Besides, it would be churlish and I’m not that. My anger is, despite my best intentions, receding, leaving me simply curious. Why is he here? What does he want?
‘No preamble, huh?’ he prompts, and I realise I’ve said the questions aloud. So I lift my shoulders, gesturing towards the sofa set in the corner of the room.
‘I just can’t imagine what brings you to my office in the middle of a work day.’
‘I didn’t have your number.’ Like that explains everything.
‘So?’
‘How else would I contact you?’
‘Why would you want to contact me?’
He sits down in one of the armchairs, his legs spread wide, his arms relaxed. He drinks his coffee, his eyes holding mine in a way that makes my body throb.
‘I enjoyed the other night.’
‘Oh?’
‘Right up until you kicked me out.’
His honesty is fascinating. ‘I told you what I wanted. What did you expect? Dinner afterwards?’
He laughs, shaking his head. ‘How about lunch now?’
It floors me. ‘Why?’
‘Because it’s noon and I presume you eat, right?’
I gesture towards my desk. ‘I’m working.’
His eyes narrow and beneath the surface of his charm I sense a hint of impatience. Annoyance, even. ‘Take a break.’
My spine straightens. Hell, no. I was happy for him to take the lead during sex—I loved it, actually—but this is my office—my domain—and here I call the shots. ‘I beg your pardon?’
I feel like he wants to roll his eyes. ‘Half an hour. Is that going to kill you?’
In fact, I’m not that busy, but that’s not the problem. ‘You’re missing the point.’ I move across the room, sliding into the armchair opposite his. ‘In case I wasn’t clear enough the other night, I got what I wanted. Sex. I picked you up in a bar hoping you’d be a great lover, and you really were, but that’s it. I never wanted to see you again. I’d apologise for leading you on in some way except I know that I didn’t. So?’
His brows lift incrementally higher and then he laughs, a rumbling sound that unsettles me because I’m not used to being laughed at. ‘Another time, I’d love to know just what the hell messed you up so badly, Avery.’
Hurt—unexpected and fierce—lances me. I know I’m messed up but no one ever calls me on that. No one really knows me well enough to see it—to see beyond the veneer of self-made tech success story that I project to the world.
‘I think you should go.’ Oh, great. My voice sounds quivery, all wounded and weak. That makes me angry enough to want to scratch something.
‘Not yet.’
Why does a burst of relief flare in my belly, like I don’t actually want him to leave? Because he’s hot and the other night was the best sex I’ve ever had. Yeah, he was great, and I’ve been fantasising about him ever since, but that doesn’t give him the right to come to my office, to sit there, refusing to leave.
‘Look, Barrett, I know I didn’t mislead you. Sex with you was great, but I don’t do repeat performances.’
At that, something sparks in his eyes. Curiosity. It’s unmistakable, like a beacon in the centre of his gaze, but there’s something else too. Pity? Damn it, I want him to go. What is it about this guy that makes me feel like a vulnerable teenager all over again?
I’m twenty-nine and four days old and I’ve known too many men, too many shits of men, to let him or anyone get under my skin. Didn’t I learn anything from my mother?
It hardens my resolve, and that’s a very good thing.
‘So if you’re here because you want to date me, or even if you want to fuck me again, then you need to know that’s not my jam.’