“Course you did,” I mutter, heading for the kitchen. Because when you have a personal assistant, you do their job for them. Twat.
I feel full of conviction as I get closer to the kitchen, set to put straight the issue between Lainey and me, and also maybe set on finding out where her head is at. I need to know. Will I experience that overwhelming perfect chaos again?
When I reach the entrance, Lainey has her back to me, her hands working the coffee machine, but she definitely tenses. She knows I’m here. It thrills me. But the thought that she’s ignored my email riles me.
“Hey,” I say softly, coming to a stop next to her and taking a cup. “I emailed you.”
“You did?” she asks, so unconvincingly. “Sorry, been busy.”
“Right.” I look at her. She’s stirring her coffee into a whirlpool, anything to busy herself so she doesn’t have to look at me. “If you wanted froth, you should have selected cappuccino.”
She laughs softly, and it’s like music to my ears. “My bad.” The stirring slows and she places the spoon gently on the worktop.
“Lainey, about—”
“Ty.” Callie comes barreling into the cafe and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. “I have the storyboard ready for the Dior ad,” she tells me excitedly. “Can you spare an hour?”
“Good work,” I answer swiftly, hoping she’ll leave. “Call Gina and have her arrange something.”
“Great.” She disappears, leaving just Lainey and me again, but Lainey obviously isn’t cool with that. She takes her coffee and heads for the door. “Lainey,” I call, the urgency of her name making the pace of her feet quicken. Oh no. She’s not running away. Not after that kiss last night, and definitely not after the way she looked at me before she closed the door. No way. I rush forward and block the doorway, forcing her to a stop. “Just hold up one minute,” I say in my softest tone.
“Mr. Christianson, we’re at work.”
“You think I don’t realize where we are, Lainey?”
“And you shouldn’t be emailing me on the work system. Anyone could see.”
“The I.T department only goes into the server on Sal’s or my request. No one will see.”
“Still, it’s inappropriate.”
Inappropriate? She should see inside my head. Keeping my frustration at bay, I move forward, forcing her backward steps, and close the door, shutting her in with me. “You resisting me has nothing to do with me being your boss, does it?”
She looks up at me. “I’ve already told you that if you could, you shouldn’t.”
Yes, and she also told me that I’d hurt her. God damn. The frustration gets too hard to keep under control. I take her mug from her hand and discard it on a nearby table, then I grab the tops of her arms, lowering to get our faces level. “I’m not going over this again. We’ve been there. But I know as well as you that it’s way off being out of both of our systems, and I’m not accepting your bullshit anymore. No more, Lainey.” This woman is driving me to the brink of fucking insanity. “Friday night was like nothing I’ve had before with a woman.” I’m so mad that she’s trying to fob me off. “Never. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?” Do I understand what I’m saying myself?
Her face is blank, then she blinks rapidly. She’s surprised. “So the notorious Tyler Christianson has been affected by a woman? Wow. I should get a medal.”
I erupt. Explode. I lose sight of where I am and what I’m doing. I drop Lainey and throw my arm out, punching the door. It doesn’t even hurt. I don’t feel a thing, except anger, and nothing can break down the wall of it currently closing me in. Yet despite my outburst, there’s not a peep from Lainey. Not. One. Word. I shake my fist, trying to gather myself, watching her stand like a statue before me. She looks like a mannequin. A life-sized doll. Emotionless.
I don’t know this woman. The one I first met seemed to wear her heart on her sleeve. But it’s like she’s ripped it off and stuffed it away somewhere safe. The woman I met flirted with me, whether she knew it or not. She came to my apartment, made it clear she was attracted to me, screamed as I fucked her. She is passionate.
The woman in front of me, the one who packs a large box of condoms in her bag and allows any other man to date her, to touch her . . . I don’t know her at all. She’s a fucking mystery. She wants to find Mr. Perfect? Well, she’s going about it in a strange way.
What, Ty? You’re gonna show her Mr. Perfect, are you?
“What the fuck is going on with you?” I ask, more calmly. She’s got me by the balls, alternating between twisting them and caressing them. She’s doing the same with my mind.