Hearing her say Mags’s name sets my teeth on edge. I don’t know what this woman’s intentions are—not with me, my recipes, or my staff—but I yank open the door so I can tell her once and for all to her face to keep the hell out of my business.
When I see her standing there, she looks happy. Happy to see me. The momentary warmth on her face does a number on my anger, but only for a second.
I turn away from the soft waves falling from her bun, the light blue eyes searing into my brain.
“Come in,” I tell her. “But don’t get comfortable. You’ve got five minutes.” I cross my arms over my chest, but suddenly, I can’t control the rush of anxiety through my limbs.
At the sight of her, my body starts a war with my mind. I’m furious, and I should be, but the moment she closes the door, lowers her chin, and walks across the condo, it takes everything inside me to stop myself from going to her.
I’ve never had a hookup sink her claws into me so deep. And I’ve got to free myself before some real damage is done. “Five minutes,” I remind her. “Then it’s my turn.”
She nods and looks around as if she wants to sit. I think about being a dick and just standing there, but she looks vulnerable.
I hate it, but I motion toward my L-shaped leather sectional. “Sit,” I tell her.
She nods wordlessly, then sinks down on the edge of the sofa.
I wait until she chooses a spot, then I walk to the farthest possible spot from her and sit in my recliner.
Plenty of distance between us.
No way for us to get close.
It’s dark out now, and the park lights reflecting off the river cast a warm yellow glow over my place. I tap my phone and use an app to turn on a couple of lamps so we’re not sitting in total darkness.
Her face is cast in shadow, the rise and fall of her breasts in the soft white sweater she’s wearing seeming more and more uneven. She leans forward and wrings her hands. “I owe you an apology,” she says, meeting my eyes. “I’m honestly not even sure where to start.”
“Start at the beginning,” I say curtly. “Or just cut to the part where you admit you’re trying to steal my recipes and my business.”
She shakes her head, looking confused. “What are you talking about, Benny?” She pauses after she says my name, as if it sounds as intimate to her as it does to me.
I can’t make her take back the way her voice curls around every syllable.
My cock tightens behind my jeans as I remember her crying my name against my ear the first night we meet.
The way her fingers tightened in my hair as I ate her pussy.
“Just…” I stammer. “Say what you came here to say.”
“Ben…Benito, I’m not what you think I am.”
I can’t stop baiting her. I know it’s my shittiest quality. I fucking told her to talk, but I’m furious, and my body won’t stop reacting to her. With every blink of her sweet blue eyes, every time she bites her lip, I want to go to her. I have to physically grab the arms of my chair to stop myself from getting up.
“So, tell me who you are, Willow. I don’t know a damn thing about you. Why you’re here, what you do for work. Who your family is. Are you married? What’s next? You have a husband and two point three fucking kids out there someplace?”
Her expression changes then, like she’s retreating inside herself. It’s a look I’ve seen thousands of times before. On Mags’s face when I push too far. On the faces of countless women I have pushed away. Something about seeing the shutters close on Willow breaks a little something inside me. I start to backtrack before I can even stop myself.
“That was out of line,” I admit. “I’m sorry. I’m…” I rub my face. “I’m really fucked over here. I’m angry and a whole bunch of shit. I’m going to shut my mouth and let you speak.”
She nods and then leans back a little bit into the couch. “Thank you,” she says softly, her gaze never leaving mine. “I understand that you’re pissed. So, thank you for letting me get a few things off my chest.”
She swallows and I almost say something, but I hold the words inside and take a deep breath.
Then I wait.
“I am the chief operations officer of a restaurant investment group. About six years ago, one of our scouts ate at a restaurant in Florida. Single location, family-owned. The menu was unique, but the branding was even more unusual. We approached the family with a franchise proposal, but they didn’t want to expand. Then, about two years ago, one of the grandchildren from that same family graduated from culinary school. The granddaughter wanted to open a second location, but the family didn’t have the capital or the know-how. So, they came back to us.”
She swallows and clears her throat, and I curse myself for not offering her water, coffee, anything. I can be furious, but I don’t have to be a shit host. “You want a glass of water?” I ask.
