A Not So Meet Cute(75)

Lottie: There has to be something naughtier than that. Like, you know, taking someone on your office desk, or maybe whips and chains? I don’t know, I can’t be it.

Huxley: I crossed a line that night. You’re forbidden, off limits, part of a business deal, and I lost control. I allowed myself to give in to temptation. Be happy I only touched your pussy, because if I would’ve had it my way, that robe wouldn’t have stayed on. I have a meeting. I’ll see you for dinner.

I set my phone down and slowly look up. How the hell am I supposed to have dinner with him now?





“Steak and arugula salad with candied pecans, fingerling potatoes, peppers, gorgonzola cheese, and a balsamic glaze. Enjoy,” Reign says before leaving us to our plentiful salads. We had steak last night, but this looks different. Thinly sliced steak and potatoes in a salad . . . I’ve never heard of such a thing, but I’ll be honest, I’m here for it.

When I got back to Huxley’s house, I went straight to the tub, where I took a nice long bath and used one of my vibrators to take the edge off from the text messages. There was no way I’d be coming to dinner all worked up. Nope, I edged myself off and then let the warm water soak into my tense muscles until I was utterly relaxed.

By the time I got out, Huxley was rushing me with a text saying dinner was ready.

I threw on a robe—and a thong, for obvious reasons—and charged down the stairs to where Huxley was sitting at the table wearing a navy-blue button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows and the top two buttons undone. Talk about someone who wears business clothes well.

“This looks so good,” I say while moving the food around on my plate, mixing everything together.

When I glance at Huxley, he looks tense once again, stiff as a board.

“Uh, everything okay over there?” I ask. What could he possibly be angry about now? It never ends with this man. I thought we’d made peace, that we were getting along. But with every dinner, it feels like two steps back.

“Why are you wearing that?” Huxley asks, his eyes falling to the robe.

“Uh, I was in the bathtub again when you texted. I got dressed quickly in the nearest thing. Don’t worry, I put on underwear this time.” I wink, as if that’s supposed to help.

Reign comes back into the dining room and says, “The kitchen is cleaned and set. If you just leave your plates in the sink, the morning staff will tend to them. I’m going to catch my daughter’s recital.”

“There are flowers in the pantry fridge for her,” Huxley says. “Enjoy your evening with your family.”

“Thank you,” Reign says with a smile and then takes off.

“He has a daughter? I didn’t know he had a family.”

“He does. It’s why I eat early, so he can get back to them.”

See . . . there he goes again, being thoughtful. Are you annoyed? Because I am.

After a few moments of silence, Huxley asks, “Are you going to ask your questions?”

“Oh, yeah . . . sure,” I say. “Umm, let me see. A question, a question.” I tap my chin as nothing comes to mind. Not a single freaking thing. All I can think about is the way his steely eyes shot to my robe as he asked why I was wearing it. Dark, sinister, as if he was about to rip the damn thing off my body with his teeth.

“We can skip the questions for tonight,” he says with a firm tone.

“No, no, just give me a second. Uh, what . . . uh, what can you cook?”

“Cook?” he asks, brows raised.

“Yeah, are you a cook in any way? Any dishes you lay claim to? Anything you’re super proud of? Like, let’s say JP is having a backyard barbecue and everyone has to bring something homemade—what would you bring?”

“JP would have it catered,” he answers.

“Play along,” I say.

“I don’t really cook, but if I had to make something, I’d grill, because that’s the only thing I’m decent at. So, if I were to bring something, probably burgers Reign prepared for me, and I’d grill them.”

“Wow,” I say with a laugh. “That was a very wealthy response.”

He barely smiles as he says, “I’ve lost touch with some things after being in the business for so long. Cooking is one of them.”

“What’s another thing you’ve lost touch with?” I ask.

“Is that your second question?”

I nod. “Yeah, that’s a good second question.”

He lifts his water glass to his lips and says, “What have I lost touch with? Probably everything a thirty-five-year-old man does. Dating, cooking, hobbies.”

“So, you’re all about work, then?”

“That’s what happens when you’re in a position like mine. It consumes you.” He looks over at me, eyes intrigued. “Have you ever had something consume you?”

I’m assuming that’s one of his questions, so I give it some thought. “Are we talking consume my time, or consume me as a whole, like work has consumed you?”

“Consumed you as a whole.”

“Hmm . . . I hate that I know what my answer is because I wish something else would consume me.”

“What is it?” he asks.

“Angela,” I answer. “She’s consumed me but not in a healthy way. The relationship I’ve had with her has been toxic. At times, she’s made me feel important, special, only to throw me away as if I didn’t matter.” I shake my head. “I’ve allowed her to have too much of my headspace, and I wish I could find something else that would consume me, something that would make me forget everything that happened between me and her.”