I don’t know why I stop by my hotel to freshen up after work. Honestly, I shouldn’t have. I should show up to the bar in the leggings and chunky sweater I wore to the office and leave my hair in the messy bun it always ends up in when I can’t stand the distraction of it hanging around my face.
Instead, though, I find myself peeling off my clothes the second the door to my room slams shut. I always pack a nice outfit in case the girls want to go out to dinner after work, so I paw through my suitcase to find it. Carly says I’m an over-packer, but I’m grateful for that trait now.
I pull out a black bodysuit and a pair of jeans. Then, without allowing myself to think about the implications, I grab a matching bra and panty set too—black mesh with tigers embroidered on them in silk thread. The set will give me a boost of confidence (and cleavage), reminding me that I’m sexy no matter how this little meeting with Daniel goes tonight. There’s no guarantee that he’s going to see it, but if he does…
No, I can’t get ahead of myself. He said he wanted to see me again, but then he promptly ignored my existence in the office, up until those messages. He didn’t even look my way at lunch, despite standing beside me and reaching into the same pizza box I was. What am I supposed to make of that?
I guess I’m about to get my answers.
When I’m cleaned up and dressed, I yank my boots back on and head into the freezing night, wrapping my scarf tight around my neck. Maybe I should have stayed in and eaten room service in bed, but here I am, venturing out into the cold for a man. A man I can’t figure out for the life of me.
Thankfully, the cocktail lounge is toasty and not too crowded. It’s a cute little art deco place, with small tables scattered throughout and booths lining the perimeter of the room. There’s a vast mirrored wall behind the bar, equipped with shelves that house every spirit known to man, and I waste no time heading over to order a drink. I don’t bother to look around to see if Daniel is here yet. Even if he is, I definitely need alcohol before I face him.
I prop myself against the bar and smile at the man behind it. When he sidles over to me, I order a gin and tonic and pay, declining to open a tab. I don’t know how long I’ll be here, but if things go wrong, I want to have the ability to make a speedy exit.
Once I’ve shrugged out of my coat and have my drink in hand, I turn to peruse the rest of the place, but Daniel steps into my line of sight almost immediately.
As usual, I find myself looking up and up and up until I meet his eyes.
“I got a booth,” he says. His voice is just audible over the din of clinking glasses, soft jazz, and laughter from other patrons. “Follow me.”
I nod, heart racing, and let him lead the way toward the back of the room. Sliding onto one of the velvet upholstered benches, I peer up and wait for him to do the same across the marble table. Unlike me, he didn’t change after work. He’s still wearing a classic leather jacket, black T-shirt, and jeans. And, as always, his hair is messy from dragging his fingers through it all day. I want to reach out to him and do the same.
A flash of a memory hits me, almost knocking me back. A vision of sinking my fingers into his loose curls while he was on his knees in front of me and his mouth was on my core. And now I’m hot all over. I can only hope he can’t tell.
I sip at my drink. It’s a little strong, though it better be, considering I paid fourteen dollars for it. I watch as Daniel lifts his glass to his lips, and damn if I’m not mesmerized by the way his throat works when he swallows the amber liquid. If I leaned in close, I could run my tongue along his—
Fucking hell, I need to stop. He probably brought me here to make sure we’re on the same page and can properly move forward without having to worry about HR coming after either of us. I absolutely cannot think about him bending me over this table and doing less than appropriate things for a public setting.
Get ahold of yourself, girl.
I take one more sip for courage before clearing my throat. By now, I’ve learned that he’s not likely to initiate the conversation. “So,” I begin. “Why did you want me to meet you here?”
He sets his drink on the table but keeps his hand wrapped around it. He has big hands—with long fingers and a prominent vein running up from the side of his wrist through his arm. Again, I’m struck with a memory, this one of his palm pressed to my belly, his fingers curling inside me.
“I figured we should talk,” he says.
I can’t stop my grimace. “I was hoping to avoid that.”
There’s a flash of amusement across his face, accompanied by one arched brow. “Really?” he asks. “You hate me so much you’re going to completely avoid me now?”
“You’re the one who avoided me all day,” I point out, annoyed by how he’s trying to spin it. “Besides, I just…didn’t think we had anything to talk about.”
“No?” His words are soft, but something about his gaze is heavy. “Because I think we have a lot to talk about.”
I run my finger down the side of my sweating glass, trying to keep my cool. I should shut this all down, lay out that what happened between us last month was a one-time thing, and then be on my merry way. But part of me, the little part that loves to make dangerous decisions, wants to hear what he thinks we have to discuss.
That part wins out. “Like?” I prompt.
His dark eyes meet mine, pinning me in place. “Like how I left you alone in bed and how much I wish I hadn’t.”
My heart tumbles in my chest, and it’s a good thing I don’t have gin in my mouth because I’m sure I would have choked on it. “I didn’t expect you to stay the night,” I tell him, surprised by how even my voice is considering my whole body is vibrating with a mix of curiosity and desire.
This is the exact opposite of how I expected the conversation to go. Instead of shutting down the possibility of a repeat, he’s shoved the door wide open. And he’s not being subtle about it.
“Would you have wanted me to?” he asks, his full attention fixed on me in a way that makes me want to squirm.
But I resist and stay silent because I don’t have an answer for him. Would I have wanted him to stay? I’ve worked so hard to convince myself it was a one-and-done situation. A one-night stand. An exquisite mistake that would only be repeated in my dreams. But if he had stayed the night, if we’d gotten an opportunity to talk after we’d sobered up and without the shroud of desperate lust, what would have happened?
I guess we’ll never know, since I passed out in a post-orgasm haze, and he disappeared into the night. But I can’t imagine it having gone any differently. This—being here with him tonight, talking about what transpired—is the outlier in the situation.
“Where’s this all coming from?” I ask, exasperated and maybe a little breathless from the shock of what I think he’s just admitted. “Before the party, we hardly spoke. If we did, it was only about business. And as you already know, you aren’t exactly my favorite person.”
“You aren’t mine either,” he replies. “But you’re interesting.”
The fuck is that supposed to mean? I nearly ask, but it would mean losing the cool that I’m hanging on to by a thread. “And a good lay, right?” I say dryly.
“A great lay. Don’t sell yourself short.”
He says it with such confidence, like there’s a smirk hiding behind the words even though there isn’t one on his face. He’s mocking me, playing along but throwing my catty comment back in my face. It’s a backhanded compliment. It’s not meant to make me feel good about myself—and it doesn’t. My body is still vibrating, but it’s from anger instead of thrill now.
“There are a lot of interesting people in the world. Plenty of them even work in our office,” I challenge, giving him a chance to redeem himself, even if he doesn’t deserve it. We’re both playing a game here; I just can’t figure out if we’re playing by the same rules. “Still doesn’t explain why you went after me.”
At that, Daniel tosses his head back and laughs. “You’re so oblivious.” He says it like he can’t believe he has to explain any of this to me. “Bordering on stupid, even. You know that, don’t you?”
I gape at him, fully thrown. This isn’t a game anymore. Not one I’m willing to play, at least. “Excuse me?”
“You’re oblivious,” he repeats, stretching out the word. “It’s why you let yourself get screwed over in those contract negotiations.”
My simmering anger takes a nosedive toward rage. “I didn’t let anything happen,” I bite back, wishing I’d never come here or entertained his advances. I should have stood him up like I originally considered. “You pressured me and made promises you couldn’t keep.”
He rolls his eyes, but a smug smile plays around his mouth. “You think you’re so smart, but half the time, you don’t even pay attention to what’s going on around you. You should work on that.”
“And you should work on being less of an asshole,” I seethe, gripping the edge of the table to keep from making a move I’ll regret. I don’t want there to be any witnesses when I beat him to a pulp.
But in a move that catches me off guard, Daniel slides out of the booth and onto his feet. He has his coat clutched in one hand while the other is outstretched in my direction.
“Now that you’re upset with me,” he says, “should we get out of here?”
I’m frozen in place. All I can do is blink up at him for a long moment. Then it dawns on me. “You did that on purpose,” I exhale as the cold realization spreads like ice through my veins. “You were trying to rile me up.” Saying all the wrong things to get me heated and wet for him, as if my rage is the key to making me want to sleep with him again. “Looking for another hate-fuck, right?”
“I take back what I said. Maybe you are smart.”
“Fuck you.”
With that, I shove my way out of the booth and around him, pulling on my coat and scarf as I storm toward the exit. I can’t believe I nearly entertained his tricks all over again, but it’s worse this time. I let this man neg me, let him take my precious time, and even let him get under my skin. It’s not even his fault, because I’m the one who gave him the opportunity to do it. But now I’ve learned my lesson.
The cold rush of air hits my face like a slap when I step out onto the sidewalk. I deserve the cruel shock for letting my guard down for a second. I just feel…used.
“Selene. Wait.”
I tuck my chin into my scarf and stride down the sidewalk toward my hotel, ignoring Daniel and the way he calls out for me. Unfortunately, I can’t ignore him once he’s beside me. In one more long stride, he’s blocking my path, forcing me to pull up short.
“Move,” I tell him flatly, staring at his shoes and willing them to step out of my way.
He doesn’t go anywhere. “I fucked up.”
Scoffing, I finally drag my attention to his face and glower. I tell myself my eyes are burning because of the wind and not because I’m on the verge of tears. “You called me stupid and then expected me to fuck you again. In what world is that supposed to work?”
To his credit, he swallows hard, and what looks like remorse shimmers in his eyes. But it doesn’t quiet my anger and embarrassment.
When he doesn’t say anything for a beat, only works his jaw, I huff out an unamused laugh and attempt to step around him. Just as we’re shoulder to shoulder, he curls his fingers around my elbow, pulling me out of the flow of pedestrian traffic and against the metal bars of a closed shop.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that.”
There’s barely any space between us. Daniel’s body blocks the wind and provides privacy from the people who pass by too closely. I should tell him to shove his apology up his ass and then go back to my hotel, but there’s something in his expression that keeps me from going far—guilt. He knows just how badly he messed up.
That doesn’t mean I won’t let him wallow in it, though.
“You’re brilliant,” he murmurs, dipping his head so I can’t avoid his gaze. “Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
I tilt my head back and meet his stare full-on. “You just did.”
“I did,” he confesses with no hesitation. “But I thought…”
Grinding my teeth together instead of lashing out the way I want to, I wait. If he doesn’t spit it out, they’re going to turn into dust.
“I thought that was what you liked,” he finally says, the words rushed, as if he’s embarrassed to say them. The splotches of red high on his cheeks only confirm it. “I thought that was what you wanted from me. A reason to yell at me. An excuse to let something happen between us again.”
That makes my jaw go slack. My poor teeth have been saved, but my chest burns. Because he’s not exactly wrong. His methods were horrific, sure, but how can I blame him for thinking that it might work? Based on how we ended up in bed together last time, it seems like a reasonable assumption. My anger was part of what drove me to drag him up to my room. But what he doesn’t understand is that it wasn’t the only force at play. Years of simmering grudges bubbled up that night—not new jabs that I had to react to in the moment.
“So you thought insulting me was the way to go? I already have more than enough reasons to hate you. I don’t need more.”
He’s tense, and his shoulders are hunched, but to his credit, he still holds my gaze. “I know. And I didn’t mean any of it.”
“Yes, you did,” I counter. “You wouldn’t have said it if there wasn’t some semblance of truth.”
Daniel draws in a breath and gives a sharp, honest nod. Then, somehow shocking me even more, he says, “You do miss the obvious sometimes, but what I said was cruel.”
Heated anger courses through me again, and I squint at him. But as much as I don’t want to, I respect him for telling the truth instead of placating me with lies. “That’s one way of putting it.”
He angles in a little more, the hand on my elbow drifting up my arm. “You’re right to hate me,” he says quietly. “But I meant it when I said I wish I hadn’t left you. Out of everything, that’s the biggest truth.”
Despite the way my heart rate accelerates with every inch his hand moves upward, I refuse to let him see that he’s getting to me. “Now you’re back to the sweet words,” I say, suspicious, eyeing him for any hint of deception. “Which one is it? Insults or flattery?”
But I find no untruth in his expression, not even when he murmurs, “It’s whatever you want, Selene. It’s your choice. All of this is.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, hating how sincere he sounds. I want to stay angry, to justify walking away, but I’m still rooted to this spot, caged in by his warm body. “This is a weak apology.” I shoot for indifference, but even to my ears, it sounds like I’m considering moving past this misstep.
And the truth is, I can see his remorse. It soaks through my jacket and into my skin where he grips my arm. He doesn’t want me to walk away until this is cleared up. But he’ll let me go in a heartbeat if I tell him I never want to see him again. And the ache swimming in his dark irises is proof that he absolutely means it when he says he wishes he’d stayed the night.
He seriously messed up, yes. And yes, I’m well within my rights to walk away and ignore him for the rest of forever. But I’m coming around to the idea of giving him another chance. After all, a lesser man wouldn’t have apologized, wouldn’t have admitted his wrongs. Maybe—even for someone I don’t particularly like all that much—I can find it in me to move past this and start over. And maybe we can have the conversation we should have had in the first place, without egos and misunderstandings getting in the way.
“I’m trying my best,” he says, pulling me out of my thoughts. Cautious relief seeps into his eyes when I don’t make a move to bolt again. There’s even a hint of a wry smile on his lips, like he’s trying to get us back to the playful banter—the kind I can get behind. “But I seem to remember that you don’t like apologies.”
Damn it. He does listen. And that alone proves that he’s attempting to do this my way, even if he doesn’t know exactly what that looks like. He’s…trying.
And that’s more than any man has ever done for me.
“Even so, do you think you can find it in your heart to forgive me?” he asks.
The question catches me out. The smart thing would be to say yes, I forgive him, and then go on my way and never speak of this night—or our other one—again. It should be the end.
As I’m starting to realize, though, I’m not very smart when it comes to Daniel.
I want to make the same mistake again. To give him another chance. And give myself the opportunity to explore what could have been if he had stayed. I owe it to us both. And, most importantly, I deserve another world-shattering orgasm after that fuck-up.
Before I can overthink it, I put my hands on his chest and push up onto my tiptoes. I drag my lips up his jaw, smirking at the way he stills under my touch. Because now I know I have the upper hand. And I don’t plan on giving it back tonight.
“No,” I murmur in his ear. “You’re going to have to work for it.”
