Diary of a Bad Boy(34)

Christ.

When have I ever referred to eyes as pools of blue? Not until now, that’s for damn sure.

Avoiding her question, because spending more one-on-one time with this woman is terrifying me, I glance around the four walls of her office. No windows, no walking room, and she barely has a functioning light.

“What the hell is this? Did it used to be a . . . a janitor’s closet?”

“Yeah. It’s the lemony smell that clued you in, isn’t it?”

“This is where they stick you? The daughter of the founder? What kind of treatment is that?” Furious, I turn toward the door about to tell Whitney to find Sutton a better place to work when once again, Sutton pulls on my hand.

“Don’t.”

“You can’t work in this space. The fumes alone are horrible.”

“They’re renovating. It’s temporary and not a big deal. I don’t want special treatment just because Foster Green is my dad.”

“Well, you sure as hell should get special treatment.”

She shakes her head. “You, more than anyone, have proven to me I don’t deserve respect for being my dad’s daughter, Roark. So, no. I also don’t deserve special treatment, but thank you for your concern. Now . . . the camp, please?”

Fuck. She’s not wrong.

You, more than anyone, have proven to me I don’t deserve respect.

I’m such a dick. Keeping her phone, making her follow after me to asinine appointments, telling her she had to stay in the guest room when I should have made sure she got home safely . . . sending Siri to meet with her yesterday . . . And she’s not even saying those words in anger. Like I deserve. It’s as though she’s . . . resigned. And she has a fucking master’s degree. I am such a fuck-up, and she’s a much better person than I am. “Yeah,” I sigh, annoyed. Annoyed at myself, not her. There is no more avoiding it.

“And you promise you’ll show up to the meetings we agree upon?”

Staring at the floor, I nod. But possibly because that’s not good enough for her, she lifts my chin with her delicate fingers and forces me to look her in the eyes. In that moment, I realize this is how it’s going to be between us: a demand for honesty, respect, and time. All qualities I’ve never been able to give to one single human. I’ve always faltered in at least one category, but the way her eyes fix on me, a startling awareness strikes me: I want to try for her.

“Look at me and tell me yes, that you will dedicate your time to helping me.”

Licking my lips, I study her for a beat before I say, “I’ll show up.”

A beautiful smile plays over her lips as she drops her hands and goes back to her desk, trying to act professionally, but she’s terrible at hiding her joy. She flips open her planner and asks, “When?”

I push my hand through my hair. “I don’t care. Tonight?” Did I just say that?

Shocked, she shyly smiles. “Tonight works. How about eight?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Don’t you need to look at your schedule?”

I take a step toward the door. “I’ll move things around if there’s a conflict.” I pause and then say, “Do you want to meet at my place? I can have my chef make something, and we can work.”

“Sure, if you’re okay with that.”

I open her office door. “It’ll be easier that way,” I answer, even though I know damn well it won’t be easier, because the temptation to see what those plump lips can do will be a huge distraction. “Eight. See you then.”

I take off before I can hear her response, wondering what I just agreed to.





Tumbler in hand, I lean against one of the many windows in my apartment, counting down the seconds until Sutton arrives. Harris has already informed me of her arrival, so now I’m waiting for the elevator to ding.

To say I barely got anything done today would be an understatement. After I left Sutton’s office, I went to mine and tried like hell to focus on some contracts that needed another look-over but couldn’t concentrate to save my life. All I could think about was how in a matter of twenty-four hours, my life feels as though it’s been flipped upside down. I’ve shown far too much concern for another human being, and it’s freaking me the fuck out. I barely show concern for Rath and Bram, so why should I care so much about Sutton?

I’m going to blame it on her dad and the connection we have. Again. I can admit that I wish all my clients were like Foster Green. What Sutton said about Gaining Goals was so true. He’s genuinely philanthropically minded, and I probably have no clue how much he gives away to charities, but I’m guessing it’s a shit load. He never publicizes that, and I honestly respect the hell out of the man. And his daughter, who could be a spoiled, rich society brat, who accepts humbly that her fucking desk is in a lemon-smelling closet, is cut from the same cloth. Genuinely selfless. I’m such a prick in comparison, yet she persisted to chase me to help her. Fuck, she was willing to do everything herself for the charity, only asking for phone numbers from me. Nice one, asshole. But the anticipation I feel about her arrival stems from my respect for her dad. That has to be it. Nothing else.

I finish off my drink and hop a few times while shaking out my arms. Come on, you son of a bitch, act like a dick. Act like a dick. I tap my cheeks a few times, crack my neck from side to side, and think mean thoughts. I can do this.