His voice slides through me like Kentucky Fire Bourbon – smooth, wicked and oh so hot. Whoa, I bet this man melts panties wherever he goes. “Keep talking, you’ve got twenty seconds left.”
The deep chuckle turns into one of the sexiest laughs I’ve ever heard. “No, I think you should keep talking. I’m lovin’ the hell out of your bossy words.”
“Who am I talking to?” This conversation has me intrigued, and for the life of me I can’t begin to imagine who he is. Probably a wrong number because I’m not expecting any calls from a man with a voice that causes all the best kinds of sensations in a woman.
“My apologies, darlin’, I should have introduced myself, but damn, you got me all kinds of distracted. My name’s Diesel.” Diesel, lead singer of the band that carries his name. The band that has offered me the job.
“How did you get my number?” I demand.
“I’m not sure I should tell you. Seems to me like you might do serious damage to the person who gave it to me.”
“Just tell me, otherwise I’m going to assume who it was and hunt him down anyway,” I snap, irritated that he got my number.
“It was Michael, but go easy on the poor bastard. I wore him down until he gave it to me.”
I fucking knew it. “So to what do I owe the pleasure of this call then?”
“And she goes from ballbreaker to ice queen in one second flat . . . baby, you’ve no idea how much that turns me on. Please keep going.”
Good God, these fucking rockstars. Coming at me like there’s no tomorrow. “Diesel, I presume you’re calling me to discuss your job offer. Can we just keep it to that topic?”
“Okay, but we’re going to have to meet, because I need to lay eyes on you to see if you’re everything I’m fuckin’ imagining you are.”
“Does that kind of line work for you often?” It wouldn’t work on me but I bet he has women falling all over him.
He chuckles again but this time it does nothing for me. “Like you wouldn’t believe, but it’s so much more fun when it doesn’t.” The suggestion in his voice is hard to miss but he has no idea just how little fun it would be to chase me.
“Let’s get back to the job and I’ll tell you upfront that I haven’t decided whether to take it or not. Michael told me you need an answer soon so I totally get it if you need to find another photographer due to my lack of decision.” I try to keep this businesslike but I have a feeling he’s going to swerve the conversation back to his own agenda.
“We do need an answer soon. Let’s see if I can’t convince you, but for now, I have another phone call to make. I’ll be in touch soon,” he says and ends the call, confusing the hell out of me.
I stare at my phone and shake my head. Damn men who think they can click their fingers and make women come running. I’m fairly sure I won’t be taking his job now.
A knock on the front door distracts me from thinking about Diesel. A couple of moments later, I open the door to discover a guy holding a huge bunch of red roses.
“You Presley Hart?” he barks out his question.
“Yes.” I’m wondering how he got through the security downstairs but at the same time am distracted by the gorgeous roses.
He shoves the flowers at me and says, “Here you go,” before turning and jogging down the hallway to the lift.
I ignore his rudeness and smile as I look down at the flowers. Jett’s scoring points today with his coffee, croissants and now the flowers. However, my happiness is short-lived. When I open the card to read it, I’m disappointed to discover the flowers are actually from Lennon.
“Baby, please forgive me. I was wrong about everything and I want us back where we belong – together.”
This day is slowly turning to shit. I don’t need another smooth-talker to harass me into taking on a job I don’t think I want, and I sure as hell don’t need Lennon messing with my thoughts. I’d just gotten to a place where I was okay with our marriage ending. Hell, I was at a place where I’d finally admitted to myself that he was so wrong for me. And that was a hard place to get to because I’d loved Lennon with my heart and soul and everything else from almost the moment I met him. I wanted the works with him and he broke me when he didn’t love me the same way.
Damn it, I’m not looking back!
My life doesn’t include him anymore and I won’t even entertain the thought. I dump the flowers in the bin and text him.
Me: DO NOT send me flowers anymore. We’re done. And you’re wrong . . . we don’t belong together and never did.
Once I’ve sent the text, I switch my phone to silent and crawl back onto the couch to continue watching TV. Hopefully, the hot guys on Nashville can distract me all bloody day.
* * *
“Do you like it?”