His brows quirk, teeth grazing his lower lip as his arms cross over his chest. “Now who’s begging?”
“Am not!” I huff in defense. “I just need to know what I did wrong. Why are you no longer interested? Even if I’m also not interested…at all.” Ok, stop talking now, Mira. It’s true, though. After the way he’s spoken about my family, I have zero interest in ever climbing into bed with this judgmental prick again. I would like the opportunity to change his mind, but I certainly won’t beg for it.
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he just stands there like he’s waiting to jump to his own defense at any moment.
Seconds pass. Seconds that feel like minutes, and suddenly, I feel like a fool. It hits me all at once. “Fine,” I spit out, dropping my stance and pivoting on the heel of my flip flops. I walk away with my head held high while I still have the chance. He gets a clear shot of my back side and I take extra care to roll my hips with each step so that he can see what he’s missing out on.
“Mia, wait,” I hear him call out from behind me.
I keep walking. If he really has something to say, he can chase after me, because I’m certainly not putting myself out there again.
Passing by the main entrance, and the front receptionist, I get looks from everyone. Particularly because my flip flops are slapping across the waxed floor and I make no attempt to quiet them. Also, because I’m pretty sure Sawyer is now jogging behind me to catch up.
I can feel him draw closer. His scent infiltrates my senses. His soft fingers—that aren’t manly in the least, aside from their size—take hold of my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. My heart flutters at his touch. I squeeze my thighs together, remembering what he felt like between them.
“Hey,” he says, dropping his hold on me. I spin around to face him, curious about how this apology will go. Will he ask me for lunch to make up for rejecting my offer? Will he create a tension between us so thick that he’ll need to whisk me away to his hotel room for round two? He looks left, then right, while I lick my lips in anticipation, hating myself for even thinking about sleeping with this guy again after what he said about me. But, my body is a deceitful little bitch. “Do you…do you know where the restrooms are in this place?”
My eyebrows shoot to my forehead as my shoulders drop, and my head cocks to the side. Is he serious? “The bathroom?”
“This place is huge and I can’t—”
I let out an exasperated huff, cutting him off mid-sentence. Turning back around, I continue with the slap of my flip flops across the floor. “Excuse me, Ma’am,” the receptionist says as I pass by her and stop at the elevator, pushing the button to go up. “Ma’am,” she repeats as she follows hurriedly behind me. She stops at my side where I stand with arms crossed over my chest. “Excuse me. You need a badge to use the elevator.”
I look past her and notice that Sawyer is gone. Good! That guy needs to stay far away from me. More importantly, I need to stay far away from him. “I’m Mira, Floyd Glasson’s daughter. I’ll be working in his office for the next few days. Please keep it on the down low,” I tell her in a hushed tone.
“Ohh, Mira. It’s so nice to finally meet you. Your father did say that you’d be around. No worries, darling, my lips are sealed.”
“Thank you.” I smile politely. She returns to the desk as the elevator doors slide open and I step inside.
Once they close, my head drops back. I look up at myself in the mirrored ceiling. What the hell am I doing? Why am I even here?
It’s a longshot that Layla will even give my designs a chance, let alone actually use them. It’ll hurt a little bit, but I also know that they hire professionals for this stuff. They have an amazing team of designers and marketing experts. People who have spent years in schooling and have worked for huge corporations—even bigger than Glasson. Layla came here from Apple and was part of the launch for the first iPhone. Here I am, a washed-up artist, who came out of nowhere and decided I wanted to work. I’m a joke to everyone who knows me.
The elevator beeps at the eighth floor and the doors open. I pull myself together and step out. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” I shake my head, walking straight past Lance and the sour expression on his face.
He follows behind me as I walk back to my dad’s office. “You’re in over your head, Mira. Just let it go.” His words cut deep. I’m not sure why, but Lance’s words always do. Not just because they are always loaded with insults and passive aggression, but also because he’s my big brother and no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be good at anything in his eyes. He holds onto the past so tightly that he will never forget about the mistakes I’ve made.
I pull the u-shaped handle of the tempered-glass door, not even bothering to hold it open for Lance. “You might be right. I probably am in over my head.” Once we’re inside, my hands palm my hips. “But, you know what? I have to at least try. Dad needs me.”
Lance walks over to Dad’s desk behind me and starts picking up and setting down papers, never once letting the wrinkles on his forehead smooth out. He just holds the scorned look on his face that only settles when he’s with his wife. “What Dad needs is for you to lie low. Keep yourself out of trouble, and away from Glasson. The last thing he needs is for you to screw up this launch or draw unwanted attention to the family.”
My lips press together in a thin line. I swallow down the words that I want to scream at him, because as much as I hate it, he’s right. Or, at least, he was right. The old me would probably do just that, not caring about the repercussions of her actions. “You're right, Lance. He doesn’t need any of that. And that’s exactly why I am taking this seriously.”
“Seriously?” He chuckles, sarcastic and forced. “Is that what you call this?” He holds up an eight by eleven piece of white paper that I was drawing on earlier. It’s not the design I plan to present to Layla. In fact, it has nothing to do with Glasson.
I stomp toward him and snatch the paper out of his hand. “Give me that!” I stack all the drawings and designs back into a pile and hug them to my chest. “Just because I daydream and draw random stuff doesn’t mean that I’m incapable of working hard or creating something worthy of this company's use.”
“Is that what you think Dad needs? For you to sit in his office and doodle pictures of dresses?” His head shakes in complete disappointment and the gesture stings. “Listen, Mira. You want to be a fashion designer...great. You want to sit in a studio apartment in Provence and draw the sunset…even better. But don’t come here and waste our time. We’re running a business.” His serious gaze settles on mine as he stalks past me. I swallow hard, fighting back the urge to burst into tears.
The affair, along with my broken heart, hurt like hell. The regret after Lance’s wedding was painful. But nothing hurts more than the way my family looks at me.
Chapter Six
Sawyer
How am I supposed to work with this girl? Risk bumping into her daily? She’ll want things I can’t give her. It’ll start off as a friendship, but it won’t be enough. Dinner will turn into late nights. Late nights will turn into all-nighters. Breakfast in bed. I’ll give in. No matter what my heart tells me not to do, I’ll do it, because I know how lonely the nights are. Because I miss sharing my bed with someone. But, it’s not just another woman I miss, it’s my wife.