When I walk back into the kitchen, my heels clapping on the clean tiles, Bishop greets me with a huff and a travel mug in his outstretched hand.
“Ready?” He starts for the door before I answer.
“Let me get my phone.” I hustle to snatch my cell from the counter and follow him, taking a sip of steamy heaven once I step over the threshold to the elevator.
The preview on the locked screen triggers my guilt—eight messages and five missed calls.
Cole will be responsible for most.
“Something wrong?” Bishop leans against the back wall, his legs crossed at the ankles.
“No. I’m fine.” I unlock the screen and open the messages, skimming over the mass of capital letters and exclamation points from my brother without reading them, and focus on the text from Matthew.
Morning, amore mio. I had an important meeting I couldn’t postpone. But I’ve changed my plans to be home in time to take you to dinner. Be ready by 7. Don’t miss me too much. I’ll make up for my absence when I return.
I grin, juggling the coffee in one hand with my cell in the other as I reply—Afternoon. I don’t think Bishop appreciated me sleeping in. What should I wear tonight?
I lock the screen, ignoring the messages from my brother, and jostle when the elevator reaches the parking lot.
“You going to tell me the hotel?” Bishop strides into the cement jungle filled with six-figure cars, maintaining his glower of annoyance.
“Avarden Towers.”
He shoves a hand into his pocket and the indicators of a nearby Lincoln Navigator flash to life. “Get in.”
I bite my tongue against the deliberate dictatorship and climb into the passenger seat, biding my time until I can get my belongings and place distance between us. The ride is silent—nothing but city traffic and the barely heard hum of the radio.
It isn’t until we’re at the hotel and he follows me into my suite that his look of disdain gets to me.
“You don’t like me very much, do you?” I grab my scattered underwear from the bed and place them in my suitcase, the silence stretching the air thin. “No comment?” I shoot him a look.
“Of course I like you,” he drawls, heavy with sarcasm. “I love complications. They make my life more colorful.”
“I have no intention of being a complication.”
“Right… And what about your plans with the Costas?”
I pause, my hands filled with lingerie, my paranoia finally waking after the night of bliss. “I’m not here because of that. I don’t want my time with Matthew to have anything to do with them.”
He scoffs. “Does he know that?”
The superior undertones in his voice bug me. “Yes, he does.”
“Then you’re already well aware he won’t stand to be left out of any plans you have. There’s no way you can keep him in the dark.”
Watch me.
I clamp my mouth shut, keeping my thoughts to myself.
“Look, Layla. I don’t know you. But the fact you’re in the same circles as the Costas is a sign you’re bad news. I don’t need more proof than that.”
“You don’t think that’s hypocritical?” I storm for the bathroom and make quick work of snatching my makeup and toothbrush to shove into my toiletry bag.
“Regardless of if it is or isn’t,” he calls from the other room, “I think you know you’re trouble. And Matthew’s worked too hard to distance himself from that shit, changing every part of his life to keep his nose clean, to have you drag him back in.”
His words hit home, squeezing at the parts of me already filled with remorse over the tryst I can’t walk away from.
I hang my head and grip the counter, hating that he’s right. Hating how he can sense the pandemonium that shadows me like a vengeful ghost. Hating even more that Matthew has slain unknown demons to correct his life and I’m threatening to revive them.
But I promised myself I’d lean into happiness despite the obstacles. That I’d take what I could while I could, until the first glimpses of drama surfaced. And this self-righteous asshole won’t talk me out of it.
“I thought you were meant to be making up for a bad first impression.” I clutch my toiletry bag under my elbow and force a smile as I saunter back into the main room.
“Yeah…” He shrugs. “Doesn’t really seem like my thing, does it?”
I laugh. “I actually think you nailed your first impression. In hindsight you were authentic. You came across as a bully, and it’s now clear that’s exactly what you are.”
“I’m no bully, sweetheart. I’m a loyal friend. There’s a difference.”
I continue to the bed, shove my toiletry bag into the suitcase, and swing around to face him, his attitude scraping against the nerves already made raw by my brother. “I’m here in D.C. for no other reason than to spend time with Matthew. What I do in Denver is my business. I don’t want his help. Or yours, for that matter.”
“You were never getting mine.”
I fight a wince at how easily he loathes me without even knowing me. “Thanks for clearing that up.”
“You’re welcome.” He drops his arms to his sides and pushes from the cabinet to stand tall. “You ready to leave?”
“I need to get a few things from the safe. Can you give me a minute?”
He gifts me with another appraising look, still finding me lacking. “I’ll meet you at the car.”
I follow a few minutes behind, catching up to him in the parking lot.
We don’t speak again. Not on the short drive back to Matthew’s penthouse building. Not even when we ride the elevator. He keeps quiet, swinging open the penthouse door and holding it wide for me to proceed, then slamming it closed with him on the other side.
“Great,” I mutter.
Without a key, I’m effectively caged in. Again. But I’m not going to go chasing Bishop about it.
I busy myself for the rest of the afternoon by getting changed, then familiarizing myself with the many rooms in Matthew’s home. I open every door, careful not to snoop, but eager to learn more about him.
I admire the expensive artwork decorating the walls and the books on the shelves. I use the jacuzzi in his main bathroom and research his clubs online. I drink coffee on the balcony and text Stella to send her my love. And all the while, I fight against rerunning my conversation with Bishop this morning on a continuous loop.
Even here, away from my family and the mistakes of my past, I’m still the bad guy.
Bishop knows it.
I know it.
But as soon as Matthew returns that night, his grin subtle despite the unfiltered appreciation in his eyes, all my worries fade.
“Fuck, I missed you.” He drags me into his chest, his mouth roughly claiming mine. “You look stunning.”
I feel stunning.
I’m wearing white tailored pants and a mauve halter-neck top, yet he makes it seem like I’m dressed for a red-carpet event instead of dinner.
“I need to freshen up.” He speaks against my lips between hungry kisses and scrapes of teeth. “Help me get undressed?”
I smile, my eyes closed, my heart in heaven.
He didn’t just need help undressing. He wanted assistance bathing, too. He dragged me into the shower with him, his focus on learning more of my body instead of freshening up his own.