Romancing the Bachelor (A Hamilton Family 2)

“It’s you,” he said, his tone low, and his brow furrowed with confusion. He stared at her like she’d appeared from thin air and yelled boo, or something equally ridiculous. “From the courtroom today. The court reporter.”

She let out a nervous laugh because he was still staring at her like she was a ghost. “Uhh…yeah? How are you?”

“Good.” He recovered quickly, offering a playful smile, and held his hand out. “I’m Eric Hamilton.”

“I know.” She offered him a tight smile. “I know your name. It’s kind of my job. I type it every day. And, you know, we live in the same building and all.”

“You live here?” he asked incredulously.

“No, I just ride elevators in the city for fun in my spare time.”

With that, she turned away from him, staring up at the numbers as they climbed to the sixth floor, hoping he got the hint that she’d dismissed him from this conversation. He was six months too late trying to befriend her, thank you very much.

He apparently didn’t get the hint.

“Are you new to the building, then?” he asked.

“No. I’ve been here for six months.” She forced her smile to remain in place even though he just confirmed what she already knew—he had no frigging clue who she was. “We ride up in this elevator together several times a week, actually.”

He said nothing, just frowned. He looked even hotter like that.

All pensive and stuff.

The elevator door chimed open, and she walked past him, being careful not to brush against his expensive suit with her wet sleeve. She couldn’t afford to replace it if she ruined it. “If you’ll excuse me?”

“I’m sorry. I think we started off on the wrong foot, Ms.…?” he said, following her out into the hallway.

Of course he didn’t know her name. Why would he?

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Mr. Hamilton.” She dug in her purse for her keys, deliberately not giving him her name. “Just because we live in the same building, and work in the same place, doesn’t mean we need to be friends. In fact, I don’t want to be your friend. So…yeah.”

“But we could be,” he said, stepping in front of her. “Friends.”

Yeah, because you made such an effort to be my friend before today. Where the heck were her stupid keys? “Look, you’re hot, and even I have to admit there’s a certain appeal to those bedroom eyes you’re throwing my way—”

“Bedroom eyes?” he blurted out, laughing.

“You’re clearly quite accustomed to women swooning in your presence, and maybe if I had met you a few years ago, I would be one of them. But I’m not one of them. I won’t giggle and flirt, or tell you how cute you are. I won’t go to dinner with you, take my dress off, and then let you forget me the next day. So you’re wasting your time and mine by pretending otherwise. Have a good night, though, Mr. Hamilton.”

“You don’t like me,” he said, his voice high with surprise.

She closed her fist around her keychain, letting out a small sigh of gratitude that she’d finally found them because, God, she needed to get inside her apartment. Away from him. He smelled too good, looked too good, and was way too cocky to be taken in large doses. “Not particularly, no.”

“Why not?” He let out another one of those half-laughs. “You don’t even know me.”

She headed for her door on trembling legs. Having this much alpha male attention focused on her was a little unnerving, to say the least. “Oh, I know enough.”

He followed her.

She didn’t look over her shoulder to verify this because she didn’t need to. She could feel him behind her. He let off a warm energy, something that called for her to stop walking and let him bounce into her just so she could see if he was as hard as he looked under those fancy suits of his. But if she found that out, she’d never forget how he felt pressed against her, and he already haunted her thoughts too much as it was…especially since she didn’t even like him.

Keep telling yourself that, Shelby.

“What do you know?” he asked slowly.

She lifted a hand, counting on her fingers as she spoke, letting her keyring hang off her thumb. “You come home with different women every weekend, and I never see them come back. Not even once. You’ve lived down the hall from me, and worked with me, for months now, and you never noticed me, or tried to befriend me, until now. You never even spoke to me, or so much as asked me how I was doing, until I wore a shorter skirt than usual to work. So, yeah, I think that’s enough for me to know you and I wouldn’t make good friends.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again.