The Broken One (Corisi Billionaires, #1)(29)

Heather and I were still circling around each other, not quite sure how to move forward, and my family not only knew her name but wanted to meet her. It was unsettling. It also supported the sense I had that this wasn’t something I wanted to rush.

Part of me, everything below my belt, wanted to sweep her off somewhere soon and explore just exactly how intense the heat between us could get. My cock made a convincing argument that there would be plenty of time to get to know her better—afterward.

I normally would have agreed, but this felt too important to treat like every other relationship I’d had recently. My girlfriend? I groaned. The term was juvenile. Dating, the kind that involved more than a few expensive dinners followed by sex, was something I was out of practice with.

Did men still send flowers?

I wanted to do this right.

The buzz of my phone interrupted my thoughts. “Speak,” I barked, annoyed that I’d fielded another call before speaking to Heather.

“Sebastian? Sorry. Is this a bad time?”

Heather. “No. Not at all. I was about to call you.”

“I’m glad, because I’ve been thinking about you all day.” Her voice was low and sexy.

I was instantly on. “Have you? I’ll admit to the same affliction.”

“Good,” she purred. “Because I’m going to rock your world this Saturday. Text me your address, and I’ll send a car for you. Don’t ask where I’m taking you. I want to surprise you—in oh so many ways.”

I loosened my tie and fought to concentrate as all my blood left my brain. “This Saturday? I’m not going to be in town—”

“Right. Of course you won’t be. I’m such an idiot.”

“Heather—”

“Forget I called. This was stupid.”

The call ended while I was still trying to wrap my head around what had just happened. I tried to call her back, but she didn’t pick up.

Had my sweet, modest-pajama-wearing Heather just offered to steal me away for a wild weekend? Holy fuck, YES.

Johns Hopkins. My family. Gian.

“Mom? Dad? Do you mind if we postpone our trip to Baltimore? Yeah, I know it’s important, but Heather just offered to rock my world.”

Dammit.

I typed Pick up, Heather, then deleted it, because it sounded like a command.

Please pick up, I wrote, then deleted that as well. Desperate—no one found that attractive.

I absolutely want to fuck you, but this weekend doesn’t work for me. I wrote the words in mockery of my mental state and of the irony of the timing.

“Mr. Romano?” Miss Steele asked from my door, and I jumped.

Jumped and accidentally hit “Send.”

Fuck me.

No. No. No.

“How do you delete a text?” I growled the rhetorical question.

“I’m sorry?”

I’d already figured out how, but hesitated. Heather had just hung up, which meant she had her phone on her, probably still in her hand. The only thing worse than sending that message was instantly deleting it.

Was there an emoji for shit like this? A smiley-faced eggplant? One that meant . . . just kidding, not actually that much of a dick.

Fuck.

Miss Steele made a shuffling sound that brought my attention back to her. “What? What was so important that you had to tell me when I said I didn’t want to be disturbed?” She shrank from my tone, which made me feel even worse. I ran my hand through my hair. “Sorry. What do you need, Miss Steele?”

“I thought you might want to know there’s another package for you.”

Fine. Whatever. “Bring it in.”

She put it on the table inside my office and skittered out, closing the door behind her. I walked over to it. Same wrapping as the one Heather had sent. Too small to be more cookies. I tore open the note.

Hoping you like surprises as much as I do.—Heather I tucked her note in the breast pocket of my jacket, then opened her gift. Dice for lovers? I read the packaging—Oh. One die had parts of the body on it. The other had sexy action words. Suck. Lick. Blow.

I groaned.

It was erotic in a sweet, earnest way.

I should have said yes and convinced my family to go to Baltimore another weekend. Her call had taken me by surprise, though.

I pocketed the dice as well, then took another look at the message I’d sent. She hadn’t responded.

Shocking.

I could text that I had been kidding, but decided that wouldn’t help.

On the plus side, it was pretty clear that she was interested in me.

If I explained to her what had happened, we might have a good laugh about it—something I couldn’t do if she didn’t want to speak to me.

“What did you do to upset Miss Steele this time?” Mauricio asked as he sauntered into my office.

“Does no one respect a closed door?” I snapped.

“Ouch, you’re in a mood. Christof told me you were on board for this weekend. Is that what this is about? Do you think the Bhatt project will fall apart if you step away for a few days? It won’t, you know.”

“I realize that, and I’m not in a mood.”

“Whatever you say.” He looked around, then headed toward the table where remnants of Heather’s gift remained. Thankfully only the wrapping paper. “Another gift. I’m jealous.”