Donovan (Face-Off 3)
“I can’t wait to read the first draft of this book.” Sam sounds entertained by the idea. “What are you planning to call it?”
“On His Knees,” I say, resolute.
He laughs to himself. “Of course, you’d pick a title like that. Well, after hearing what happened between you and this guy, I cannot see that title being a good fit. You will have to do some groveling this time. Can you handle it? You’re not exactly the type of woman who begs a man for forgiveness.”
“I don’t think I have a choice. Either I let Carter go, or I hunt him down so I can win him back. No more games.”
Sam leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, smiling. “It’s like you’re finally grown up, Sydney. I’m proud of you.”
I roll my eyes at him. “It had to happen at some point, I suppose.”
“I have to say, for once, you actually brought me an idea that we can market to a mass audience. While the hardcore smut lovers eat up your books, the contemporary market has been harder for us to tap into with your novels. This could work. You could make us a fortune with an idea like this. It’s quite brilliant, actually.” He stands up from behind the desk and moves his hands to his hip, staring down at me. “How about you tell me more about it over lunch?”
“I suppose I could eat,” I say. “But after we’re finished, I should head over to Carter’s house to do some serious apologizing. I hope that’s enough. This concept is so foreign to me.”
Sam steps out from his desk with his hand held out to me. He pulls me out of my chair, lifts my purse from the floor, and walks me to the door with his palm pressed against my back. “Let’s get you fed and hopefully, we can make some more money together. What are you in the mood to eat?”
My stomach has been growling since I woke up this morning. I’ve been so depressed over Carter that my last meal was a multigrain bar I ate over twenty-four hours ago.
“How about Italian? I could use a decent meal. And since you’re paying, let’s go all out.”
He smirks. “Technically, the company is paying, and at some point, it comes from your pocket. So, go ahead and pick the most expensive restaurant in the city.”
Sam thinks he’s so smart. Men. What a bunch of jerks. He wants to play games with me then I will turn the tables on him. “On second thought, how about we eat at Gray’s Papaya.”
He frowns, his eyes raking over my body before he makes his way back to my face. “You want to eat a hot dog on the sidewalk? I am shocked. I didn’t think Sydney Carroway did things like eating processed foods on street corners with commoners.”
“You’re really working my last nerve, Sam.” I punch him in the arm, joking and giving him an evil grin. “I’m not some spoiled brat who can’t relate to regular people.”
He gives me a stupid look. “Okay. If you say so. This I have to see for myself. I am going to enjoy my own little experiment. Watching you out in public bumping elbows with strangers is worth paying to see. Sydney does New York. There’s another title for you.”
“You’re such a dork.” I shake my head and follow his lead through the busy office, keeping my eyes focused on the end of the hall.
We reach the double doors that lead to the exit in silence. I have nothing more to say after he made fun of me on one of my weakest days. Just to show him up, I plan to double fist those hot dogs like a chick trying to juggle two dicks in a porno.
As if I’m a specimen under a microscope, Sam analyzes my every movement. He’s waiting for me to crack, tell him I am not cut out for “normal people” behavior. But like most people, Sam has underestimated me once again. I know that everyone thinks I’m a spoiled brat. Even Carter called me Princess from the first time we met.
I hate that the mask I wear to shield myself from the world comes off that way. For once, I want to be the down-to-earth girl that all the guys want to hang out with. In other words, I want to be Kennedy. My best friend has always been so calm and collected. Throw in her love of sports and useless trivia and guys fall at her feet. She never seemed to notice how men respond to her. The reaction she gets from them is nowhere close to what I get.
With Kennedy, they’re looking for friendship or the feeling of something more. And with me, they want sex. That’s it. It makes me feel so cheap and trashy, which is why I wear my mask, and I like to think I wear it well. Most of the time it keeps me from getting hurt, builds the walls high enough that the losers stay out. This time it backfired.
“How’s your hot dog,” Sam asks, eying me up as I shove the roll into my mouth.
Speaking between bites, I choke out, “It’s good, so stop staring at me. You act like I’ve never eaten a hot dog on a street corner before. Must I remind you I live in Philly? I have gotten food from street vendors tons of times with Kennedy.”
He wipes the mustard from his lip with his napkin, and then smiles, flashing a set of yellow teeth. “I bet your parents wouldn’t approve of that.”
“For someone who has mustard smeared on their teeth, you sure have a lot to say about me,” I quip.
Sam blushes ten shades of red, which amuses me. Turning away from me, he takes a sip from his soda and licks his teeth.
He’s been so outspoken about my life today. One more comment from him might send me over the edge. Everything in my life is changing at the same time. First, Kennedy and her new baby, then Carter, and now the book is falling apart. My writing has gone down the toilet since Carter waltzed into my life. It’s obvious I need him back. But how do I get him to talk to me again?
 
; Like a good book, my plan needs to have a hook, a way to lure Carter back into my life. I finish the rest of my food without another word from Sam. He looks impressed that I’m almost touching elbows with the person next to me, shoving processed food down my throat, and doing all of it while standing in a pair of Christian Louboutin pumps and a Chanel jacket. And looking fabulous, I might add.
If there’s one thing I inherited from my mother, it’s a sense of style. That woman sure knows how to dress and made sure she rubbed off on me. But I sure as hell stand out in this outfit. So, when the man next to me turns around, accidentally smearing ketchup along the sleeve of my white Chanel jacket, I stop breathing. My brain shuts down, and my skin sets on fire.