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Janelle’s phone comes out, for about the sixth time, to snap photographs of the meal and more selfies of her. She places it away and throws me another toothy, paparazzi-ready smile. “My agent thinks I’m a shoo-in for this role.”
I could take this fork and stab it into my leg. The pain would distract me from the fact that she’s talking about this role for the tenth time. Thank goodness I’m not taking her out for her conversation skills. Dinner is just one thing to suffer through for propriety’s sake before I can invite her to bed.
Not a moment too soon, the check lands in front of me. I glance over it arbitrarily, noting that her cocktail is the first thing on the list.
“Shall we?” I ask, scrawling my name on the check and tucking in cash for the meal and a tip.
“Of course.” That was the breathiest one yet. Standing, I hold my hand out to her to help her up, and escort her out of the restaurant. As we stop in front of the restaurant, and Antonio pulls up, climbing out of the car and waiting discreetly near the back door, Janelle grips my arm and bats her eyelashes up at me. Now’s my time to make a move.
“What say you give me a tour of your place?”
She giggles, pressing herself against my side, arching her chest at me, batting her eyelashes again. “I’d much rather have a tour of your place.”
Fuck. I figured this was coming. Why would you try to bag yourself a Westerhaven if you can’t brag about knowing what his place looks like. My smile is tighter than I would like, and I consciously relax it.
“I actually have houseguests. My place is out of the question I’m afraid.”
There is a moment of silence, and you would think I’d thrown a drink in the woman’s face. Janelle releases my arm, stepping away from me, clearly having taken offense at my refusing to take her back to my place.
She glares at me, her breathy voice disappearing, “You’re such a pig. You don’t think I’m good enough to be seen in your fancy building? I’ll have you know, I’ve dated peoplemuchmore famous than you.”
Ouch. I’m wounded. But not as wounded as she is, so I hold my tongue, watching as she marches over to a cab a couple have just emerged from, sliding in and slamming the door shut before it pulls away from the curb.
Antonio opens the door with a grin as I approach. “That was unexpected.”
Throwing him a look, I slide into the car. Antonio climbs in, pulling away from the curb before glancing at me through the rear-view mirror. “I wasn’t expecting to drive you home alone.”
“I guess I wasn’t as smooth as I thought.”
His lips twitch, and I turn away, looking out the window as I grit my teeth. Just fucking great. Not only am I left unsatisfied after having shelled out a significant amount for that god-awful dinner, I’m going homealoneand it’s not even ten o’clock. This is all Anica fucking Kasan’s fault.
I stew in my bad mood all the way home, striding upstairs and into the living area. Alone. I’m met with a delicious smell drifting through my penthouse. Stalking over to the kitchen to see where she ordered from, I’m met with a sink full of used cookware. Blinking my eyes, I peer into the saucepan still sitting on the stovetop. The womancookedher own dinner. Some sort of garlic noodle dish from the look and smell of it.
She’s nowhere to be seen, but I have no desire to see her in my space right now when I’m so frustrated at the annoying turn my night has taken. She better clean up my kitchen. I stalk straight to my bedroom, in no mood for anything other than a long, cold shower and my bed.
The water rains down on me, and I groan, scrubbing my face. I know it’s not rational to be irritated at a woman who had no say in any of this. But I’m in a bad mood, and that’s never a good time to try to be rational. Besides, Uncle Bill isn’t here for me to be mad at. Plus, I spent a bit of money on the world’s most vapiddinner conversation with absolutely zero pay off. I’m allowed to be pissed off.
Shutting off the water, I towel dry, tugging on a pair of sleep shorts and crawling into bed. Laying on my back, I stare at the darkened ceiling, gritting my teeth. I want this unintentional cock block out of my home, and out of my life as soon as possible.
I grab my phone from the nightstand, pulling up a new email to Christine. I’ll have her clear my calendar for tomorrow. Quick and dirty is the way to do this. I’ll have my life back, and Anica will be on a plane back to Chicago before I know it. Perfect. With a grin, I toss my phone onto my nightstand and drift off to sleep.
Chapter Seven
Anica
The condo was silent when I came back downstairs from eating up on the rooftop terrace, so I cleaned the kitchen, found a container to put the leftover noodles in for me to take to the office for my lunch and washed up everything I used before I put it away. David won’t even know that I used the kitchen at all.
I’m not sure what time he got in from his date last night, but I didn’t hear him before I drifted off to sleep. I learned my lesson yesterday. I will not waste all my time in the shower this morning. I don’t want to miss out on breakfast again. Tiptoeing to the bathroom, I shower quickly, slipping into jeans and a sweater. I can get properly dressed after I eat. I only need something to wear in case I run into David and maybe his date when I get to the kitchen.
Humming softly to myself, I step into the kitchen and blink in surprise. I wasn’t expecting that. Like yesterday, David is in the kitchen when I walk in. Only this time, he isn’t waiting, looking at his phone. He’s sitting at the small dining table, drinking coffee and eating a cream cheese smeared bagel. My mouth waters at the sight of it.
There’s a small bag from a bakery on the counter, with more bagels in it. I didn’t see this bag last night, so he must have gotten them at some stage this morning. Maybe when he was returning from his date. No, that was uncharitable.
It’s not the bagels, or him eating breakfast that have me staring. No. It’s the fact that, unlike every other time that I’ve seen him, David isn’t currently wearing a suit. He’s dressed injeans and a polo shirt. He looks preppy and rich… and too handsome for his own good.
He glances up from his iPad when I walk into the kitchen, his eyes dropping to my outfit, his nose wrinkling at my sweater for some reason. Whatever. I don’t own any polo shirts.
“We’re not going into the office today,” he informs me in an offhand tone, right as I reach for the bagels. My hand freezes an inch from the delicious goodness, my head snapping around. What does he mean, we’re not going into the office? Why not?
