I glanced over at him because I couldn’t not look at him when he spoke. Couldn’t not take notice. He was already mixing something with gin. “Uh. Whatever you’re making for yourself. Thank you.”
“How was the move?” Weston asked eagerly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Are you all settled? I’ve been so anxious for you to be here.”
“It was…” I could barely think. Could barely string words into coherent sentences. My attention was halfway across the room on the figure now with his back toward me. Every touch of Weston’s felt like a betrayal, which made no sense at all.
Donovan wasn’t even supposed to be here.
I shook my head slightly and forced my attention on what Weston had asked. “The moving company was excellent. Thank you for suggesting them. They did great work. I haven’t quite figured out where they put everything yet, but I’m definitely settling in.”
There. I could do this. Cinch.
“That was Roxie, I think, who arranged the movers. And your apartment?”
The two-bedroom condo in Hell’s Kitchen had been the best surprise. Weston had helped find that as well. Or Roxie. The floors were hardwood, recently stained. The kitchen was remodeled. The building was secure and being able to have an extra bedroom for Audrey was the cherry on top. “It’s perfect. Even better than the pictures you sent. I can’t believe how much time you spent on—”
Suddenly, Donovan was beside us handing out drinks. “Weston—gin and tonic. I presumed.” The tumbler he handed me was something different. Golden amber and unmixed. “I made a scotch for myself. Would you prefer a gin and tonic as well?”
His fingers grazed mine as I took the glass, and I nearly dropped it from the electric shock that went through me at his touch.
“No. The scotch is fine.” I’d accept a glass of bleach if it meant Donovan would leave me alone. Because that’s what I needed more than anything.
Accepting the scotch at least got him to return to the liquor cabinet to retrieve his own drink. I gathered any strength I could find in the absence of his proximity and redirected my attention where it belonged. On Weston.
“Anyway, as I was saying. Thank you, Weston, for all you did to get me moved in. And for finding me such a wonderful place to live.” I brought the tumbler up to my mouth to take a sip.
“I can’t take credit for the apartment either. Donovan owns the building.”
“Oh,” I choked, on the burn of the liquor, maybe, but also at this new information. The space I’d slept in, bathed in, undressed in—it belonged to him. Why did that make my pussy ache like it did?
Weston patted my back. “Okay?”
“Yeah. I just…” I said when I recovered, looking again toward Donovan. “I didn’t know.”
Was that why the price had been so affordable? Why would he do that for me?
Donovan crossed to us, his own drink in hand. “Why would you know? I’m glad you’ve found it acceptable.”
Did he know? About Weston and me? He had to know. He didn’t seem to care.
“More than acceptable. It’s.” I cut off. Did Weston know?
So many questions and not enough answers.
They were both standing in front of me now, staring at me. Weston to my right, Donovan to my left, like a real life game of This or That, and of course the choice was This. It was the only choice. Practically. For my sanity. The other one wasn’t even an actual option.
And yet my body pulled traitorously toward That.
I spun away from both of them. “I’m sorry. I’m flustered.” I took a seat on one of the couches. Two lovers. One room. Too much. “I guess I’m still in a bit of shock about all of this.” I took another sip of scotch. It went down easier this time, warm and comforting.
Until I realized what an idiot I must look like.
“I’m making a bad impression, I’m sure.” Here I was, determined to prove I belonged in this world, and I’d fucked it up in the first thirty minutes. Over a guy. Over two guys.
“Not at all,” Weston said, perching on the arm next to me. “That’s why I wanted you to have a chance to come in before you actually started. You’re not on show.”
That was easy for him to say. He’d never had to justify why he deserved to be president of his own company. He just had to be it.
“I don’t know about that,” I chuckled. “A true professional is always on show.”
“Well…” Weston trailed off.
Donovan unbuttoned his jacket as he sank into an armchair and crossed one leg over the other. “That's what you left Harvard to go learn at that little college of yours? What was it called again?”
The insult burrowed past any armor I’d put on, under my skin, into my very blood. As if he could read my mind, see my innermost fears. As if his only goal was to expose them.
And suddenly, as vividly as my body remembered how it longed for Donovan Kincaid, I remembered how much I also hated him.
Weston caught the dig as well and threw his partner a warning glare. He followed it with a slow scan up my body. “I happen to like what I see,” he said, his meaning clear.
Donovan swirled his drink, his expression smug. “Too bad you won’t be the one she’ll be reporting to.”
My throat went dry. Was he implying that I’d be reporting to him? Was he staying? I had a brief flashback to the class he taught in college, the way he jerked me around. The way he fucked me against the bookshelf in his office.
“Hey,” Weston chided. “We haven’t decided how that’s going to work yet. For now, it stands as it is.” There was subtext in his tone that suggested there was more to the situation.
I was feeling dizzy, and I didn’t think it was just from the alcohol. “I’m confused. Whom do I report to?”
Weston rested his hand on my collarbone. “It’s me. Donovan’s just being an ass.”
I would have been relieved if the more important question didn’t remain lingering. “But Donovan is staying? Here? Instead of Tokyo?” I was such a coward that I couldn’t even ask him directly. Couldn’t even look at him.
“Yes. Thank god. We’ve gotten too big to run with just two presidents. So he’s taking over management and finance. I’m still in charge of marketing.”
My gut dropped, but my chest rose, and I felt like I was sinking and soaring all at once. He was staying. He was here, and he was staying, and nothing in my world would ever be the same.
Carefully, I dared to peek in his direction.
He was already looking at me, as if waiting for me to meet his gaze.
“Oh!” he said, his eyes sparkling. “While we’re on the topic, Weston…have you told Sabrina about the party on Saturday?”
Then we’d both play this game—talking about one another as if the other weren’t present.
“No,” Weston said flatly. “I didn’t think that her attendance was necessary.”
I sat up straighter. Intrigued.
“But that’s not fair. I’m sure she’d want to come if she were given the opportunity.” Donovan wouldn’t stop looking at me. It was bait.
So I took it. “Of course. What’s the celebration?”