The Wrong Right Man(21)

“You wear glasses?” he asks, ignoring my question, and I push my blue light glasses up the bridge of my nose then touch my hair, which is piled on top of my head in a messy bun.

I’m sure I look like a wreck, but I honestly didn’t think I’d see him. My plan if he did show up tonight was to ignore him until he went away. So much for that.

I take off my glasses and toss them to the top of the coffee table then cross my arms over my chest. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I told you I’d be here.”

“I didn’t ask you why you’re here. I asked you how you got into my place without a key, Braxton,” I snap, and he sighs, taking a seat on the couch.

“If I tell you the truth, are you going to freak out?”

“Probably.” I tap my foot, waiting for him to come clean.

“I linked your digital information with mine.”

My nose scrunches. “And what does that mean?”

“It means all the information you have on your phone is now linked with mine, including the app to get into your apartment.”

I fall to the couch, my ass on the edge of the seat, and rub my forehead. “I slept with an insane person.”

“Dakota.” His hand lands on my shoulder, and I pull away from his touch and turn on him.

“God, you’re crazy.” I hold up my hand when it looks like he’s going to speak. “You need to go.”

“Dakota.”

“Why does everything with you have to be so over the top? Why can’t you just be a normal guy?” I shake my head. “Who breaks into someone’s apartment?”

“I didn’t break in.”

“No, you just used my information—information I didn’t even give to you—to let yourself in.” I fall back against the couch and groan. “I can’t believe that when I met you, I thought you might be the perfect man. God, I suck at reading men.”

“If I knocked on your door tonight, would you have answered?”

“Probably not.” I turn my head toward him. “But it would have been my choice if I did. Just like it would have been my choice to stand up the guy I was supposed to go out with. That’s the thing, Braxton; you can’t just make decisions for people. You can’t make decisions for me, just because you want to get your way.”

“I like getting my way.”

“Yeah, I know.” I shake my head then watch him lean forward and pick up Kathy’s notes from the coffee table.

“What’s this?”

“I would say none of your business, but since it’s your company, I can’t, and I want to just let you know that’s also really annoying.”

He smiles, and I hate that my heart beats a little harder seeing it. God he really has put some kind of spell on me. Even as annoyed as I am by his highhandedness and the fact that he’s a damn liar, I still can’t be really mad at him.

“What’s that look?”

“Nothing.” I sigh, getting up from the couch, taking the red-stained rag from him, and carrying it toward the kitchen. “Do you want some tea?”

“Are you inviting me to stay?”

“If I ask you to leave again, are you going to listen to me and go?” He smirks, and I mutter, “I didn’t think so.” I hear him chuckle as I flip the switch on my electric teapot.

“Explain these notes to me.” He holds up his hand holding the notes, before sitting forward so he can click through the talking points I created on my computer.

I inwardly groan. I don’t want to explain Kathy’s notes or why I’m annoyed with her, especially not to him. I might not like what she wants to do, but she is still my boss and I refuse to go behind her back. “They’re just notes about the show tomorrow.”

“I see that, Dakota,” he says, sounding frustrated, and I inwardly smile, liking him frustrated.

‘Then there is nothing to explain.” I drop a chai spice teabag into my cup then cover it with steaming water a minute later.

“She doesn’t like what you came up with,” he says as I walk back to the couch. “Why?”

I shrug, not answering, taking a seat near the arm, as far away from him as I can be.

“You’re really not going to talk to me about this?”

“Nope, I’m really not.”

“So stubborn.”

“Oh, isn’t that just like the dalmatian calling a leopard spotted?”

“And a smartass.” He drops the paper in his hand to the coffee table and leans back, making himself comfortable, placing his ankle to his knee and his arm along the back of the couch. I notice then that he’s not in his usual suit but wearing dark slacks and a blue button-down shirt. “How was dinner with your brother?”

“Good.” I take a sip of tea, and he taps his fingers on the back of the couch when I don’t say more.

“Talk to me, Dakota.”

“About what, Braxton?”

“I don’t fucking care. I just want to hear you talk.”

“I’m not in the mood to talk. My plans for the night didn’t include a late-night guest. My plans included me having a glass of wine, which is now on the floor, doing some work, and then going to bed.”