“Every love starts with a kiss.” I was pushing her close to the limit, but I’d always regret it if I didn’t try. Comfort was easy, but I was starting to realize that easy wasn’t always the right answer. If it were, I would’ve taken the CEO position at the Castillo Group instead of formulating an impossible plan to open a New York nightclub in six months.
Screw it. If I was going to do this, I might as well go all in. “Go on a date with me,” I said.
Her eyes flared with an unidentifiable emotion before they shuttered. “No.”
“Why not? And forget about your job for a second. Give me a real reason, Sloane.”
Her fingers curled tight around her fork. Odds were, she was picturing stabbing me with it, but I didn’t mind a little hypothetical violence. It kept things interesting.
The noise from the dining room retreated as I waited for an answer. Beneath my casual exterior, my heart fought to break out of my chest.
I’d never felt this nervous over someone, ever.
I knew I was speeding into this with no clear view of the consequences. I knew I should focus on the club instead of my personal life, and I knew I might’ve fucked up the tentative understanding Sloane and I had reached in Colombia.
I knew all this, yet I didn’t care. I wanted her too much, and I wanted this, whatever this was, to work. Even if it didn’t, I had to at least try.
She opened her mouth.
I tensed, every muscle poised for— “Sloane? Is that you?”
An unfamiliar and deeply unwelcome voice fractured the moment. Our heads swiveled in unison toward the interloper.
Buzz cut, tanned skin, bulging muscles. He looked like the type of guy who spent half his life chugging protein shakes and working out. He wore a black T-shirt and jeans and stared at Sloane in a way that made me want to punch him in his generically handsome face.
“Excuse us, but we’re in the middle of a conversation,” I said. I usually wasn’t so rude to strangers, but there was something about this guy that I instantly disliked.
“You haven’t answered any of my calls or texts,” he said, ignoring me. “What’s going on?”
Sloane stared at him, her face frozen. She seemed too stunned to answer.
“I’m sorry, but who are you?” I didn’t bother hiding my irritation this time.
Protein Shake glanced at me, his eyes narrowing as he took me in. “I’m her boyfriend, asshole. Who the hell are you?”
CHAPTER 20
Sloane
I’d worked with Xavier for years, and I’d never seen him angry. Frustrated, yes. Annoyed, definitely. But angry? No.
Until now.
The shift in his countenance was subtle but unmistakable: The tightening of his jaw. The glint in his eyes. The way his muscles coiled.
He was seconds away from losing his temper, and I needed to take control fast before we landed ourselves on Perry fucking Wilson’s blog again.
“He’s not my boyfriend.” I finally found my words and pinned an annoyed glare at the man standing across from me. “Since you asked, I haven’t answered your calls or texts because I already made it clear: We’re over.”
“I thought you were joking. We had such a good thing going. Why would you want to end it?” Mark demanded. He appeared genuinely baffled.
Oh, for Christ’s sake. This was what I got for indulging in a regular hookup instead of one-night stands.
I didn’t want a relationship, but I had physical needs like everyone else, and having a consistent booty call was easier than wading into the sewage of online dating or waiting for lightning to strike in real life.
The problem? Men always got so attached. Sleep with them a couple of times and they suddenly thought we were going to ride off into the sunset together.
I didn’t even like sunsets. They were depressing.
“I told you our time together has expired.” I looked around for our server. There had to be a rule against unlawful loitering at diners’ tables. “Now, as Xavier mentioned, we were in the middle of a conversation. Please leave.”
My talk with Xavier had been uncomfortable, off-putting, and surprising in a multitude of ways, but I’d rather spend the entire day rehashing our kiss than speak with Mark.
I’d broken things off with him right before Greece. We met when he was bartending at the happy hour spot my friends and I frequented, and we hooked up for a few months until he booked us a weekend getaway at a bed-and-breakfast. That was when I knew it was over.
“Oh, come on,” Mark wheedled. If I hadn’t been sure we were over before, I was now. There was nothing more unattractive than a grown man whining. “If you—”
“She said leave.” Xavier cut him off, his voice lethally soft.
He hadn’t moved since Mark called himself my boyfriend, but his eyes smoldered with deadly warning.
Despite his relaxed pose, one arm tossed over the back of the booth and the other resting on the table, tension filled every line of his body. He resembled a predator lying in the weeds, waiting to strike.
A shiver breathed cold down my spine.
Xavier wasn’t the violent type, but I had a gut feeling that if he and Mark went head to head, one of them would end up on the ground—and it’d be the one standing right now.
