Sleeping with the Boss (Anderson Brothers, #1)(14)

“Something wrong?” Suzanne asked, withdrawing her hand from the table.

“No. I’m sorry. I’m a little distracted.” His eyes snapped to hers. She wasn’t wearing the smoldering, seductive look she’d been using on him since they met outside the Anderson Building; it was a sympathetic smile.

“It’s okay, Will. I get it.” She gestured to him, then back to herself. “There’s nothing here. You’re not ready.”

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. She smelled like one of those expensive clothing stores his mom used to drag him to when he was little. “Thanks for the drink.” She collected her purse, rose, and took a few steps toward the door. “Call me if anything changes.”

Suzanne’s tall heels clicked on the tile floor as she sauntered toward the exit, but her practiced gait did nothing for Will. He closed his eyes and pictured Claire scrambling awkwardly to collect the items that had spilled out of her purse on the elevator. And then there was the glimpse of that pink thong through the rip in the back of her skirt. Yep. That did it. He placed his napkin higher on his lap to cover the rising bulge in his pants and took another sip of his drink.

When he glanced to his right, the redhead saluted him with her wineglass, then chugged the contents. He turned to glance out of the restaurant window, see if he could spot Claire anywhere outside, but he was met with a sidewalk full of strangers. Maybe he could find out her companion’s connection to Claire. As he rose to go speak with her, she scooted out the door just as Claire had—as if she’d seen a ghost.

Hell, he was the ghost, sort of. A mere fragment of whom he’d been before… He downed the rest of his drink in one shot and tossed a couple of bills on the table.

His phone dinged as he stepped out of the restaurant. It was the information from Jim on Claire Maddox. He hadn’t gotten a lot of info, but he did have an address. Will typed the address into the maps feature on his phone to double-check. Fuck. What was an hourly-wage temp worker doing living in one of the most expensive properties on the Upper West Side?

…

Claire turned on the water to heat up her bubble bath and pushed down her disappointment. Of course Will Anderson was going out with hot models at night. He was gorgeous, rich, and single. Even if he’d misled her by saying he didn’t date, she had no right to be throwing a pity party. It’s not like she had a claim on him. She wasn’t a victim. She’d simply said yes to dinner. She was an eager and willing participant. Very eager and willing, which was not normal.

Sinking lower in the bubbles, she rolled her neck to release tension. She was leaving the country soon, and should enjoy her last two weeks here to the fullest, right? She should do everything to the fullest from now on. No more pulling back. It was time to explore her long-awaited freedom.

Still, seeing him with the model stung.

From the vanity in the corner, her phone rang and she sank under the water long enough for it to roll over to voicemail. Heather was the only one who would be calling, and Claire didn’t want to talk to her right now. She emerged and wiped her face, only to have her peace and quiet interrupted by her phone again. Leaning back, she closed her eyes. Heather would give up eventually.

Buzz.

Crap. It was the doorman. Nobody ever visited. Not since her grandmother, Sissy, got so sick the last time and refused to see anyone but Claire. Maybe it was another package sent by some family friend of her grandmother’s she’d never met. More chocolate or flowers or bouquets of cookies.

She wrapped up in a towel and dripped across the floor to the antiquated intercom. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry to bother you this late, Miss Maddox,” the doorman’s voice answered through the tiny speaker, “but there’s a man here to see you. He says you’re expecting him.”

No. Freaking. Way. There was no way he’d come here. He had no idea where she lived.

“A Mr. William Anderson.”

She was glad she had released the talk button because a startled gasp erupted from her.

“Shall I send him up?”

Oh, God. She should meet him down in the lobby, not let him come up to her apartment. Shaking, she pushed the button. “No…?” Shit, that came out like a question. “No,” she said more forcefully. But then she imagined Will and her having an awkward discussion about Sparkle Jeans in front of the doorman and quickly changed her mind. She pressed the button again. “Um. Yes. Tell him to come up, but give me ten minutes please.”

She stared at the speaker for a moment, and when the doorman didn’t respond, she decided that silence was affirmation.

Right. Get dressed. See what he has to say. Send him away. Three easy steps to peace of mind and no additions to the daily Claire-ism tally.

She trotted back to the bathroom, nearly slipping on the trail of water she’d left behind. She ran a brush through her dripping hair and wrapped another towel around it to dry it out. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and shook her head. No makeup, wet hair. Could it be worse?

Knock, knock, knock.

Yes, it could. What did he do, vault up the damn stairs like Superman? She snatched her bathrobe off the hook on the door and pulled it on. The silky fabric stuck to her wet shoulders. She leaned over and untwisted the towel from her hair.

Knock, knock.

“Give me a minute,” she called, straightening up and giving herself a head rush. That had sounded really pissy. So what? It was an odd time to just drop by. He was supposed to wait in the lobby for ten minutes before coming up.