“Wasn’t like I was wrong.” His sneer looked sexier on him than it should.
No, that wasn’t what happened. “You said…”
When I trailed off, he finished for me. “I said ‘You told Weston’. I never said he told me anything.”
I felt hot. Like my physical temperature was rising.
Donovan looked at me with a delighted smirk. “You know, the harder you glare at me, the more I look forward to dinner.”
Dinner? “You’ve got quite the balls, Kincaid.” I was amazed I could talk so steadily. I was seething. “I can’t believe you expect me to still show up tonight. I’m so pissed off right now.”
The smirk turned into a grin. “Take it out on me later. You’ll feel better. I promise.” He slipped out the door before I could respond.
I ignored the phone as it began ringing on my desk and stormed after him. “Donovan!”
I’d opened the door in time to see him disappearing around the hall corner. There was no way he didn’t hear me call after him, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t turn around. Which was probably a good thing since there was another figure waiting for me outside my office.
“Oh, hi, Mr. Hoder,” I said to my one thirty appointment, hoping I didn’t look as agitated as I felt.
“I was just calling to let you know he was here,” Ellen said, hanging up her phone. The ringing stopped behind me.
Dammit. There wasn’t anything I could do about Donovan now. Clearly, I’d have to deal with him later.
The next two hours were spent in meetings with clients, but when I had a chance to breathe, I found that not only was I still mad, but that my anger toward Donovan had gone from simmering to boiling.
Maybe I’d be able to get over his jackass behavior, but I needed some time to process. There was no way I could see him as soon as tonight.
When I got a chance, I rang Ellen and asked her to get him on the phone.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Lind,” she said when she called back a few minutes later. “His assistant said he’s unavailable at the moment. Would you like me to leave a message for him to call you back?”
I almost growled, and not in the sexy way, but in the I’m-going-to-kill-something-with-my-bare-hands way, especially if that something was named Donovan Kincaid.
“What was that?” Ellen asked, trying to interpret the sound of my murderous rage.
“No message,” I said and hung up loudly. Well, if he was avoiding my call, he couldn’t avoid a text. He didn’t usually have his cell phone out at work, but he’d get the message in time.
Canceling dinner, I typed and hit send.
His response came before I could even put my phone down. Why?
Did this really require an explanation? I made my answer as simple as possible. You’re an asshole.
Neither new nor relevant. Dinner is still on.
I squeezed my phone so hard I probably almost broke it. There were so many responses rolling through my head, complete monologues of speeches I wanted to deliver.
I settled on, Fuck you.
Then I threw my phone in a drawer and ignored it so I could attempt to get some work done.
It didn’t really help.
I was still mad. Still hurt. And now I wouldn’t get the evening I’d needed so desperately, so I was also still horny as hell, which just pissed me off more.
Another thing that pissed me off? Donovan had been right—the fact that he was an asshole was irrelevant. I knew it from day one, and I was still drawn to him. I was drawn to him because of it, even.
What did that say about me?
It was just after six when I finally pulled the phone out of my desk and read his response. The car will be there at 8. You choose whether or not you get in.
The ball was back in my court. And I’d already decided I wasn’t going, so it wasn’t an issue.
Except, I was curious about what his dinner would entail. Or rather, his dessert. Last time had been impromptu. Would a planned rendezvous be different?
It didn’t matter. He’d been a giant dick and a half. He hadn’t trusted me, he’d manipulated me, he’d betrayed me. He’d hurt me.
What if he tried to make it up? If I just gave him a chance?
Clutching the phone to my chest, I threw my head back against my chair and sighed. For a relationship based only on sex, these kinds of choices should have been no-brainers.
Why, then, did this one feel so hard?
Chapter 23
I got in the car.
It wasn’t a last minute decision either, though I tried to pretend that I was only doing a quick shave because that was standard behavior for a Friday evening. And the expensive lingerie and stockings that I put on after my shower? Well, sometimes it’s nice to be alone and pretty.
And when I took the elevator down to the lobby, I convinced myself I was only checking my mail, even though I’d checked it earlier, so when the driver texted he was outside, and I was down there, it was easy to say, Well, I’m already here.
I stewed the entire ride, but it was harder to validate being as pissed as I wanted to be with Donovan when I was on my way to meet him. It gave me less credibility. If I were really mad, I wouldn’t have gotten in the car. Or so logic said. Reality, on the other hand, said differently. I still felt the way I felt, and yet I was driving toward him when all instincts said I should be running the other direction.
Maybe I was mad at myself the most. Either way, I still planned on being a bitch when I saw him. I wasn’t sure I could be anything else with Donovan at the moment. Luckily, I didn’t think he’d mind.
The drive was farther than usual. This time, I was dropped off in Lower Manhattan. I hadn’t been there before, and I didn’t see a name anywhere on the building, but it seemed to be a hotel.
So Donovan had rented a room?
Practical, I supposed.
Cold and efficient, as well. Were we even having dinner? From what both Weston and Donovan had said about his sexual relationships, it made sense if there was only one thing on the menu. Donovan did straight-up sex, nothing else.
Why was that having such a hard time sitting in me?
“I’m not sure where I’m going,” I said to the driver, after he let me out and shut the car door behind me.
“Inside the main doors. The hostess desk for the restaurant is to your left. Wait there for Mr. Kincaid.” He got in the Jaguar and drove off before I could think to ask anything else.
Then we were eating dinner. And the hotel was just a coincidence. Or it wasn’t. We’d see.
I found the restaurant easily. According to the sign, it was a Japanese place called Okazu. I checked in at the hostess desk. They didn’t have my name down, but they did have Donovan’s—who hadn’t arrived yet. I scanned the lobby and didn’t see him anywhere.
“You’re welcome to wait in the bar,” the hostess suggested, a pale young woman who looked one hundred percent like she’d come from East Asia but talked like she’d lived one hundred percent of her life in the Bronx. “I’ll let him know you’re there.”
Fine. I’d wait at the bar. But his tardiness wasn’t helping my already sour mood. He knew I was pissed at him. Shouldn’t he be trying harder than this to be smoothing things over?