The Spanish Love Deception

He seemed to consider that for a long moment. “How are you not boiling up inside there? That’s a lot of velour for such a tiny person.”

Velour?

“And that’s a deep knowledge in fabrics for someone whose wardrobe is made of two different pieces of clothing.”

An emotion flickered across his face, one I didn’t catch on time. He closed his eyes very briefly, inhaling through his nose.

He was irritated. His patience slipping away from him. I could tell.

We won’t make it. We are doomed.

“First,” he said, regaining his composure, “you blatantly ogle me.”

That sent a wave of heat straight to my cheeks. Busted.

“Then, you reprimand me for what I’m wearing. And now, you criticize my sense of style. Are you going to let me in, or do you always keep guests outside your door while you insult them?”

“Who said you were a guest?” Inhaling through my nose and not hiding my irritation at him calling me out, I turned around and walked away, leaving him standing before the entrance to my apartment. “You invited yourself over,” I said over my shoulder. “I guess you don’t mind letting yourself in either, huh, big boy?”

Big boy? I closed my eyes, extremely thankful to be facing the other way.

Still not able to believe I had really called Aaron Blackford big boy, I headed for the kitchen area of my studio and opened the fridge. The cool air graced my skin, making me feel only slightly better. I stared into it for a full minute, and when I finally turned, I did with a fake smile.

Aaron Blackford—and his tuxedo—leaned against the narrow island that delimited my kitchen and living room spaces. His blue gaze was somewhere above my knees. Still studying my attire, which he seemed to find so outrageously intriguing.

It bothered me, I realized. The way he looked at it made me feel inadequate even though I was at home and he was the intruder who had shown up earlier than we had agreed. It was stupid, but it reminded me of how small he had made me feel all those months ago when I overheard him talking to Jeff. Or how he had almost thrown that mug I had gotten him as a welcome gift at my face. Or how all the remarks and jabs that came after that had never stopped bothering me.

Rosie had been right; I was incapable of letting it go. I was still holding my grudge like my life depended on it. Like my grudge was a door floating on the ocean and I was out of life jackets.

“It seems rather inappropriate for summer.” Aaron nodded at my robe.

He wasn’t wrong. I was boiling up, but I had needed the comfort.

I imitated him and leaned on the kitchen counter behind me. “Can I offer you something to drink, Anna Wintour? Or would you like to point out any other way in which my robe is outrageous instead?”

I watched his lips twitch, fighting a smile. Me, on the other hand, I found none of this remotely funny.

“How about water?” He did not move a single muscle besides the corners of his lips, which were still battling against that smile.

“You know”—I retrieved a water bottle and placed it beside him. Then, I grabbed another one for myself—“you could have just emailed me back. You didn’t need to show up here this early.”

“I know.” Of course he did. “I did you a favor, coming here ahead of time.”

“A favor?” My eyes narrowed to thin slits. “Doing me a favor would have included showing up with your pockets filled with churros.”

“I’ll try my best to remember that,” he said, sounding like he meant it. And just as I was opening my mouth to ask him what that was supposed to mean, he continued, “Why didn’t you call me instead of sending that … intricate email? It would have saved us both some time, Miss Martín.” That last part he added with a scowl.

Ha, I knew that Mr. Blackford would strike a nerve.

“Okay, first of all, I didn’t ask you to come here. So, that’s on you.” I opened the lid of my bottle and took a gulp of water. “And secondly, how would I have called you if I don’t have your number, smart-ass?”

I looked at him over the bottle.

Aaron’s dark brows knit. “You should have it. On our last division’s team-building event, we passed along all our private phone numbers. I have yours. I have everyone’s.”

I slowly lowered the bottle and screwed the lid on. “Well, I don’t have yours.” I had refused to save Aaron’s number because, again, I was a grudge-holder. Something that didn’t make me feel all that great right now, but that didn’t change the truth. “Why would I have needed it anyway?”

I watched him take in my words for a moment, and then he shook his head lightly. Straightening, he leaned away from the kitchen island.