Exposed by Fate (Serve #2)(33)

“So.” She flicked a dismissive glance at Eliza. “Are we still getting out of here?”

Seriously? When had the universe decided it hated him? “No. We’re not. Excuse me.” Without another word, he turned back to Eliza. At least, where Eliza had been a second ago. Where the hell…?

He caught up with her at the door. “Hey. Where are you going?”

“I can hail my own cab. Really.”

“Eliza,” he blocked her path and gripped her elbows. “Let me explain.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” She looked up at the ceiling. “It shouldn’t matter.”

“But it does?” Heart in his throat, he shook her a little. “But it does, Eliza?”

“No….I don’t know. I have to go.”

A powerful combination of hope and disappointment kept him rooted to the spot, watching as she sailed past the coat check and out into the lobby. He followed a second later, hailed a cab and went home to watch Shark Week alone.

And to regroup.





Chapter Fourteen


Eliza snagged the pages from the printer and stapled them neatly. There. She’d spent the morning—not to mention most of her Sunday—getting her game plan ready for her meeting with Conrad Sterns. Unable to sleep after the gala Saturday night, she’d dug deeper than her initial research and found a magazine feature Conrad’s ex-wife had done two years ago. In it, she was quoted as saying, “My husband is a minimalist. Or he thinks he is, anyway. If he didn’t step on fur the second he swings his legs out of bed, he’d expire from discomfort.” Just that single quote alone had given Eliza an inside track as to what she would pitch to Conrad. Understated luxury. Hidden comforts. She had his number now.

Unfortunately, with her work completed for the morning, she didn’t have anything left to distract herself with. She hadn’t heard from Oliver since leaving him at the gala Saturday night, nor should she expect to hear from him. He’d gone home with that girl who’d looked ready to swallow him in one bite and probably rolled out of her bed an hour later not even remembering what they’d done together in the conference room just hours before. Too bad she didn’t have that luxury. Even keeping herself busy with work, she felt the residual effects of Oliver. Whisker burn on her cheek. Sore hips where he’d gripped and jerked her body, impaled it with his own. Sensitivity between her legs that wouldn’t seem to fade. Every time she crossed them, the silk of her panties would slide over her core just enough to make her catch her breath. Think of how he’d felt inside her. Relive it.

In the conference room Saturday night, she hadn’t been able to squash the feeling that they had a…bond. One that none of his other flings could boast. She’d oscillated between maybe, just maybe he feels something for me and get real, kind of like an adult version of he loves me, he loves me not. She’d gone into these lessons knowing the score, but somewhere between that first shot of ouzo and their dance floor kiss, she’d started to feel more than the usual attraction to Oliver. As far back as she could remember, his very presence had heated her, made her aware of her body, but she’d never let it go beyond that. Purely out of self-preservation.

Now? She was falling for him. Hard. Without a parachute.

Knowing he’d made plans to go home with another girl, she’d still come dangerously close to showing her hand. But it matters now, Eliza? He’d asked her the question on her way out the door. She’d said no, when the word yes had been a bomb ready to explode past her lips. If he’d split a cab with her, she would have invited him in and probably made a fool out of herself. He didn’t do waffles the morning after a one-night stand.

They weren’t a one-night stand, however. They were a three-night stand. She had one more night with Oliver before he patted her on the head and walked away. If, of course, she hadn’t managed to send him running for the commitment-free hills last night with her obvious jealousy. She might have agreed to see him exclusively until the lessons ended, but he’d made no such promise.

If there was a tiny spark, perhaps one that Oliver had brought to life inside of her, telling her she needed to fight for him…she had to ignore it. Yes, she’d pursued her dreams in New York because she didn’t want to look back on her life and realize she’d lived it according to someone else’s terms. She’d come here to live and never felt more alive than when she was with Oliver. But making a play for his heart would be reckless. She wouldn’t come out the other side unscathed.

The tuna sandwich she’d packed in case Oliver canceled their lunch date caught her eye. It was noon, and she hadn’t gotten a phone call or text. He must have changed his mind. Maybe it was for the best. Even if she had worn her best dress and stiletto pumps. Even if she’d worn a thong that basically consisted of two shoelaces sewn together. Jerk. Her stomach sunk to her knees as she reached for the sandwich.

Eliza’s hand paused in mid-air when a murmur of female voices swelled outside her office door. A frown marred her brow. An interior design firm’s halls were never quiet, but this disruption in the force had a different tone. High-pitched giggles and chairs scraping back.

Then she heard him. Oliver.

“So this is where all the gorgeous women of New York are hiding. I’ve been looking in all the wrong places.”