Her enchanting eyes meet mine for a split second. Then I focus on the road ahead of me again.
“James,” she sighs my name. My dick hardens in response. She continues, “I don’t think that’s wise. We’re colleagues, and it’s not appropriate.”
Well, it’s not a flat-out “no,” so there’s potential. Keep pressing, I tell myself.
“El, the fact that you even recognize that we’re colleagues and not mortal enemies is already a victory in my book. However, it would give me the greatest pleasure if you would have dinner with me tonight. One of the biggest deals of our careers was just solidified. We deserve to celebrate.”
“I don’t think you’re the enemy. I’m sorry if you got that impression.” She bites her lip at the remark because she damn well knows we were, in fact, enemies up until today.
Not being able to help myself, I chuckle. “El, you’ve hated me before you even knew me. Admit it.”
She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds and then replies with, “I suppose I’ve been a little unfair.”
Chuckling again at her delivery, I finally get her to crack a smile.
“Dinner. My place. Seven o’clock. I will cook. You will eat and relax. No contracts. No work. Just you and me.”
El shifts in her seat and I sense her apprehension—it’s palpable. But there’s something else I can’t discern from her expression.
She swallows and bluntly states, “I’m not going to fuck you.”
My sharp intake of breath through my nose alerts her to the fact I’m offended.
“I never said you had to. El, you’re still misjudging my character. Sure, it’s no secret that I like sex. I’m a fucking man. But I’m not an asshole.”
If she only knew what I wanted to do to her, then she definitely wouldn’t accept my invitation or even entertain the very idea. But I will put my desire and need for her aside. My only wish is for her to relax and enjoy herself for one night. Fuck, she needs to have a little fun and be the twenty-two-year-old woman she is.
“Okay,” she acquiesces.
There’s not going to be an apology from her about her assumption that I’m trying to fuck her. Maybe she’s used to encountering assholes, and I want to change her mindset. We’re not all bad—men are dogs, yet we still have human qualities. Then I think about her father and how he said “she had a rough go.” There’s a story there, and maybe, just maybe, I can pry it out of her tonight.
9
Elodie
“What the hell am I doing?” I ask myself aloud as I pull into a parking space in front of Jamison’s condo.
Why did I agree to this? I must be crazy.
It’s so easy to be lured by him now that I’ve fallen under his spell. The kiss we shared at my parents’ house has me touching my lips as if I can still feel him. Shake it off, Elodie!
I rub my forehead, feeling a headache coming on because of contemplating the evening ahead of me. The worst that could happen, I suppose, is I’m not enjoying myself, but I can leave whenever I want. Since I’m already here, I might as well go through with it, I grumble.
I make my way to his front door and knock softly. When it opens, I’m greeted by the smell of what I’m guessing is Italian food and what only can be described as a manly scent emanating from James.
He looks so…different. A good different. A sexy, casual different. Dressed in dark-washed jeans and a gray T-shirt, he’s mouthwatering. Internally I groan because I don’t want to feel this way about him.
“Elodie,” he says my name in a sexy tone and smiles. “Welcome, please come in.” He steps aside so I can enter, and then he closes the door behind me. “You look nice, El.”
“Thanks, you too.” I bite my lip from commenting further.
Tonight I decided to wear black skinny jeans, pairing them with ballet flats and a light-blue blouse. I’m wearing my glasses and left my hair down in soft waves.
His condo has an open floorplan, and it’s nicely decorated in neutral tones. The kitchen is stunning with modern lighting, appliances, and a backsplash to die for.
“Your place is incredible,” I remark with my mouth agape, and I walk around and admire everything. This is not a space I would expect him to have.
“Thanks. It’s home for now, but eventually I’d like to buy a house. Although, until I have a family, I don’t see that happening.”
I don’t comment on the family thing, but I’m surprised he wants something like that. Maybe he’s getting to the age where he wants to settle down and not be such a playboy, yet he also keeps telling me he’s not a manwhore. I really have been unfair to him with how I’ve judged his actions and behaviors.
On the mantle to his electric fireplace in the living room, I notice a picture of him with an elderly woman. The photo looks as if it could’ve been taken recently.
“That’s my Great Aunt Taffy I told you about at your parents’ house,” he says affectionately and picks the framed photo up so I can examine it better.
“What an unusual name,” I comment and smile.
He looks at the photo lovingly and with more affection than I’ve ever seen a man, besides my father, show toward another person. I’m reminded how his parents are deceased, and I feel terrible for the way I’ve acted toward him. The more I learn about him, the more evident it is I’ve been so wrong about him. For such an intelligent woman, I’m sure a damn fool.
“I’m so deeply sorry about your parents; you caught me off guard last night. But I’m glad you have your aunt. She sounds like a remarkable woman. It makes sense why you don’t have a Texan accent, having been born in New York. Even with the background check I performed on you, it never unearthed these kinds of details.”
“You performed a background check on me? Why am I so surprised?” he asks rhetorically and shakes his head. “Yes, my aunt is a remarkable woman. Actually, I’d love for you to meet her sometime—no need for a background check on her,” he ribs me.
Floored by this request, I’m touched. “I’d love to meet her.”
I also feel about two feet tall because of what I’ve revealed. He already knows we perform background checks on our employees since everyone has to sign an agreement when they’re recruited, but obviously I’ve never let on that I’ve done my own research. Now I’m thinking his skills in cybersecurity allowed it so his file was locked down and only divulged certain information to the public. Interesting—does he have secrets?
I place the photo back on the mantle and ask him if he needs help with dinner, eager to change the subject. But he tells me everything is done. Then, he gestures for me to sit at his dining room table. While he brings the food out, I keep marveling at his home.
In the corner of the living room, I spy a cello resting on a stand. It’s a beautiful instrument. As he sets down a big bowl of pasta, he catches me staring at the cello.
“Do you play?” I ask him.
“Yes, since I was a young boy. Another Aunt Taffy influence,” he chuckles.
Biting my lip at the thought of watching this man do something that takes skill and talent, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’d love to hear you play.”