I wrinkle my forehead and take the envelope. It’s from the Ames Hotel—a bid to host a past event.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” she says. “I brought the stuff for Sasha, and then I went to the bathroom. I saw all the mail in the magazine rack, and I couldn’t help myself. When I saw the Ames Hotel envelope, I just… You won’t tell me about you and Addie, so I thought maybe…”
“Maybe you could figure it out from this?”
“I didn’t even look inside. I swear it. I felt terrible about it, and that’s why I came back. I was going to come back up here and replace it in the powder room so no one was the wiser. But now you’re here, and I…I don’t want to lie to you, Braden.”
I open the envelope, withdraw the paper inside, and hand it to her. “It’s a bid for an event my foundation hosted last year.”
She glances at the letter. It’s dated more than a year ago. A quick look at the postmark would have given her this clue.
“You see,” I say. “Nothing about Addison and me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Do you really think I’d leave anything important sitting in my powder room?” I ask.
“No. I…” She sighs. “I wasn’t thinking at all.”
Tension flows off her body. She’s waiting. Waiting for my reaction.
I’m angry. I’m amused. I’m perplexed—which seems to be my normal state around Skye.
And I’m turned on, which makes no sense at all.
She won’t let my past with Addison lie, and she must. I don’t talk about it for many reasons, none of which I’m ready to go into with Skye. Like most of my childhood, it’s better left in the past.
“I’m sorry,” she finally says. “I understand if you want to…”
I cock my head. “If I want to what?”
“Not see me anymore.”
I laugh. The boisterousness of it surprises even me. I cut my trip short, delegated important duties…and she thinks I’m going to refuse to see her?
Can she let me go that easily?
She seems willing.
And then this isn’t funny anymore. Not in the slightest.
“What’s so funny?” she demands.
I pull her against me, my lips pressing against her ear. “Nothing is funny about this.”
“Then why did you—”
“You want to know why I’m home early? Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I wanted you in my bed. I almost sent you a plane ticket, but I knew you wouldn’t take off work with no notice. So I came home. I came home because I couldn’t wait five fucking days to see you again.”
She swallows. “So…you’re not angry with me?”
I meet her gaze with anger bubbling through me. “I didn’t say that.”
She swallows again. “Then you are angry?”
“Of course I’m angry. Who wouldn’t be?”
She stays silent.