The Wrong Right Man(19)

I tap on her open door when I reach it, and enter when she calls, “Come in.”

“Did you need something?” I ask, setting the cup on the edge of the desk when she doesn’t speak.

She leans back in her chair, locking her fingers together over her stomach. “I’m curious about something.”

Oh, God, here it is.

“Curious?” I parrot.

“Did you know Braxton before I introduced you?”

“Know him?” I shake my head. “No, I didn’t know him.” I shift on my feet and barely stop myself from wringing my hands together. “I mean, I ran into him in the elevator this morning, but I didn’t really talk to him.” I hope the half-lie will explain my nervousness and what happened upstairs.

“He spoke to me about moving you upstairs to work side by side with Chris Stines, who runs the marketing department for IMG.”

My stomach bottoms out. “What? But I don’t know anything about marketing,” I tell her, something she already knows.

“I explained that to him, but he’s under the impression you would be a better fit working with that team.”

“Tell him I don’t feel comfortable with the responsibility working in that department would entail,” I plea, and her eyes soften for the first time since we were in the conference room. I don’t know what Braxton’s reasoning is for wanting to move me, but I doubt it’s anything that would make me happy. And since I have gotten through most of my life by trusting my instincts and every one of them is screaming at me to avoid him, I’m going to do that.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she mutters, picking up the coffee I set down and taking a sip. “Why don’t you go get lunch while I make a few calls? When you get back, I’ll go over what you have so far for the show tomorrow.”

My muscles relax. “Sure, would you like anything from the deli?”

“I think you’ve noticed I survive on coffee most days.”

“In that case, I’ll bring you a sandwich,” I say, gaining a smile before I turn for the door.

Going to my desk, I grab my purse, slip off my heels, and put on my flats then head for the elevator. Once I reach the lobby floor and head out of the building, I unconsciously look down at my wrist and frown when I notice in the corner a tiny red light is blinking slowly. Walking quickly to the deli at the end of the block, I head right for the bathroom, where I take the watch off and drop it in the trash next to the sink. After washing my hands, I leave the bathroom feeling lighter.

I walk two more blocks to another deli and go to the counter, where I order a turkey and Swiss on rye and take a seat in the back of the restaurant. I pull out my phone and pull up my messages, ignoring the ones from Braxton and responding to Jamie’s text about dinner.

“Did you lose something?” a familiar deep voice asks as the seat in front of me scrapes against the floor, and I look up then watch Braxton fold his large frame into the small chair. Then he drops the watch on the table between us.

“No,” I mumble, looking back down at my phone when it vibrates with an incoming text from Jamie saying he’ll bring dinner to my place around six.

I start to text him back, but Braxton’s fingers move to my jawline pressing up until my eyes meet his. “I want you to wear the watch.”

“I don’t want to wear your tracking device,” I tell him with a shrug as my heartbeat picks up. “That’s what it is, right?” I mean, I’m not sure, but that’s the only thing I can think it might be.

“I don’t need to track you, Dakota. You live in my building.” He leans across the table closer to me, and my heart that was already thumping hard begins to pound. “You work for my company. I know almost everything about you. You can’t avoid me.”

“What do you want from me?”

“A chance,” he says easily as his thumb runs along the edge of my bottom lip. My eyes slide to half-mast and I lean into his touch. “You can’t deny our connection.”

Swallowing, I pull away from him and sit back in my chair, unsure how he has the power to make me forget everything with a simple touch. I look away from him and wrap my arms around my middle. He’s right; I can’t deny our connection. It’s like a living, breathing thing that’s taken on a life of its own. “A chance to what… lie to me some more?” I shake my head. “No, thank you.”

“I wanted to tell you the truth.”

“You should have told me the truth. You could have told me the truth.” I uncross my arms and point at him. “You chose to lie to me.”

“You’re right.” He leans back and runs his fingers through his hair. “You’re right; I should have told you, but I didn’t, because I saw what I wanted and wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of me getting it—including you.”

Again. Seriously? “You cannot be believed.”

“Tell me this.” He sits forward, resting his elbows on the table. “If I told you when you came up to me on the street that I wasn’t Adam, would you have let me take you to dinner?”

Of course not.

Maybe.

Crap, I honestly don’t know. Instead of answering his question, I ask, “Who is Hanna?”

“No one.”