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I’m not particularly proud of my stalkerish ways, but I am who I am. Let’s get real. I may not beg, but when I want something, I pull out all the stops. Laser focus on the puzzle I’m trying to solve. Find a way to make it happen.
In Clover’s case, it’s also not particularly wise. The woman has deep-seated trust issues for good reason, as I’ve come to learn in the weeks after the greatest sex of my life. If I’d done a better job on my research before charging up to Vancouver BC like a bull in a china shop, I might not be in this predicament.
Such a rookie mistake on my part.
Of course, I’d also let my anger at Finklestein get the best of me, which tainted my perspective even further. I’m kicking myself now. Had I been smarter, she and I’d be in a much different place.
Of course, maybe we’d be no place at all. If I’d known about her past, odds are I wouldn’t have even bothered to make the trip to Canada. I’d have moved on to the next deal and never met her.
Which means, I’d never have witnessed her come apart just by listening to my dirty talk. Or known what it was like to be buried balls deep inside her velvet heat. Or realized what a talented, strong, feisty goddess she is for having endured such unthinkable treatment. For emerging from a shitty situation with her integrity intact.
I guess things are playing out the way they’re supposed to.
Other than she hates me and I’m losing my goddamn mind because of it.
I’ve never gone without sex for this long. Fucking my hand while visualizing Clover sucking me off is not cutting it. I’m not about to fuck anyone else. Not that I could. I’m ruined. I can’t get it up for anyone but Clover.
Which is mind-blowing.
Despite how much I once hated her and how much she now hates me, Clover Callahan is it for me.
The one.
Eventually, she’s going to be my woman.
An affirmation that continuously taunts me. Punches me in the gut. Hits me over the head with an anvil.
Because in reality, I may never have her.
Probably won’t.
Unless tonight I’m able to turn things around.
I’m back in LA. Victor pulls my Bentley through the arched hedges of the driveway to the London Hotel valet. I get out. Nod to the doorman. Push through the front doors. Stride past the teal velvet couches in the lobby and make my way to the bar where Seth is waiting.
“Joar.” He lifts his martini glass.
I sit on the barstool next to him, facing the entryway. “Seth.” I nod. Order a Jamison 18 neat.
“Did you read the reports?” He sips his drink. “Profits on the latest acquisitions are through the roof.”
I lean back, casually glance at a couple walking in, then return my attention to my best friend. “Yeah. I’m pleased.”
“There are several portfolios I emailed as well. Have you decided on the next target?” Seth turns toward me. “It’s a great time to make a move.”
Over the past two decades, I’ve accumulated all the top production facilities and business, management, and booking agencies throughout the world. I have no plans to slow down on that front. “Yeah, the next phase is performance venues. Big theaters first. Stadiums down the line.” I take a sip of my whiskey. “But, that’s not why I asked you to meet me. Tonight, you’re my wingman. I have my eye on one very special prize.”
Oh, who is it?“ Seth is intrigued.
I don’t answer right away because a vision appears in the entryway and I can’t help but take a moment to appreciate. Clover floats in wearing a knee-length, light-blue dress and silver sandals. Her long, black hair curtains her back in soft waves. “She just walked in.”
Seth turns to see who I’m looking at. “Clover Callahan? I thought that was over before it ever started.”
“Not by a long shot.” I finish my drink and throw a hundred dollar bill on the table. “If I close this particular deal, it will make me a happy man.”
I slide off my stool and walk toward her. She looks around the room until her gaze fixes on me. Her face scrunches up in annoyance, but I also see a flash of desire. “You’re still following me?”
“No, you arranged to meet me here.” I lean over and kiss her cheek. “You look beautiful.”
