. She closed a stupid drawer. I stand up and snatch the opener and the bottle from her. I channel my frustration into the fucking cork while London watches me, amusement playing on her face.Nowthe angry ice queen is amused?
“I drank sparkling water last night and I’m fine with tap tonight.” I grab the wine glass, pour from the bottle and hand it to her. I fill mine with tap water and sit down. Pissed. Not even entirely sure why.
“Where is your girlfriend?” London sits and takes a sip.
“You mean Patagonia?” Right now, I wish she was my girlfriend. Or at least my lover. I wouldn’t be all tense and upset here.
“Oh God, is that her name?” London tries, and fails, to stifle a laugh.
I don’t blame her, it’s not a name to be grateful for. More like one you give your child because you want them to be bullied. “Everyone calls her Patty, so I call her Nia.”
“Of course you do.” London snorts. “I guess when you don't excel at anything, you try to be unique in every possible way, don’t you, Dominic?”
Sassy. If I wasn’t currently annoyed—not even understanding why—I would like her smart mouth. And, of course, I immediately imagine that mouth around my cock.
I close my eyes and shake my head. It does nothing to the image now permanently engraved in my mind.
“Anyway, what does Nia think about you havinga date?”
At this point, I’m not sure if she is curious about the young woman she keeps running into or just trying to salvage the resemblance of a conversation. Pull yourself together, asshole.
“I don’t think she cares where I am. She’s with her boyfriend.”
London’s eyebrows shoot up. “I didn’t take you for a man who shares.”
She smiles, as if this was the most intriguing thing I’ve said all night. It might be, given my complete failure at my typical greatness. I thought the recent influx of energy got me back into my groove. Idiot.
“She is my research assistant.”
