The next morning, I arrive at the Davenport-Ridgeway Tower at seven. The forty-second floor, which hosts desks for most of the employees who work in mergers and acquisitions, is quiet at this hour and I only encounter a couple of lit offices as I head to my own. The solitude is a huge relief, one that gives me a moment to inhale deeply and steady myself before swinging by the bathroom to check myself in the mirror on the way to the elevators.
The eighty-eighth floor is just as dark and somehow quieter, like sound doesn’t quite reach these upper echelons of the company. Perfect. Just wonderful, actually—I definitely needed this encounter to be more awkward and intimidating than it already stands to be.
Another deep breath. And another.
When I’m at the door to Davis’s office, I’m relieved to see a line of light under the bottom. As I expected, he’s already here. After a final deep breath, I knock three times, forcing myself to be firm.
“Yeah?” he calls from the other side, the curtness of his tone catching me off guard once again. The Davis I knew eight years ago always stumbled over his words. Rambled. Meandered sweetly. This guy? All precision. All business.
I push open the heavy door and linger in the entrance, waiting for his recognition. It comes in the form of a raised eyebrow.
“What are you doing here?”
He’s seated with his back straight and his laptop open in front of him, clearly in the middle of something. I’ll need to make this fast.
“Eight years ago you were a workaholic and an early riser,” I explain. “I was banking on you still being that way so that we could talk.”
“Smart.” He beckons for me to enter with a flick of his fingers. “If you had come here any later, Kelsey would have stopped you and sent you off until you had an appointment on my calendar. But not a big deal. I would have made time for you.”
“I bought you a coffee,” I say, placing the cup I picked up at Starbucks on his desk and ignoring the comment. “Two creams and two sugars. Has that changed?”
“I drink it black now,” he informs me, but he takes a sip from it anyway. As he drinks, he doesn’t remove his eyes from me—somehow managing to look deadly attractive through the simple act of drinking coffee.
“So—”
“You want to clear the air,” he interjects before he stands up. When he rises, I’m reminded of how freaking tall he is. He practically towers over me. Except this time, he’s intimidation embodied, not the soft and gentle giant that I met when I was nineteen. Now, he’s a steely pillar of Hugo Boss and hard muscles and a watch that I assume could pay my rent for a year—maybe more. Involuntarily, I take a step back as he strides around his desk before coming to sit on the edge of it.
When he sits, we’re finally eye level. His deep brown eyes look into mine and he offers me this minute sneer.
“I make you so nervous now,” he murmurs, observing me with barely-veiled self-satisfaction plain in every tick of his gaze. “Why is that, Olivia? Eight years ago, you had me tied into a knot of nerves and uncertainty. You can barely look at me now. It’s strange.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. I was hoping to get reacquainted with that morose, take-no-prisoners girl who ran off with my money and my dignity. Who the hell is this?”
I inhale sharply, unprepared to hear him speak about that night in Amsterdam. That is, of course, why I came to his office this morning. But nothing could have prepared me for the frankness of his words.
“This is me treading lightly,” I begin, “and also recognizing that you may hate me. If you do hate me, it would be catastrophic for me because my career is suddenly in your hands.”
He cocks a brow and his expression teeters between perplexity and dubiousness. “You’re asking if I hate you.”
“Yes.”
“Would a guy who hates you offer you ten thousand dollars to fuck him again?” he inquires casually, folding his arms across his chest as he speaks.
At first, I think I’ve imagined the comment. Then several seconds pass and Davis continues to stare at me expectantly, making no move to break the heavy silence that has set in between us.
“What did you say?” I question, my voice wavering as I give in to my uncertainty.
“Would a guy who hates you,” he repeats, enunciating each word, “offer you ten thousand dollars to fuck him again?”
My heart practically stops. I take another involuntary step back. “Excuse me?”
“Ten thousand dollars. Come to my place on Friday. It’s as simple as that.” Davis’s face is pure confidence. His chiseled jaw holds his mouth in a flat line, like he has all the time in the world to wait for my response. There’s no hint of uncertainty or facetiousness to his words whatsoever. There’s no hesitation. All I hear is self-assurance…entitlement.
Like my body should naturally be his. For his own free-use.
Well, fuck that.
“Are you out of your mind?” I demand, my voice rising. “You asshole. I came here to apologize and to put the past in the past, and you’re going to throw that in my face and taunt me for a mistake I made eight years ago?”
“Taunt you?” he clarifies, frowning as he speaks. “I’m completely serious. I want to fuck you again, Olivia. I’ve wanted to fuck you again for the last eight years, and now that you’re standing in my office and looking like sex on legs, I’m certainly not going to pass up an opportunity to shoot my shot.”
I let out a scoff, but not much else. I’m speechless—genuinely speechless. I had this whole thing planned, where I was going to apologize and tell him how much I regret that night. I was going to give him the explanation that he deserved, but never had a chance to hear. I was going to tell him that for the last eight years I’ve been replaying all of his words of assurance that I could get into business school and hold my own in those lecture halls. We’ve gone the way of him soliciting me instead.
Like a whore.
I want to hate him. I want to throw my Starbucks in his face and ruin his gorgeous suit. But I can’t get past what he just said with overwhelming candor: “I’ve wanted to fuck you again for the last eight years.”
I refuse to tell him that I feel the same—that I’ve felt the same. I simply shake my head and storm out of his office, my legs feeling unsteady as I go.