Omar groaned into his hands, leaning back against the couch. “Hell. This is why they never called on Friday. It has to be.”
“I thought this required immediate action,” Marian said, reaching for the tumbler again. “Where can I fill this up?”
Omar started to point out the bar then stood up and offered to do it himself. He wanted another one now, too. “I think we can send an email to start.”
“And request a phone conference, at least, sometime tomorrow.”
“Exactly.” Omar filled her glass, and then his own. He returned to the couch, handing her the tumbler. She took a gulp.
“I don’t think he’d get too far with leaking information. Not with how rude and horrible he is,” Marian said, wincing against the alcohol. “My main worry is he’s ruined our good name.”
Omar shook his head, sipping tersely at his drink. “And we should be prepared if he has.” He came to his feet, heading for his briefcase by the front door. “A little preemptive planning is in order.”
13
Marian yawned and rubbed at her eyes. After two solid hours of diagramming every potential secret or foible that Kelly could use against them and their diplomatic responses, the looming crisis felt more like an eventual blip. Kelly might try to take them down, but he wouldn’t. His revenge attempt would prove ineffective.
“I think this is good,” Omar said, pushing away the papers they’d been working on at his elegant dining room table. Everything in his penthouse looked like it came from an interior design magazine. Was that his or his wife’s touch? She was afraid to ask.
“Yeah. Good enough, at least.” Marian picked up her empty tumbler, heading for the sink in the adjacent kitchen. She set it on the counter, furtively sizing up the arrangement of the room. Marble countertops, bereft of utensils and appliances. Everything gleamed and sparkled. Omar was so neat.
She turned and inhaled sharply when she found Omar in the doorway, his arm propped against the molding. His dark eyes gobbled her up in a very specific non-business way, but this was where the real test began: standing her ground.
“You have a lovely kitchen,” she said, breezing past him, trying to ignore the heat that rolled off his body. She headed for the living room, where she’d left her shoes. “I’ll get out of your hair now. It’s getting late.”
Congratulations. You did it. She lamely patted herself on the back in her head while she slipped her flats on. Now you can go home and masturbate while thinking about Omar.
She noticed her phone on the dining room table where they’d been planning, so she diverted, her footsteps making a soft snick-snick against the smooth wood floor. Omar stood at the far end of the table, his jaw flexing as he watched her. The silence sizzled between them.
“Just need this,” she said as she grabbed her phone, her voice withering in the tension between them. God, what is this? She tried to force a little laugh, but it stuck in her throat. Omar’s eyes were like obsidian.
“Okay, well,” she said, turning for the door. Just get out the door. Unless he asks you to stay. Please ask me to stay. I have so little time left here.
But no. She would do well to reaffirm the professional boundaries. She already knew what the romantic entanglements would bring with Omar—more conflict and confusion about his past. And she didn’t have time for that. She couldn’t heal him when he was clearly stil
l so hurt.
“Marian, stay with me.”
His gruff words made her freeze in her spot. She stared at the door, hesitant to turn around. Thoughts raced in her head, but nothing seemed clear or right. Staying the night was all she wanted to do. But she would only want more, and more. And Omar could never give her that. For his own reasons, but also for practical reasons.
She spun slowly on her heel, daring to meet his gaze. He approached slowly, his request still echoing in the air between them.
“I don’t know if I should.” She swallowed hard, looking around. This beautiful penthouse palace, where he’d lived with his wife. Her being here reeked of a bad idea. You’ll regret this if you stay. When he pulls away. When he makes this awkward. When he grows cold.
“I know that you should,” Omar said, reaching out to touch her arm. The small caress blasted through her, made her knees weak. Damn you, Omar.
“Trust me, I want to—” she began.
“Then do it.”
Her words shriveled in her throat. “But I think you might be better off if we don’t do this anymore.” She gestured to the air between them. “You know?”
“No.” Omar took one more step to close the gap between them and slid his hand around the back of her neck, pressing his mouth against hers. A slow, thorough, exploratory kiss wiped away every contrary thought from her brain.
“Okay,” she gasped when the kiss broke. “Okay, yeah, I’ll stay.”
Omar grinned boyishly, pulling her by the hand toward the hallway. “Come. We should go to bed.”