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“I believe you. So, what about this run? When can I expect you’ll prove me wrong about my assumptions?” he questioned me.
I didn’t dare allow my eyes to drift away from him. Pinning my stare on him, I revealed, “I’m here every morning for a run.”
“Same time tomorrow, then?”
I couldn’t quite work out if this was better or worse than having to agree to dinner with him. “Perfect.”
His eyes lit up and roamed over me once more. “Wonderful. I’ll look forward to seeing you, Miss Marks.”
With that, Wyatt turned and walked away toward his stupid, flashy car.
I stood there, staring at him go, hating everything about his pompous attitude and know-it-all ways. There was a big part of me that wanted to scream my frustrations at just how much I despised his brash mindset.
But what I hated most of all was how, hours later, when I was back at my ice cream shop, I couldn’t get the way Wyatt looked at me or the way he smelled out of my mind.
I didn’t have the slightest clue how I was going to survive the next day.
WYATT
They said patience was a virtue.
In my line of work, it wasn’t unreasonable to expect there would be situations that called for a certain level of patience. Though it was a bit of a hassle whenever things didn’t go as planned, I tried to maintain my composure, focus on coming up with a new plan, and wait for the timing to be right. It wasn’t ideal, but I did what I had to do. And the truth was, I didn’t necessarily mind when it happened—it was all part of the job.
But in all the years I’d worked at Westwood’s, I wasn’t quite sure I’d ever found myself in a position where I needed to exercise this much patience while simultaneously feeling excited about it.
Yes, excited.
I was looking forward to how this would all pan out, how I’d finally convince Rhea to give me a chance to present everything to her. Because if one thing had become clear to me, it was that this was going to be no easy feat.
All weekend long, I’d been pondering what to do about this whole situation. After visiting Rhea on Friday and learning just how adamant she was about having nothing to do with me, I felt a bit defeated.
It was strange.
Even though I couldn’t say we always got everything we hoped for whenever we were working on a project at Westwood’s, we certainly had the opportunity to make a valiant effort for whatever we were setting out to accomplish.
Not being able to have that chance with Rhea had been unexpected.
But seeing her here at the trail entrance yesterday led me to believe that perhaps the stars were aligning. It was precisely the reassurance I needed to know I couldn’t give up on this just yet.
Of course, there was one thing that became abundantly clear.
I had to take this slow.
It was my best chance.
This hadn’t been how I anticipated any of this happening, but I refused to pass up the opportunity. My hope was that I’d be able to wear her down over time, and maybe then she’d be willing to listen to me.
It was at that moment I saw her turn her car into the parking lot. At the sight of her sitting behind the wheel, my heart started racing.
And if I was honest, it made absolutely no sense at all.
Because from what I could tell, Rhea hated me. She didn’t know me, but she despised me.
For some unexplainable reason, that only made me even more determined.
The woman was something else.
She was probably around five feet five inches tall with a body that was slender and petite, no doubt the result of her runs. I didn’t know what exactly she was hiding beneath her layers, but based on what I’d seen in her shop, Rhea’s breasts were on the smaller side, and her ass was small, round, and perky. Her hair had always been pulled back, away from her face, every time I’d seen her now, but I imagined it fell not far past her shoulders when it was down. Rhea’s face was unbelievably pretty. Her lips were just pouty enough, and her eyes were the first pair of gray eyes I’d ever seen. They were gorgeous.
