Sweet Rivalry (1001 Dark Nights)(19)

“You don’t get to do this, Ryder.” I rise from my desk and walk around the front of it, needing to be on an even playing field with him.

“Do what?”

“You don’t get to act like this morning never happened.”

“You mean like you’ve been doing all day?” he asks as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I’ve done no such thing.” Lies. All lies.

“Really?” He laughs. With his lips and his eyes, and I know I deserve it but right now I don’t want to hear or see it.

“I’m not in the mood for your games.” Can this conversation just end, please? I’m dying a slow death of indignity here.

“But aren’t you doing just that?” he asks as he cocks his head to the side and stares. “Showing up with those come-f*ck-me heels on, adding a little extra sway to your hips, making sure to bend over in my perfect line of sight? I mean, you don’t want me to remember what you said this morning, but you sure as f*ck don’t want me to forget. So tell me, Harper, if you’re not playing a game, what exactly is it that you’re doing? What’s your end game?”

I just stare at him, slack-jawed and wanting to refute him but hating that either I’m that readable or I haven’t changed as much as I thought I had from when he used to know me.

“Then again, I could have read you wrong. But I don’t think so. Your hair may be a different color, your clothes on point, your confidence stronger, but I know how you operate.”

“You don’t know shit about me. Quit being––”

“I love that you’re still hostile. You wouldn’t be you without it.”

And those words knock me back some––knock the fight I was instigating right out of me––because he’s right and I don’t have a damn leg to stand on. The tone of his voice is almost as if he admires me for it and I know that can’t be, so I just stare, unsure what to say. “Fine. You want to talk? Let’s talk.” I fold my arms over my chest and raise my eyebrows. “And for the record, I am not hostile.”

He chuckles. “Whatever you say, Ice Queen.”

That nickname. The one he’d use to egg me on because he knew I hated it is like nails on a chalkboard. “You’re infuriating.”

“And you seem to be pissed and frustrated with me when I’m just standing over here minding my own business.” He bats his eyelashes and shrugs.

“Minding your own business? Is that what you call getting in my way when I’m trying to win this bid?”

“Getting in your way?” He barks out a laugh. “That’s a good one considering no one even knew you were coming, so I think you’ve got the story backward. You’re here and now you’re getting in my way.”

I stare at him, know he’s right, but refuse to give him an inch. I want to be irritated with him. For not pushing me on what happened in the elevator this morning when I don’t want him to, but I also don’t want that moment, that feeling, to be brushed aside. For standing here having a conversation with me like there isn’t that undertone of desire simmering beneath the surface. And for being around each other after all this time and not once acknowledging that kiss we shared that night.

It’s so much easier to keep those feelings at bay if I can get us back on an even playing field. To our verbal sparring. Our animosity. Our thing.

“Well, you know what they say, ladies first.” He pushes up off the desk and takes one step toward me. “Unless, of course, you’re referring to winning the bid. In that case, my chivalry is put on hold.”

He stares and I’m not sure what we’re doing here. It feels like we’re dancing around something and yet I can’t put my finger on what exactly it is.

“Chivalry is dead.”

His eyes widen and then narrow. “I’m sorry you think that.”

“C’mon, we work in an industry where a strong woman is considered to either be a ball-buster or a bitch. She’s only successful because she’s slept her way to the top or had to trade sex to be awarded a big contract.” Bitterness rings in my voice. It’s not directed at him, but it’s still there nonetheless.

“New York.”

Two words. That’s all they are, spoken in that even tone of his, but they evoke such a visceral reaction in me because that means he knows––maybe has always known––and I hate that he does. Even worse, without ever hearing my side of the story, does he automatically think less of me because of it?

I’m momentarily derailed by the thought but know there’s nothing I can do about it now other than answer truthfully. “Yeah. New York.”

But when I force myself to meet his eyes again, the disappointment I expected to find in his gaze is absent. There’s only kindness, only compassion, and the sight of both make me feel like I can breathe for what feels like the first time in forever.

“I found out about it earlier,” he says softly.

“When you stepped out to take that call?” And I hate that I just gave away that I’ve been paying attention to him.

“Yes. A colleague in Manhattan found out I was bidding this project. He mentioned he thought you were bidding it too.” He pauses and just stares at me. “I’m sorry. It sounds like you got the raw end of the deal.”