Without thinking, I place my pen on the conference table and walk out. I head for the elevators.
Chapter Twelve
HEATH
She follows me. Just as I knew she would.
I’m in the hallway before I hear her footsteps. Once I hit the isolated, stretch of carpet right before the elevators, she grabs my elbow just as I grabbed hers forty-eight hours ago.
But unlike me, she drops my arm just as quickly as she grabbed it, her movements quick, her fingertips releasing my skin just as soon as she feels it as I were a fire-stoked stove—hot to the touch.
I spin to face her. But when I do, I regret it. Her face is full of shock…and rage. Righteous indignation shines like a beacon from her azure irises and their ocean-colored depths are on fire, a blazing blue liquid that threatens to scorch my very skin.
I fucking love it. I almost hate that I fucking love it because I can’t stop the stupid smile from spreading on my face. She’s so angry at me. Nobody gets this angry with me.
They’re always afraid like the typical LA groupie or rude. But never quietly incensed. Never this poised and professional beneath what could only be a boiling surface.
I called her out in front of the acting senior-most partner, and I don’t even know why I did it. I couldn’t help myself.
The beautiful redhead hisses at me. “Just what do you think you are doing?”
“What I came to do. Setting my terms.”
“From what I understand, that’s not what we agreed upon.”
“That’s what I agreed on.” I turn to her. “I told you I was here for family business.”
“Yeah, I know.” She throws up her hands. “Family business. Not this business though. My business.”
“You’re a relatively new employee of the firm, Violet. At the time I set up this deal, it wasn’t your business. I’m a Sparrow, Keats. You’ve known my business for a long time.”
She exhales with a breathy laugh. “I know your business, Heath. You don’t have to explain.” Her eyes narrow. “Your business with me? Practically leaving while the bed was still warm. Your business with that underwear model, which was flashed on every gossip rag at the grocery store. Your business with every woman you seem to meet. All the same.” She grins grimly. “Congratulations.”
My voice lowers. “My business has always been my own before. As for you and me? That was no different. But you knew that about me, didn’t you?” I level a hard stare at Violet and she grows silent. “You seem to think I like the publicity.”
“You mean the man walking around Hollywood award shows with magazine cover models hates the attention?” Her voice is dripping with disdain, and for the first time I see how she sees me. How she must have always seen me.
As another handsome face, lapping up the spotlight.
The thought makes me angry. Irrationally so. And I take it out on Violet, pushing my presence onto hers, approaching within inches to squeeze her body near the double doors of the elevator lift. I breathe into her face.
“You know nothing about me, Keats.”
She fires back. “Everyone’s about to know everything about you—if they didn’t know it already. Because of your father’s accident. Because of this coverage of the Jackson case.”
We stare each other down, our eyes locked and unwavering. Wavy strands of gingery hair slip out of the slickened bun she’s used to subdue her silky locks, and I fight the urge to tame them with my fingers, my frustration with her slowly melting into a different kind of heat—one that’s thick and hot and slowly sinking its way below my belt.
My eyes drift to her pouty lips and I instantly regret the decision. Her pink pout starts to shake.
The elevator opens. Violet jumps back.
“Whoops, sorry.” A cute brunette jumps out. “Vi.” She looks at the wide-eyed redhead and then me.
Violet’s reply is soft—surprised. “Em.” Her own eyes go wide and she blinks.
The perky brunette leans into Violet, her voice dipping low. “If you’re trying to have a private conversation, might I suggest you do it somewhere a little more…private?” She smiles up at me. “Carry on. Don’t mind me.”
She moves on, never glancing back and I sneak a peek over my shoulder, scanning the small hallway for anyone else. My gaze lands back on Violet.
“We need to talk. Privately.”
Violet glares back at me. “I’m at work.”
“And doesn’t work allow lunch?” I raise an eyebrow. “Trust me; this isn’t a trip to the Rainbow Room…though you had no trouble trying to defile my innocence.”
She puts her hands on her hips, and I fight the urge to grin. I glance towards the double doors again.
“Just…come with me,” I ask. No, I’m not even asking. I press the button. Several seconds later, the elevator opens up again, and I step inside, my stare daring Violet to say no. She looks at me, and for a moment, I think she might stand there at the threshold and tell me to “Go to Hell.”
But she doesn’t. At least not until she steps inside the elevator.
Cursing my name to high heaven, she settles in the small space beside me, and I have no choice but to stand there, taking her quiet wrath, smelling her sultry perfume and clenching my fists as her sweetened scent wraps itself around me and magically makes its way to my cock, which stirs.
The elevator hits the bottom floor and the doors jolt apart. Violet exits first, and with my usual defenses up and head down, I try to lead her out of the lobby and towards my waiting car outside. But the plan is shot to hell, shattered as a woman in a navy suit passes me…and recognizes me instantly. She points towards my face.
“You…you’re that guy! The guy from the news report. That Chris Jackson case,” she exclaims. Shit! I try to think of something to say. You’d think I’d be used to this fuckery by now, but my mind goes blank. I instead attempt to keep walking, but the shocked lady in the lobby won’t let it go. She starts to follow me, her mouth forming new words as she moves in my direction.
I feel someone else rush forward and my breath stops when I see that it’s Violet. She steps over, interrupting the wide-eyed woman.
“Guy?” She glances over her shoulder. “Guy? What guy? Oh you mean the pizza delivery guy.” She glances up at me. “Riiiiight.” She places a hand on the stranger’s arm, lowering her voice as she leans in. “Ma’am, your Sausage-Cheese-and-Please-Shut-Up pizza will be right on its way up. And you want it to be hot and ready?” She pats the woman’s shoulder. “Don’t you?”
We keep walking and the woman purses her lips. Other people in the lobby are starting to ogle, but before they can put too many of the pieces together or comment out loud, we’re practically rushing through the revolving front doors, hitting the sidewalk as a gust of winter wind comes blowing our way.
At eleven AM, the downtown streets are still relatively empty, but they won’t stay that way for long. I look for my town car and see that my car is nowhere to be found. Where the hell is good help when you need it?
I grapple for my cell.
“Is it me or is Manhattan colder than fucking ever?” Violet bunches against the cold. “Looks like we avoided a scene, after all.”