Crave (Billionaire Bachelors Club #1)(29)

Clutching the phone tight, I close my eyes for the briefest moment, all those unwanted memories bombarding me. The way he kissed me, the taste of his lips. How he’d touched me, his big hands everywhere, settling between my legs, teasing me while he murmured the hottest, sexiest words I’d ever heard.

And that was only the moment out on the terrace. Never mind later, when we ended up naked in a bed. I can’t even go there. Not now, with his velvety deep voice in my ear.

“Seven o’clock at Spruce,” I confirm, opening my eyes to glare unseeingly at the computer. “See you then.”

I hang up before he can say another word, proud of myself. Women don’t hang up on Archer either. Hell, no one really hangs up on him. He’s a force to be reckoned with.

And now he calls me out of nowhere declaring he needs me—please. He’s stringing me along, I’m sure. Why, I haven’t a clue.

But when do my past experiences with Archer ever make sense?

Deciding my client can wait a few minutes, I bring up Google and type in Archer’s name, waiting breathlessly as a list of recent articles pop up. Talk of Hush and how he made it such a huge success. One article written a week ago catches my interest, about the expansion of the Hush brand and how he’s refurbishing a location in Calistoga.

Frowning, I click on the link, reading the few details they have about the new Calistoga spot. He never mentioned it during the phone call. Or when we were last together and we were actually at Hush. He’d been so proud showing me everything. You think he would’ve at least mentioned a new location.

So why didn’t he tell us about it?

Weird.

I close out Google and gather my things, my mind awhirl with what I read. Was this the job he referred to, the one he so desperately needs me for? All logical thought flowing through my brain is telling me not to bother meeting him. Cancel via text with no explanation. He would totally deserve it.

Curiosity rules me though, it always has. There’s no way I can pass this dinner up. Despite how difficult it will be, sitting across from him for hours in a dark, intimate restaurant, gazing adoringly at his beautiful face. Wondering yet again how stupid could I be, having sex with him. Nursing this renewed crush of old that can go absolutely, positively nowhere.

I’m pitiful.

Archer

I GLANCE AT my watch for what feels like the millionth time, wondering where the hell Ivy is. She’s close to twenty minutes late, and I know for a fact she’s ridiculously punctual.

With the exception of tonight when she’s meeting me. Shit.

Drumming my fingers atop the white tablecloth in a steady rhythm, I glare at the entrance to the restaurant. I hate it when people make me wait. In business, I flat out don’t tolerate it. That this woman I’ve known since she was a gangly teenager with a mouthful of metal leaves me waiting almost desperately for her arrival blows my mind.

And rarely is my mind blown. Funny, how the one person who keeps doing it on a regular basis is Ivy.

She’s angry with me. I could hear it in her voice when I spoke to her on the phone. It had taken me two days to work up the courage to call her. Like a complete wuss, I rehearsed that conversation in my mind a thousand times.

The reality had turned out worse than my imagination. At least I got her to agree to see me. But what if she decides not to show and leaves me hanging?

I push the thought from my mind, refusing to acknowledge it for even a minute.

“Another drink, sir?” The waitress appears, her gaze full of sympathy. She probably thinks I’ve been stood up.

Hell, I’ve never been stood up in my life. “I’m fine,” I mutter.

“Perhaps you’d like to order dinner? An appetizer, maybe?” She sounds hopeful and I’m beyond ready to crush her dreams.

Shaking my head, I glare at her. “I’ll wait a few more minutes.”

She takes off after flashing me a wan smile, leaving me to brood. If Ivy doesn’t show, I can hire someone else to do this job. It wouldn’t be a problem, there’s a goddamn list of designers who would give up their first born to work with Bancroft.

But damn it, I trust her. I want her. And not just for her amazing design skills.

She isn’t just Ivy. Could I really fall for her? Why else would I act like such an anxious ass**le? This woman has me so twisted up in knots I’m ready to do anything to have her back in my life.

Anything.

Scowling, I glare at the door, as if that’ll make her magically appear. I’m thinking like a chick but I can’t deny it. I want her with me all the damn time. It’s scary how bad I need her. Trying to ignore her didn’t work. I went almost an entire month without contacting her, but she’s all I could think about. The moment I get into the city, I’m reaching for the phone, demanding that she meet me.

I remember how put out she sounded on the phone, her voice full of irritation. The first indication I’m most likely going to screw this up.

Hell. I cannot screw it up.

And then there’s the stupid bet. Matt sends me the occasional email asking on my dating situation. Hell, he haunts my Facebook page, probably just waiting for me to change my status from “single” to “in a relationship”.

As if I ever would do that. I know his ass is watching. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

The front door opens, letting in a gust of cold air that chills my skin, sends a rush of awareness through me that nearly steals my breath. She enters the dimly lit restaurant, windblown and gorgeous, her curvy body covered by a black coat. I greedily drink her in as Ivy pushes wild strands of long dark brown hair away from her face, her gaze searching the room before those pretty hazel eyes light upon me.