“I get what you’re saying. Thank you for explaining.”
“Did I explain it right? What I mean is that you’re not superficial like most of those guys. And I should clarify that yes, I can pick expensive clothes and shoes a mile off, but that’s more to do with my love of fashion and my job. I can usually tell what kind of client I’m dealing with by what they wear. Sorry if that sounds shallow. It’s not always completely accurate, but it tends to cut away a lot of wasted time.”
“Not at all,” he replied. “I get that.” He played with my hand, running his thumb over my knuckles and fingers. “Want to know what my first impression of you was?”
“Um, probably not. But yes.”
He smiled. “I took one look at you and thought you were fucking gorgeous. You were looking at me and didn’t look away. It was quite the invitation.”
“Then you walked over and pushed me against the bar. I was a goner.”
“A goner, huh?”
In more ways than one. “Yep. It was sexy as fuck.” Then I remembered something. “Did you ever get your hundred bucks from your friends?”
“No, the bastards.” He smirked. “Guess I should get you home.”
He let go of my hand, so I kept it on his thigh, which earned me a cheeky smile. He started the engine and pulled out into traffic.
“Thank you for tonight,” I said. “I’ve had a really good time.”
“Same.” He pursed his lips as he drove, like he wanted to say something but wasn’t quite sure how. I gave him time to find the words. “I know we began this hooking-up thing for uncomplicated sex.”
Oh boy. Here we go . . . I had a sinking feeling I didn’t want to hear what he was about to say.
“But I think we’ve gone past that now,” he added.
“Uh, yeah. Probably. You know my name now, so,” I said, trying to keep it light. Trying to keep the axe from falling.
“And you’re the property manager I’ll be renting my place of business through,” he added.
Oh shit. “Yes, of course. Makes it kind of complicated.”
“Kind of.”
I withheld the mother of sighs. “If you’d rather not see me, you can just say it. I understand the ‘keeping it professional’ thing. In fact—”
“What? No.” He shook his head. “That’s not what I was about to say.” He frowned. “Unless you don’t want that.”
“I can separate work and play. I have no issue with that.”
He smiled, relieved, then slid his hand over mine on his thigh. “Good. Same. I don’t want it to make things weird.”
“I can pass the file off to Natalie,” I said.
“Well, about that,” he said, shifting in his seat. “I was thinking maybe we should?”
I shot him a look. “You do?”
“Well, yes. Then there’s no blurred lines or conflicts of interest. But only if you want to,” he added quickly. “I just thought . . . maybe . . .” He let out a laugh that became a sigh. “I want to keep seeing you. And if the professional thing is going to mess with the personal thing, I’d rather it didn’t. If we had a choice, I’d rather choose the personal.”
Oh my god.
“I want to keep seeing you too,” I whispered, my heart in my throat. I put my free hand to my chest. “I thought you were going to tell me you didn’t want to see me anymore.”
He grinned. “I thought you were going to say that.”
I laughed, so very relieved. “Thank you for speaking up. For saying that.”
He squeezed my hand. “Thank you for not shooting me down.” As he drove back into the city, he handled the streets with ease, and in no time at all, he’d pulled up out the front of my apartment. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this,” he began. “But I’m not going to come up.”
“Oh.”
“It’s just that I spent last night there, we had a date tonight, and I have every intention of seeing you tomorrow night. Is eight o’clock still okay? I can bring dinner with me and we can watch a movie or something. Unless you wanted to go out?”
We had a date tonight . . .
I fought a smile, my belly giddy at his words. “Takeout and a movie sounds great, actually.”
“Seven thirty?”
I nodded. “Even better.”
We both sat there, smiling at each other for what felt like forever. I unbuckled my seatbelt and it seemed to startle him. “Um. Dates end with a kiss, right?” he asked. God, was he nervous?
“I think that’s appropriate etiquette,” I replied, leaning over the console. He slid his hand along my jaw and brought our lips together. It was warm and soft, with parted lips and a taste of tongue, sweet and tantalising . . . until he pulled me closer and kissed me deeper with the sweetest moan.
He still held my face, and when he broke the kiss, he looked almost pained to do so. He thumbed my bottom lip. His eyes were onyx. “Tomorrow night?”
I nodded. “Yes, please.” I had to remind myself to actually make an effort to get out of his car. I grabbed the handle. “Thank you for tonight.”
“You’re welcome, Michael Piersen.”
I got out of his car and he waited until I was inside the lobby before he drove off. His sleek red brake lights disappeared around the corner, and I had to lean against the wall. I was breathless and lightheaded and full of butterflies, and my heart was banging against my ribs.
I just had a date with Bryson Schroeder.
I mean, sure. We’d done all kinds of things in the bedroom, but this was an actual date. And he wanted to drop the anon-uncomplicated games. He wanted to see me. He wanted to date me. Officially, for real.
I hit the elevator button, and when the doors opened, I almost didn’t recognise the guy in the mirror. His smile was borderline stupid, and he laughed and shook his head.
I walked into my apartment and threw my wallet and keys on the kitchen counter and still hadn’t stopped smiling. My phone beeped with a message. It was Bryce.
Just so you know, I already regret not coming up.
I thumbed out a quick reply. Are you home already? I mean I knew it wasn’t far, but still.
Sitting in my car.
I laughed, giddy like a schoolboy. It was already ten o’clock and he was right. He spent last night here; he’d be spending tomorrow night here. We had dinner together tonight. That was enough. So I replied, aiming for sensible. I had the best night, thank you. And I’m already looking forward to tomorrow night.
Me too.
I smiled at the screen for a bit. Goodnight, Bryce.
Night, Michael.
Bryce’s lease agreement was on top of my in-tray. There were a few sections left blank for now, finer details we’d need to elaborate on, but I did smile when I read his name.
I had a lot of emails, but I searched for one in particular and couldn’t click on it fast enough.
Mr Piersen,
Mortimer Incorporated are pleased to hear you’ve found a lessee already. Please forward all necessary paperwork . . .
I shot Bryce a quick text. Good news on King Street Wharf! Call me when you have a minute.