I barely stop myself from flinging my phone against the wall. This. This is why I’m not interested in relationships. I tried to do the right thing, and look where it’s gotten me. I shove my chair back and stand, striding to the window and looking out at New York spread below me.
Maybe it’s better if she ends it anyway. I’ve got too much going on with work at the moment, and spending so much time with one woman might be a novelty, but that was always going to wear off eventually.
So why the hell does my chest feel so fucking tight? The way her voice wavered when she told me I hurt her had sliced right through my ribs and into my heart. When was the last time anything had reached that frozen organ?
I brace one hand against the glass and stare down at the streets below. Looking down on everyone from up here normally makes me feel alive. It makes me feel in control. But it’s not working now.
I need to get my mind off Delilah and back where it belongs. As Roman already hinted, she’s become a distraction I don’t need. It’s better for both of us if it’s over.
I sit down, but instead of preparing for my meeting, I open a browser and search for the photos from Friday night. They flash in front of me, and I wince. I’d put on a good act when Jessica kissed me. With the rumors of her father’s wavering support, I didn’t want to reject her publicly. While we won’t go under if Berrington pulls his investments, I don’t want his pack of cronies following his lead. The last thing we need is a panicked exodus for no reason other than I embarrassed his daughter.
Unfortunately, my lack of negative reaction to her kiss comes across in the photos as enthusiasm.
I frown and lean back in my chair, scrubbing my hand over my face as regret pulls at cords inside me that haven’t been pulled in a long time.
Just then, my door swings open and Tate saunters in. He stops, his eyebrows rising as he takes me in. Then he grins and continues into the room, taking a seat and stretching out his long legs.
“I’m not used to you looking so out of sorts,” he says. “What’s the occasion?”
I click away from the website. “What do you want, Tate?”
“I can’t shoot the shit with my big brother?”
Tate might be just the distraction I need right now. “I don’t know if we’ve ever shot the shit, but if you’re saying you’ve got something to discuss with me, then please, go right ahead.”
He smirks, leans forward in his chair, and rests his elbows on his knees. “The marketing department is reporting decreased engagement and more negative comments on social media. Dear old Dad’s indiscretions are circulating more widely and confidence in our brand appears to be declining. We need a quick win to improve public perception and keep everyone happy.”
“I’m assuming you have an idea.”
He nods. “The team has been brainstorming and they want to run some press campaigns on the hotel development. Early stages, preliminary concept plans, with a heavy focus on the sustainability aspects.”
“Okay, get what you need from the architects.” Which makes me think about Delilah. Once again, something tugs painfully in my chest.
“They’re also thinking about filming our contractors smiling and looking competent, that kind of thing. Maybe that sexy little architect of yours could be our star.”
“She’s not mine,” I snap.
His brows arch up again. “A little defensive, aren’t you? I just meant she’s part of your team.”
I force myself to relax, and he watches me with a twisted smile.
“Is she who had you all out of sorts when I came in? I don’t blame you. If she were working for me, I would have bent her over my desk in—”
“Don’t,” I growl, and he lets out a laugh.
“Oh, that got a reaction. So you are tapping that fine piece of ass?”
I don’t know why he’s being so chatty. Or why I haven’t kicked him out of my office yet. Maybe it’s because right now, with thoughts of Delilah trying to take over my mind, I don’t hate having him here.
I drum my fingers on the desk. “We may have had a . . . thing.”
“A thing? What type of thing are you talking about exactly?” His cunning eyes scrutinize me before they widen. “You weren’t dating her, were you?” The look of shock on his face would be funny if the subject of Delilah wasn’t such a sore spot right now.
“It was just casual,” I say. “Just a few weeks.”
He runs his pointer finger over his bottom lip as he watches me. “So you ended it, then? Did she get clingy? Or did you get bored?”
I pick up a pen and spin it between my fingers, debating whether to say anything. He’s just sitting there, looking relaxed, his golden-brown eyes bright with curiosity. It takes me back. To a time when the three of us were closer. When we’d been friends, instead of . . . whatever we are now.
So I tell him. “She ended it. Just before you came in.”
His brows shoot skyward. “She ended it?”
I clench my jaw and nod.
“I’d ask you when was the last time a woman ended a relationship with you, but since I can’t remember when you last had a relationship, it’s a moot point.”
When I don’t say anything, a slow smile spreads across his face.
“You like her.”
It’s a statement, not a question, but I answer him anyway. “I enjoyed spending time with her, that’s all.”
“What happened then?” he asks.
My gaze drops to my computer, and my chest tightens as I picture the photos that had been on the screen moments before. “I hurt her.”
“Was she in love with you?”
I focus on him. “I don’t think so. She never said anything to indicate she was.”
“Well, she obviously feels something for you if she was hurt enough to end things.”
I’m supposed to be taking my mind off Delilah, not being forced to confront my mistakes. I wave my hand in the air. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s over. She can move on to someone who can give her the kind of commitment she’s after. And I can go back to—”
“Screwing random beautiful women and making a fuck ton of money?”
I raise my brows at him. “It’s the family business, isn’t it?”
“Not sure Mom would agree,” he says.
“No. In Mom’s case, it’s having semi-discreet affairs and taking advantage of the money we make for her.” Tate is silent and I shake my head. “Sorry.”
He shrugs, but the amusement in his gaze has dimmed. Considering he’s the result of one of Mom’s affairs, they’re a sensitive topic for him. It’s hardly a secret. His blond hair could have come from Mom, but those startling copper eyes of his don’t come from anywhere in our family tree. It explains why Dad has always been the hardest on him too, even if Tate is still his son on paper. Like most things in our world, it’s all about outward appearances. People can whisper whatever they want behind closed doors, and as long as it doesn’t affect our wealth and status, we don’t care.
Except, I remember a time when Tate cared. A lot.
I also remember the times when Roman and I got into fights with the boys who thought it was a good idea to taunt him about his parentage. That was before things changed, anyway. Before we grew apart, becoming strangers to each other.
Maybe working together like this will give Tate and me a chance to reconnect. I make a mental note to catch up with him about non-work-related issues on a more regular basis.
“Are you planning to get her back?” Tate asks.
I’ve lost track of our conversation. “What?”
“Your architect. Are you going to make it up to her?”
“I think we’re both better off if we just leave it.” A pit forms in my chest at the realization that my last time touching her happened without me even knowing it.
“Are you sure about that?”
I look away from Tate’s too perceptive gaze. The best way to distract myself from Delilah is to concentrate on what’s important—work. “I’ve got to prepare for this meeting. Feel free to go directly to the architectural team if you want to use them in any promos.”
“That’s it?” Tate protests. “That’s all you’re going to give me?”
“You’re lucky you got that much. Now let me get back to work.”
He huffs out a breath, slaps his hands on his thighs, and stands. “Fine. Leave me hanging, then.”
I grunt and return to my notes, not bothering to watch him cross to the door.
“So if she’s single now, you won’t mind if I ask her out?”
My eyes shoot to his, rage bubbling up in my chest. He’s more of a playboy than any of us. “Keep your fucking hands off her.”
He’s still laughing when he shuts the door behind him.
