Barely Breathing(50)

“We’ll start with some wine,” Henley said to our server. “Merlot.”

“No,” I cut in. “We’ll start with your signature. I already missed my flight home and my whole weekend was shot by coming out here for this nonsense.”

He cocked a brow at me, looking amused. “Bill me accordingly, Miss Marceau.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

He reached for the papers in my hand and the pen I offered.

“Let’s have that wine now,” he said to the server. “To celebrate.”

“Very good, sir.” The server nodded and left.

“So.” Henley looked up from the page he was signing and studied me. “What excitement am I keeping you from this weekend?”

“At the moment, dinner with my boyfriend.”

His grin was cocky. “Ah. I can see it now. Vivian and her corporate lawyer boyfriend discussing case law over a vegan meal, followed by a documentary and twenty minutes of missionary sex.”

“Not exactly.” I checked the page he’d just signed. “Initial on that line with the giant yellow arrow sticker.”

“No?” He gave me a questioning glance. “Enlighten me, then.”

I sighed heavily. “Mr. Cartwright, I rarely speak out of turn with my clients, but I have to say I’m a bit pleased for your soon to be ex-wife’s good fortune.”

“She’s making out quite well, isn’t she? I should’ve hired a better lawyer.”

The guy dripped with arrogance. I ignored his comment and also the glass of wine the server poured for me.

“Surely you aren’t suggesting I’m anything but God’s gift to the fairer sex,” Henley said lightly.

“I’m pretty sure God wouldn’t gift us with someone so arrogant, inconsiderate and immature.”

He laughed. “Ah, Vivian. I like you.”

“I can’t say the feeling is mutual.”

“So this boyfriend of yours . . . I’ve got him pegged all wrong, then? I picture you with a fairly spineless man who lets you call the shots.”

“Picture whatever you’d like.”

His gaze took on a new intensity. “You should give a man with some balls a shot. Find out how good it can feel to be submissive.”

“My boyfriend would kick your ass if he knew you’d even looked at me, let alone made a comment like that.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I really wish you two could meet because I’d truly enjoy seeing you piss yourself.” He’d signed the final line, and I snatched the papers away and returned them to the folder, filing it in my messenger bag. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

“You’re leaving me to eat dinner alone?”

“Figured you’d like to spend time with your favorite person,” I said, picking up my pen from the table.

“I can’t even keep the pen?” His shit eating grin made my blood boil.

“Good evening, Mr. Cartwright. Thanks in advance for the indulgent dinner I’ll order from room service at the hotel.”

He laughed and sipped his wine. “I look forward to seeing you soon, Miss Marceau.”

“I can’t say the same.”

I turned and left, the server avoiding eye contact with me as I walked past. I couldn’t wait to book a flight home and get back to Kane. Henley reminded me of all the men I’d wasted time on before finding my one and only.





Viv

THE CAB RIDE TO THE club gave me a chance to freshen up my makeup and dab on a touch of the perfume Kane liked. I was tired from my weekend of travel, but I wasn’t waiting one more day to see him.

Part of my fatigue was caused by missing him. I needed his arms around me. Nothing relaxed me like nestling against his hard chest and breathing in his cedar and leather smell. And after my frustrating weekend of getting the runaround from Henley, I needed to relax in a bad way.

When the cab cruised to a stop at the curb, I paid the driver, got out and saw Kane walking toward me.

“Hey, babe.” He pulled me into his arms and held me close. “Missed you.”

“I missed you, too. I’m so frazzled. I just need to be alone with you tonight.”

“I’ve got a suite ready for us upstairs.” He put an arm around my waist and led me into the club.

Rosie was working the door tonight, and he nodded at me. “Hey, Viv.”

“Hey, Rosie.”

Despite his giant, tough-guy exterior, Rosie was a super sweet guy. Kind of like someone else I knew.

Kane took my hand and wove through the densely packed crowd of people. We went up the wide stairway and into a suite. As soon as he closed the door, the sound of pounding music vanished.

“Oh, Kane.” I eyed the spread of food on the table. Bread and butter, salads, a bottle of chilling wine and . . . I opened the stainless dome covering one of two bowls on the candlelit table for two . . . the spicy soup I’d missed the other night. “I’m starving. This looks amazing.”

His lips curved up in a smile. “So let’s eat. I’m starving, too.”

I sat down across from him and sighed deeply, finally able to relax.

“Does this mean you can slow down with work?” he asked, holding out the bread basket so I could take a piece. “You’ve been killing yourself lately.”