I hold the cards. Remember that.
I expected him to be closer to the entrance, likely leaning against something with that cold, detached expression he always wears, but much to my surprise, he isn’t doing that. Instead, he’s sitting on the curl bench, dressed in a tailored suit, with his ankle crossed lazily over his knee. The vision of casual. The only thing I got right was his expression.
Aloof. Cold. Unaffected.
He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than sitting there, watching me. I have to bite my tongue to keep from asking why he’s here if he’s going to look so bored by my presence. His face—chiseled and serious with just the right amount of scruff—makes it almost impossible to look away from him.
Instead of shying away like I want to, and avoiding what happens next, I refuse to do that. I bite the bullet.
Wiping the back of my hand across my forehead to rid myself of the excess sweat, I reach for my backpack, pulling out the now almost empty water bottle, and take a healthy swig.
“Didn’t see you there,” I observe, taking another large gulp and nearly draining the contents. “Nice workout clothes, by the way.”
With his elbow propped on the leg bar of the bench, his thumb and index finger frame the side of his face as he bores into me, the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as if he finds me amusing. The act in and of itself is sexy. He’s sexy.
I bite the inside of my cheek. Hard. Trying to remind myself of the other night and what I’m here for.
Be different. Be the prize. Play hard to get, and most of all, never forget who he is.
Multibillionaire luxury resort owner.
Legendary bad boy.
Possible murderer.
“Good workout, I presume?” he asks, his gaze following my curves, lingering on my sweat-slicked skin. His stare, the way with which he’s regarding me, has a texture I can feel on my skin.
“It wasn’t bad. Had a few good convos beforehand with some guests.”
I don’t even know what possesses me to say that. All he would have to do is replay his security cameras to know it wasn’t true. But would he even care? I don’t think so. Yet a part of me wants to get under his skin the same way he gets under mine.
Baz raises a brow, and that smirk he’s been fighting finally makes its appearance as if I’m a well of entertainment for him. The bastard.
“Did you now, Ms. Williams?” he teases.
“Yup.” I make sure to pop the “p” while saying it. “So,” I start, changing the subject. “Did you decide you wanted to be around other people today? I mean, isn’t that why you have your own gym?”
Finally pushing up to his feet, Baz takes a step toward me, and as much as I want to back away and keep my distance because I’m still outraged by the events of the other night, I hold my ground. I keep my expression passive, trying to keep the aura surrounding me light and easy.
The lack of reproach on my face isn’t an easy feat. If I didn’t know any better, I’d castigate him right here, rip into him, and display all the emotions I’m doing my damnedest to hide.
“Not so much. I thought I’d check in on you.”
I raise a single brow. “You keeping tabs on me now, Baz?” I recycle the same words he used on me the other night. The contempt that drips from my tone is unmistakable. He must realize it because his eyes gleam with pleasure as though he’s enjoying the back and forth. As if he’s enjoying the challenge I’m throwing his way.
Taking another step toward me, Baz’s intimidating form towers over me. He lifts my ponytail that’s hanging over my breast and gently flips it back over my shoulder, giving himself unobstructed access to my neck. With a feather-light touch that is a contradiction to everything this man is, he lightly trails the pads of his fingers down the damp, sticky skin of my neck.
“Not me, no,” he rasps, stepping in closer. My eyes are growing heavy lidded just from his light touch and his proximity. Everything about him screws with my head. “That’s what I have other people for. Makes keeping an eye on things, and people, a lot easier.”
I swallow. “Makes sense.”
A lengthy pause ensues.
“Have dinner with me tonight.” His fingers are still tracing distracting patterns across my skin. I lick my dry lips.
“Last time we had dinner, it didn’t end so well,” I quip.
“And why is that?” he challenges, his gaze following the movement of his fingers. It’s perfect timing because the wall, that hard exterior I’ve built up, cracks, and I want to be the old Mackenzie again. I want to whine about how much seeing that other woman in his space hurt, or how the fact he went MIA hurt even more. That small reprieve from his fiery gaze is enough for me to gather my wits and get ahold of myself.
“I think you know why,” I whisper. My answer prompts him to look down at me, searching my gaze. For a second, I think he’s going to apologize. I can practically see the words materialize on his lips, but it never comes.
Instead, he avoids the topic of the other night, just as I knew he would. He pulls his hand back, and I almost whimper at the loss, but his next words have a thrill coursing down my spine.
“Be ready by four,” he says, backing away, his gaze still eating up my sweating form.
I cross my arms over my chest. “I never said yes.”
Baz laughs. It’s dark, and there’s an eerie tone to it. “It wasn’t a question. Meet me in the lobby.”
My brows dip as his quick response throws me off-kilter. “At four? Why so early?”
Baz shrugs. “I want to show you some things.”
Panic slams into me. I try to mask it, but he must sense some of my wariness because he says, “You’ve never had a tour of LA until you’ve been with me. And wear whatever you want.”
With those as his parting words, he slips out of the gym, leaving me alone and wide-eyed.
So much for holding all the cards.
At four on the dot, I’m in the lobby, waiting for Mackenzie to arrive. The first five minutes I’m left waiting, I chalk it up to her being fashionably late. The women I’ve gone out with prior have done it, though I never would’ve taken Mackenzie for that type. But when ten minutes turns into fifteen with still no sign of her, I start to grow agitated because, now, I’m beginning to realize she never had any intention of showing up tonight.
I get it. Hell, I deserve it after the other night.
But it wasn’t at all what she thought it was.
I didn’t plan on my former assistant showing up at my penthouse in the middle of the night while I was with another woman. Especially not since I let her go only a few days prior when I found out she slept with Trent. I prided myself on being a professional and running a business that was clean of any clichés or stereotypes, like a man in charge fucking his assistant or loaning her out to his friends. On paper, Patricia was the perfect assistant, but in real life? That wasn’t the case. She was more worried about her appearance and what working for Kings Resorts would do for her in the long run than focusing on the tasks at hand. Her biggest failure was fucking one of my friends instead of being the professional I paid her to be.
As my assistant, I’d given her access to the penthouse level, where she could come and go from my office freely. Once I let her go, I gave her specific instructions to leave the fob card with Dan, but is that what she did? Of course not. Instead, she took it upon herself to let herself inside my penthouse and then had the nerve to ask if I’d pass her number on to Trent. I didn’t have the patience to tell her that he never dipped his dick twice. He is a hit-it-and-quit-it kind of guy, and if she hasn’t heard from him after their last romp, chances are she never will.