“We just wanted to know how the fundraiser went,” Ethan says. “Believe it or not, we didn’t come here just to bust your ass, but it seems to be a good thing we did.”
I snort.
Ethan places his hands on my desk. “What were you doing to Violet?”
“The fundraiser went well,” I inform him. “I donated exactly how much you said I should and mingled with some people we do business with. Now, can you get out of my office?”
Ethan shakes his head. “You still haven’t grown up, have you, Asher?”
I glare at him. “I said get out of my office.”
“You don’t scare me,” he says. “And you don’t have the right to send me away. We both know that. But just in case you forgot, tell him why, Ryker.”
“Because he’s your boss,” Ryker says.
I shrug. “So what? He can have sex in his office and I can’t?”
Ethan draws a breath.
“Or is the problem that Violet is my subordinate?” I ask him. “Oh, but wait. Wasn’t Stella your assistant when you started fu—”
“Don’t you dare bring Stella into this,” he cuts me off. “Neither of those are the problems. The problem is that Violet didn’t look like she was willing. It looked like you were forcing yourself on her.”
“I wasn’t,” I tell him.
I felt her resisting me. I knew she wanted to stop. And I was about to. I just didn’t do it right away because there was a voice in my head telling me that if I did, she’d slip through my fingers, which is exactly what happened.
Fuck.
I shake my head. “You don’t know anything about us.”
“Then tell me something.” Ethan crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you and Violet Cleary in a relationship?”
Weird. Isn’t that what Violet was asking me?
“We’re sleeping together if that’s what you’re asking,” I answer. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
Ethan sighs.
“And we did go on a date at the Navy Pier.”
“You did?” Ryker asks. “Isn’t that a first?”
“So you’re serious about her?” Ethan asks.
Again, same question. I’m sick of it.
I stand up and bunch my shoulders. “Why does everyone have to be so serious? And why is everyone poking their nose into my fucking business?”
I point to the door to my office.
“Get out.”
Neither Ethan nor Ryker moves.
“I said get out!”
“Fine,” Ethan says finally. “Let’s go, Ryker. He’s old enough to sort out his own messes.”
“Yes, I am,” I tell him. “Thank you.”
They walk out the door. I sink back into my chair and let out a breath of relief.
“And thank you for leaving.”
I grab the glass of water on my desk and take a long sip.
Now, finally, I can have some peace and quiet in my office. Or so I think until I remember Violet and how she marched off.
Why was she so pissed? I already told her I can’t get enough of her, which is not something I’ve told any woman before. I told her I’m not having sex with anyone else. Again, not something I usually say. And I even said just a while ago that I missed her. Hasn’t she been listening? Isn’t it enough? Why won’t she believe me? What more does she want from me? Does she want me to propose to her? Is that it?
I shake my head. Women. Why can’t they ever be satisfied? Why do they always have something to complain about? Why can’t they be reasonable?
I put my glass down and let out a deep breath.
Oh well. I guess I’ll just have to talk to her later.
~
I tuck my hands into my pockets and tap my foot on the floor as I wait for Violet to open the door to her apartment.
I’ve already rung the doorbell three times. I know she’s in there because I can see the light coming from under the door and I can hear the TV. Yet for some reason, she’s not coming.
Is she in the bathroom? Does she have earphones on? Or is she just pretending she can’t hear me?
Come on, Violet.
I ring the doorbell again. When she still doesn’t answer, I start knocking.
“Violet?”
Still nothing.
A new idea forms in my mind. What if she’s not coming to the door because she can’t? What if she’s hurt? What if she needs help?
My chest tightens. I bang my fists on the door.
“Violet, are you in there? Answer the door!”
No answer.
“Violet!”
Finally, I hear footsteps coming. The door opens and Violet appears in a shirt and pajama pants. I place my hand over my chest as I let out a breath of relief.
“Thank God. For a moment there, I was worried something bad had happened to you.”
“You mean like how I felt when I couldn’t find you at Lloyd Finley’s party?” she tells me. “Or at the museum? Good.”
She’s mad. Really mad.
I draw a deep breath. “Can we talk?”
Her eyebrows arch. “Oh, now you want to talk? Well, I don’t.”