He parked at the hotel and finally spoke. Well, growl might be a more appropriate description. “Be careful on your hike tomorrow.”
Did he actually think I would do that? “Did you hear me say I was going?”
“You took his card.”
“I was being polite.”
“I didn’t realize that politeness entailed flirting and leading men on.”
My eyes bulged. “Flirting? Leading men on? You say I’m nuts; I think you have a few screws loose of your own, Eastwood. I asked him about a climb for you. I didn’t flirt at all. And I certainly didn’t have any intention of calling him.”
“I don’t think he got that message.”
Frustrated, I flailed my arms in the air and slapped them down against my legs. “You know what? Screw you.” I opened the car door but then turned back. “Maybe I will call him. I haven’t gotten laid in a really long time. And God knows, you shot me down when I asked you out. So I might as well move on and find someone else who can get my rocks off.” I stepped out of the car door and slammed it shut with as much ferocity as Reed had earlier.
He called after me as I stormed toward the elevator. “Charlotte!”
I answered without turning around, raising my middle finger over my shoulder as I walked. Screw you, Reed Eastwood. I’m done.CHAPTER 24
REED
Once again, I’d fucked up.
It seemed to be a regular occurrence when it came to Charlotte Darling. I’d say or do something that would upset her because I was pissed, and then hours later I regretted it and hated myself for the way I’d acted. Normally, she was good about it. We’d established a routine of sorts—I’d either get jealous of her having contact with another man or get frustrated because I couldn’t push her up against a wall and show her how she made me feel. Then I’d lash out and she’d get angry. Her anger would simmer and turn to upset, and my guilt would eat at me. I’d apologize, and we’d go back to being friends. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
Only this time, she wasn’t letting me apologize. Even though her hotel room was right next door to mine and I’d heard her moving around, she pretended she wasn’t inside when I knocked. I also sent a text that showed as read, but no damn response from that, either. Now it was my second call to her room, and the phone just rang and rang.
I showered, answered a few work emails, and then decided I needed a drink. On my way down to the lobby bar, I knocked on Charlotte’s door one last time. Not surprisingly, she didn’t respond. After a minute of standing at her door in silence, I heard the sound of movement inside, so I took a chance and spoke with my forehead pressed up against the door. “I’m going to go get something to eat downstairs. I know I’m an asshole. If you’d like to join me to yell at me over a steak and glass of wine, you know where to find me.” I took a few steps away from her door and then walked back. “I hope you join me, Charlotte.”
The first Scotch went down smooth, so I decided to order a second and eat handfuls of peanuts from the bar rather than order a steak. I’d positioned myself in a corner, facing the entrance, so I could watch who came in. Each time someone approached, my pathetic heart sped up. Then I’d realize it wasn’t her, and I’d chase down my sorrow with another gulp of amber liquid. After the third glass in an hour and a half, I decided to skip dinner and get some sleep.
I practically stumbled out of the elevator and onto our floor. Outside of Charlotte’s door was a room-service tray. I picked up the metal cover to her dinner to see what she’d had and found a full, untouched cheeseburger. There was a piece of cheesecake with one spoonful taken out of it and . . . a cork. Guess we had the same meal.
I took a deep breath and knocked one more time on the off chance that she’d listen to my apology—never expecting her to answer. But she did. And when the door swung open, offering her an apology was the furthest thing from my mind.
Charlotte was standing there in nothing but a black lace bra and panties.“You liked it so much in the bag, I thought maybe you’d like to see it on.”
My eyes had already zeroed in on the little red rose sewn onto the top of the waistband of her thong. After that day in the office when I told her to show me the lingerie she’d purchased, I’d spent weeks imagining her wearing it for me at night. I’d use my teeth to grab that rose and tear the lacy fabric down her gorgeous legs. But anything I’d imagined couldn’t hold a candle to the vision before me.