Reluctantly Yours(50)

“You and I will golf while the ladies shop and Frankie’s dying to get out on the boat.”

“Sounds like a great time.” A perfect time to talk with Fred.

“Great. We look forward to seeing you both next weekend.”

We hang up and I turn back to Chloe, except she’s no longer there. She must have slipped out while I was talking to Fred. I tell myself it’s for the best. Tonight was a fucking mess and I need to not let my dick run this operation. That was never part of the plan. Fred’s call is the perfect reminder of why Chloe is here, to help me land this deal with Fred. That’s it. I can’t let my attraction to her get in the way of acquiring Voltaire Telecom.





CHAPTER 14





Chloe





We’re going to the Hamptons this weekend. Barrett informed me of this over a mostly silent dinner on Sunday evening, where he skimmed through work emails on his phone between bites until I requested that he not have his phone at the table. He told me that was what he usually did before I was his house guest, and I retaliated by adding a no phone at meals rule to my list. Barrett’s hazel eyes challenged mine before he simply stood up and set his phone on the counter before returning to his seat.

Fifty-one percent of the reason I added it was because I hate when people have their phones at the table while eating a meal, forty-nine percent of the reason was to spite Barrett.

It backfired because then we just sat in silence. I forgot who I’m dealing with. He’s a robot with an off switch. This week there have been no signs of the edgy, dare I say expressive Barrett from Saturday night. He’s got that guy under lock and key.

Not that I’ve seen him that much. He’s up early and off to work before I come downstairs, and I’ve been walking to work with the weather being so nice in the mornings.

I have yet to crack the code on the whole ladder thing. He was mad before I went into his study, but me being on the ladder only served to anger him more. In the moment I liked it, I thought it was a game, but there was something in his face that made me realize it was more than him being annoyed that I danced with another guy or cost him a chance to talk with Fred. Like it made him feel out of control.

But that kiss?

If that was my punishment, I’ll take another.

We’ve said zero words about the kiss, but there have been many heated glares and awkward fingers fumbling to pass the pepper. Barrett more of the glares and me the fumbling fingers. Barrett’s fingers have no problem gripping pepper shakers.

We’ve yet to acknowledge that his hands were under my dress with my back pressed up against a bookcase. Those long, firm fingers sliding up the inside of my thigh. I still wonder what would have happened if he didn’t answer his phone. I think about it daily. In my bed. In the bathtub. Even once in Barrett’s study when I knew he was working late. I’ve really given it a lot of thought. More than I should.

Yesterday morning, I banged my toe on the sofa by my bed and when I went to the freezer to get some ice, I found one of the shelves stocked full of cookie dough ice cream. I asked Rose about it. She was cleaning the third-floor bathroom and informed me it had been put on the grocery list.

Not wanting to take advantage of Barrett’s hospitality, what little there is of it, I didn’t add anything to the shopping list. Dimitry is an excellent chef and I have been enjoying the dietary variety his meals provide aka something other than ramen noodles. Now, there’s a freezer full of ice cream. I’ll have to eat it all before I leave because I know Barrett won’t eat it and it will go to waste. Not on my watch.

That’s what I’m doing right now. I just got home—Barrett’s home—from work and slipped into something more comfortable—the silk lavender tank and short set with the cozy cardigan sweater—and I’m eating ice cream and reading a book on the couch in the study.

I’m so engrossed in the book and the ice cream that I don’t hear Barrett come in. It’s a romantic suspense novel and I’m almost at the part where she’s going to find out if the man she’s been sleeping with is the killer or if it’s the other guy, so the slightest creak has me jumping and a glop of ice cream lands smack onto the page.

“Have you eaten dinner?” he asks, staring at the bowl of ice cream in my hands.

I can’t decide if he’s simply asking or if he’s accusing me of having dessert first.

“Not yet,” I reply.

“I’ll heat up the food,” he says simply, then he’s gone.

I quickly clean up the glop of ice cream, scooping it off the page with my spoon because there’s no need to be wasteful. I’m nervous and excited. It’s ridiculous really, but I’m hoping that maybe Barrett’s effort to talk to me, acknowledge my presence and speak actual words is a sign we can call a truce. I’m ready to make amends. While we were never friends before, I’d like to at least be amicable. I don’t want to be stuck in this weird tension for the next five weeks. Since I know Barrett isn’t programmed to manage feelings and emotions, I’ll have to be the bigger person and apologize.

I find him in the kitchen already setting our plates on the table.

“I’m sorry about Saturday night.” There. I said it. I want to move forward.

“Why are you wearing that?” is his response.