Bang (Black Lotus #1)(17)

“You sure?”

Lifting up on my toes, I give him a little kiss. “I’m sure.”

“I’ll call you when I leave the office. How about I take you out for a nice dinner at Everest tonight?”

“Sounds perfect,” I say with a smile.

He runs his thumb down my lips and then gives my chin a little pinch, saying, “Have a good day, okay?”

“You too.”

As soon as he leaves, I walk into the kitchen to put the kettle on the stove, and while I wait for it to boil, I look over to the dining room table. The extravagant vase of purple roses that Bennett gave me when he got home last night sits in the center of the table. The sight causes a physical reaction inside of me. A twisting in my gut as I grit my teeth. I hate purple. I told him it was my favorite though, so when he gives me flowers, his way of showering me with affection, it only reminds me of everything I hate. Purple walls flash in my mind, and it only reinforces my steel wall. Bennett is everything a husband should be, so it was essential that I create fissures within him. Purple flowers being one of them.

The squealing whistle of the kettle snaps me out of the purple and into the present. I fix my tea and make my way into the bedroom to get ready for the day. Knowing I’m going to be seeing Declan, I want to look nice, so I set my mug down on the center island in my closet and start sorting through my clothes. Selecting a simple black shift dress, I pair it with patent black heels and my white, wool, knee-length coat.

After a slow morning getting ready and taking a phone call from Jacqueline to schedule a lunch date with the girls, I grab my purse and head down to the parking garage. It takes a while to get to the hotel with the hectic lunch traffic in the loop, but when I arrive, the valet takes my car and I make my way back to Declan’s office.

When I approach his door, I can hear his voice on the other side. He sounds angry, barking orders with whoever he must be on the phone with because it’s only Declan’s voice I hear. I wait, and when I notice the conversation has ended, I give the door a couple light taps.

“Come in,” he calls.

Opening the door, his focus is on his laptop and nothing else as he’s clicking away at the keyboard.

“Bad time?” I question hesitantly, and when he hears my voice, he flicks his eyes my way and swivels his chair away from his computer to face me. “I can come back.”

“No,” he simply states as he stands up and walks towards me, taking me by the elbow and turning me to walk with him. “This way.”

His snippy attitude the other day at the florist was irritating, but for some reason, right now, it doesn’t have that effect on me, figuring that whoever he was just speaking to is the culprit of his mood, and not me. I follow him out of his office and down to an opulent private dining room that’s currently free of people. He opens the double-etched glass doors and leads me into the dark room, dimly lit by the sparse chandeliers. Towards the back of the dining space, there is a secluded table that’s covered in burnt orange and white flowers with dark, rich greenery. Some accented with spiral grapevines and others darkened with blackened moss.

Declan still has a hold on my arm when we walk over to the table.

“I’m impressed,” I say, and it’s then that he releases me. When I look at him, I notice his jaw flex as he grinds his teeth. His focus is on the table and not me, so it’s with a soft voice, I speak. “Declan?” Looking over at me, I ask, “Are you sure this isn’t a bad time? I can go.”

He relaxes his face and runs his hand behind his neck and down along his lightly stubbled jaw. Releasing a sigh, he says, “Stay.”

Nodding my head, I turn away and take a step over to the arrangements and begin studying each one. There are five, each ornate and exquisitely put together. The designs unique and exactly what I had in mind.

I still when I feel Declan’s fingers graze the sides of my neck, and as I turn my head to see him standing right behind me, he moves his hands to the collar of my coat, and starts to slip it off my shoulders. Adjusting myself, I allow him to take my coat and watch as he lays it across the back of a chair.

“Thanks,” I murmur.

“What do you think?”

Keeping my eyes on him, I don’t answer immediately. I want the contact to see how he responds. It doesn’t take long for a sexy grin to cross his face.

“They’re perfect. I’m not sure how to pick one over the other.”

“So take them all,” he says.

“Take them all?”

“Why not? Who says you have to choose?”

“Isn’t there always a choice?” I ask with an undertone that states we’re talking about more than just flowers.

“Not when you’re a Vanderwal.”

With superficial offense, I say, “Is that what you think? That because of my name I simply take what I want?” He quirks a brow without saying anything, and I add, “Is that what you do? Because correct me if I’m wrong, but the McKinnon name sure isn’t one that people are not aware of.”

“Are we talking personal or business?” he questions.

“Business is personal when it belongs to you, and last time I checked, it’s your name that robes this hotel.”

He walks over to one of the other tables and takes a seat. Leaning back and resting one of his arms on the table, he says, “Yes. I take what I want.”