He stared at me in annoyance, but he obeyed. “It’s fine, Cleo. Just pay attention next time.” He didn’t turn to walk away, like he wanted Deacon to leave so we could continue our conversation.
But Deacon didn’t leave either, still staring at Jake, like he wouldn’t leave my side until he was gone. “If you’re going to yell at someone for messing up your dry cleaning and delivering the wrong groceries, you’re an entitled piece of shit. Don’t talk to her like that.”
Jake turned his gaze on him, clearly provoked Deacon had just spoken to him that.
“Deacon, it’s fine.” I was touched he’d stood up for me, but he didn’t have to do that. “Just a misunderstanding. Jake’s had a long day…no big deal.”
Deacon continued to stare him down, using his signature intensity to intimidate Jake.
Jake caved. “I apologize, Cleo. Won’t happen again…” He turned away and walked off, his footsteps echoing against the tile.
Deacon stared at me in silence.
The elevator beeped before the doors opened. Then Jake was gone.
I sighed when Jake was out of the room. My secret had almost been spilled to the client I cared most about, and I was grateful Deacon was incapable of seeing the situation for what it really was because he just didn’t have the skills to read between the lines, to interpret the energy. If he were someone else, he would have seen right through my lie.
Now that Jake was gone, Deacon dropped his hostile stare, returning to normal like nothing happened. He gripped the strap of his bag and came closer to me, looking into my face like he usually did. “I don’t care if he’s your most important client, no one should speak to you that way.”
I hoped that was the end of Jake, that the harsh things I said were enough to get him to move on. He was a handsome billionaire who could have any woman he wanted. There was no reason to waste his time on me. “It’s fine. It’s over so…”
Deacon continued to stand there even though he was probably exhausted by the long day, being on his feet at the hospital, taking care of other people. He didn’t need to linger, to worry about me when I wasn’t his problem.
“Well, it’s getting late…” I closed down my computer and left the office, shutting and locking the door behind me.
Deacon followed me.
I headed toward the main doors and stopped at the elevator. “Have a good night, Deacon. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He didn’t move. “Have dinner with me.”
He caught me by surprise—again. “The chef made one serving.”
“We’ll split it.”
Jake was gone, and Deacon had already made me feel better, made me feel comforted without even understanding the problem. I really didn’t need anything else, didn’t need him to take time out of his life to make me feel less alone. “That’s very nice of you, but I’m okay. These sorts of things happen all the time. I’m used to it.”
“Then why were you crying?” He didn’t challenge me, just simply asked.
I hadn’t cried over Jake. I cried because my husband cheated on me, and I would never forget that kind of pain, that kind of betrayal. The fact that I did it to someone else, some woman I didn’t know, just made me hate myself…even if I’d had no idea she existed. I tried to be kind to myself, remind myself I never would have done anything like that if I’d known the full story, but sometimes the guilt outweighed the logic. “It’s just been a long day…”
He hit the button on the elevator. “Come on.”
My heart started to ache, started to throb. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen on the outside—and the inside. “I don’t want to bother you—”
“If you were bothering me, I never would have asked.” He held the doors open with his arm and nodded to the elevator. “Now, have dinner with me.”
The chef made big portions, so there was definitely enough for both of us.
We split a large filet of salmon with sautéed broccoli and wild rice. There was also a Brussels sprout salad with lemon vinaigrette. A fresh baguette was in the center of the table, and we both pulled off slices as we ate. We shared a bottle of white wine, sitting together in comfortable silence.
He didn’t mention Jake.
“How was the hospital?” I asked.
“Patients are hopeful. The more they believe in themselves, the more likely they are to get better.”
“You believe that?”
“Absolutely. There’s scientific evidence to support it. I know that’s easier said than done, to be hopeful when you might be on your deathbed, but the patients who have something to live for are far more likely to survive with treatment.”
I noticed if I asked him about work, he usually gave long-winded answers. “Do you like working with patients?”