While I’m trying to figure out what the hell is going on, Benjamin realizes what he said and hurries to clarify.
“We’re good together,” he adds, like that makes it all better.
In any other situation, this would be a dream come true. But I’m supposed to be dating Nathan, which makes this kind of a problem.
I step back, palms lifted. “Look, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression…”
“I mean, professionally. We’re good together professionally.” Benjamin chuckles nervously. “I couldn’t stop staring at the preliminaries for Nathan’s build and they’re good, Mina. Really good. Do you know how many arguments I’ve had with designers about load bearing walls? They never take things like that into consideration. But you do. You and I make quite the team. I had to get in the car to settle myself down, saw you were here, and well, you know the rest.”
I am such an idiot. Of course Benjamin Bancroft wasn’t here to hit on me. Why in the world would I jump to that conclusion? And why does knowing he’s here professionally make me feel relieved? All this fake flirting with Nathan is messing with my head. I’m seeing things that aren’t there. Feeling things that don’t exist.
“Do I get to see these magical plans?” I ask.
Benjamin pulls a laptop out of his messenger bag, opens it on the desk and I literally gasp when I see the visual representation of our brains coming together. These designs are only preliminaries and they’re damn near perfect.
“I’m not even going to have to argue with you about the staircase placement!” I meet his grin with wide eyes. “That literally never happens.”
“I extended the living room by a few feet to make space for one more window,” he says, tapping the screen, “maximizing natural light in the morning as per your suggestion. That meant the stairs fit better here…” Another tap.
“Which completely opens up the flow of the first floor.” I lean in for a better look. The influx of natural light will transform the feeling of the living room, and after spending so much time with The Prince of Darkness, there’s one thing I know for sure…
Nathan West could do with more light in his life.
“This is amazing.” I straighten and lean a hip on the desk. “I would have needed a drive to settle myself down after seeing it too.”
Benjamin stands close, pointing out several other exciting design features that I totally miss because there’s a warm line of contact between us, his shoulder, arm, and hip brushing against mine. Talk about mixed signals! I know he’s not flirting, but it sure as hell feels like he’s flirting.
I can see the scowl on Nathan’s face, hear the gravel in his words. If he saw us now, he’d be upset.
I shift, putting space between me and Benjamin.
That’s strange. The man of my dreams is possibly coming onto me, and I can’t stop thinking about Nathan. What am I supposed to do with that?
Benjamin leans a hip on my desk, the picture of boyish charm. “Can I ask a personal question?”
I suddenly have a terrible suspicion I’m not gonna like where this is going.
“Sure.”
“You’re talented. Intelligent. Beautiful. Nathan’s, well, he was rude to you at our first meeting and his response to your text that night? The ass biting one?”
I nod and pray Benjamin moves on quickly.
“It didn’t give me the warm fuzzies,” he finishes. “I know I’m way out of line here, like pushing every possible boundary of our professional relationship out of line, but how do you get from that to being in a serious relationship? Are you sure you want to be with him? Is there a chance the crush you’ve had on him for years might be blinding you to what’s really going on?”
I almost correct him and say that he’s the one I’ve had a crush on for years, but catch myself just in time and exhale all the breath in my lungs in one quick huff. “That is definitely personal,” I say instead.
“I don’t mean to be rude and you can tell me to shut up and I will, but I hate to see people accept less than they’re worth and, something tells me that’s what’s happening here.”
I disintegrate into a fidget fest and search for something to say. Anything at all will do. Unfortunately, I couldn’t form a sentence if my life depended on it.
Benjamin straightens, shaking his head and reaching for his laptop. Eyes averted. Cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry. I’m way out of line. I’ve made my career by following my instincts, but people aren’t as straightforward as blueprints. I should know by now not to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong.”
He shoves his laptop in his bag, and I put a hand on his arm. “It’s okay. I appreciate you looking out for me. I do. It’s incredibly sweet and thoughtful and I wish more people went out on limbs like that for others. Nathan’s…”
Normally a litany of negative descriptors would be clamoring to rocket out of my mouth, but the only word I have tonight is, “…misunderstood. I called him The Prince of Darkness when we first met. To his face even. When you get past that, he’s…”
I search for a word to describe what’s underneath Nathan’s bristly exterior, but Benjamin holds up his hands.
“You don’t have to explain. If you’re good, great. Just…if you’re not good, I’m here to help.”
That’s the kind of support I’d expect from Fallon, or my mom, not a business associate whose career is lightyears ahead of mine.
“How are you single?” The question’s out before I have time to evaluate its conversational worthiness. Thankfully, Benjamin doesn’t so much as flinch.
“I’m a perfectionist who hyperfocuses on just about everything. Great for architecture. Not so great for human interaction. Add a penchant for saying exactly what I’m thinking and oddly enough, that narrows down my dating options.” Benjamin swings his messenger bag over his shoulder. “Forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
Other than the fact that I almost found myself standing up for Nathan.
We say our goodbyes and Benjamin sidesteps his way toward the door, eager for an exit I’m glad to let him take.
SEVENTEEN
Nathan
Mina’s ass rubs against my cock as I lean over to adjust her grip on a pool cue. I swear to God, she’s doing it on purpose. This sexy little sway back and forth, back and forth, like a cat swishing its tail as she lines up her shot. There’s no way she doesn’t feel what she’s doing to me, so I have no qualms about doing it right back to her.
“You want to hold the stick like this.” My breath moves past her ear, lips whispering against the delicate skin at the nape of her neck. My body blankets hers. She shivers, exhaling sharply before glancing over her shoulder to meet my eyes.
We’re face to fucking face. Those blue eyes holding me in a death grip of seduction.
“Like this?” Mina readjusts her grasp, giving her focus back to the pool table and wiggling those lush hips against me again.
“Just like that,” I growl, though if she doesn’t stop, we’re going to have a very real, very obvious problem on display. I straighten to let her take the shot, surreptitiously eyeing the patrons at The Pact to see how many people give two shits about our cliché attempt at looking like a couple.
My aunt Hope drops me a knowing wink before disappearing into the office she shares with her husband. She’s happy for me, which makes me a dick for selling her a lie, but at least Mina and I are convincing. It’s been a while since anyone has mentioned me needing to get my shit together, so the family rumor mill is obviously doing its job.
The crack and clatter of pool balls scattering across felt catches my attention. Mina gasps, then whoops in excitement, lifting her hands over head and wiggling in the spiciest celebratory dance I’ve ever seen. I adjust my pants and try not to stare, though the guys a few tables over don’t join me in the effort. I clear my throat and cock my head, mean-mugging them until they get the message and look away. Assholes.
“Bet you regret teaching me how to play pool now, don’t you Sweet Prince?” Mina wiggles her way towards me, eyes blistering with heat.
Fake heat, I remind myself. Though she’s getting too good at faking it and my body is getting tired of fighting it. Another jolt of desire strikes like lightning. It’s very, very real.
Each date we’ve gone on, the flirting has gotten hotter, the eye contact heavier. We talk about stupid things, argue about everything, but somehow, someway, I feel less like she sees me as a bank account and more like she sees me. Not the villain. Nor the wealthy philanthropist.
Me. Not the…the…trope.
