Not a person in sight to stop me from moving to the elevators, from glancing at the directory on the wall.
From finding out exactly what floor Jace’s office is on.
What. The. Fuck?
Anger begins boiling through me and I jab at the button, climb onto the car, then jab at the next button, the one that will take me up to his floor.
And still no one stops me.
Does the man have no sense of self-preservation?
I growl when the doors close, huff out an annoyed breath when they open again, eight floors up, showing me a darkened floor…
Except for one corner office.
And that’s when my temper snaps.
Thirty
Jace
“Tellme you didn’t fuck things up last night.”
I close out of my windows, shut down my computer, and lean back in my chair. “You’ve been here two minutes,” I mutter. “And you’re already giving me shit?”
“You told me you think you’ve met the woman you want to make yours?—”
I ignore the blip of worry in my stomach, the one that reminds me that I want her, that I like her a fucking lot, but that I still might do something to fuck it up. That I might hurt her and not be able to fix it and?—
“And you’re sitting in your office, working late, twiddling your thumbs instead of going to her.”
“I had to practically bully her into a first date…and then barge into her apartment to make sure she actually came.”
Brooks grins.
I glare at him. “She was sweet as pie to Dean, ate with an abandon that made me want to get her right back into the bedroom, and actually opened up to me a little,” I say, or maybe remind him since I already gave the nosy fuck the full report last night after I got home from Marie’s place. “I made progress, man. I need to move deliberately now, so I don’t fuck it up.”
“Or you need to actuallymoveinstead of letting her erect walls around herself again that you need to bust through.”
I scowl.
Because he’s not wrong.
And because when Brooks isn’t wrong, he’s a smug pain in the ass.
“When are you going back to France?” I ask. It’s my most common rejoinder with him of late.
He grins, not missing the surly note in my voice. “Nah, man. I think I’m going to move here permanently. I actually put in an offer on a house near Oak Ridge.”
Christ.
“The office building or the winery?” I ask, head pounding at the thought of him living on the next floor down or somewhere equally as close.
“The winery.”
Thank fuck for small miracles.
But still too near to stick his nosy ass into my business.
