My father isn’t thrilledabout Ruin and me reconnecting when I tell him later. I’ve just finished telling Dad that I will be perfectly fine and safe with Ruin at the dinner party when there’s a soft knock at my door.Ruin. I check my phone.He’s early. I appreciate his timeliness, but the butterflies have started their jazz number again and I could have used a few more minutes to ground and center before he showed up at my door looking fit for the cover ofGQ.It is hard not to stare at such a finely sculpted man—on my doorstep.The black button-down tucked into fitted gray slacks accentuates every muscular curve of his chest and biceps, and I have to remind myself to stop staring.
“Okay, Dad. I gotta go,” I say into the phone. “No. He’s already here. Yes, I know he is early.” I pause as Dad starts lecturing me about personal safety, and I nearly snort with what he asks next. “No, I will not give you Ruin’s personal contact information. Bye.”
Ruin stands in the doorway looking confused, his brows raised into one fine wrinkle on his forehead. Even in confusion, the man is sexy as hell.
“Wow, I know it’s clichéd, but dang, you clean up nicely!” I cringe at myself and try to recover, but he doesn’t seem to mind the comment even though my own cheeks are burning as brightly as his were at the picnic when Liz put us in this predicament. “Anyway, let’s go. I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”
“I am. Does your dad always ask for your date’s personal information?”
I wave a hand to dismiss his question and pretend like it’s no big deal. “He’s just overprotective. I am his only baby girl, after all. And, well, you remember how he was when we were young.”
Ruin smiles, though it seems forced, then reaches out to take my hand in his, which seems to be a surprise for us both. He clears his throat and looks at our joined hands. Meanwhile, I freeze, enjoying the warmth of his proximity and bristling at it all the same. I shouldn’t still have these mini-episodes, but I can’t help rememberingthatevent. And without thinking, I pull my hand free from his.
As if I struck him, he flinches, and I fight really hard not to spill my guts out right there in my apartment doorway to the literal man of my dreams. Trying to save face, I run my hands down my black dress to smooth out the wrinkles and then fidget nervously with my hands.
“Sorry,” I start to say, but he stalls me with a nonchalant wave of his hand and then sticks them into his pockets before rocking back on his heels.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “Come on. The Maysons are pretty chill for the most part, but if there is one thing Liz fusses over, it’s punctuality.” He flashes me that front-cover–worthy grin. Seriously, how white are his teeth? We step out of my apartment, and I lock up before descending the stairs slowly.
“Yeah,” I say, leading the way. “My second day of work, I got stuck in the morning traffic. I was thirty seconds late. Thirty seconds! And she sent me a PowerPoint on the beauty of being on time.”
“One time, I was on a lunch break and had to speak to my prob—counselor.” He fumbles over his words for a moment but doesn’t leave me room to question. It looks as though the storm clouds will roll into those steel eyes of his again, but I just wait for him to continue—giving him time to collect himself. “My counselor can be a bit chatty. So, anyway, our conversation ran over a bit, and I think I had to complete the same PowerPoint you did.”
We both chuckle as we get into his car and head away from downtown. I listen as Ruin details our mutual employer’s personal life and wonder how close he is to the Maysons. Either way, within the twenty-minute drive, I learn the Maysons have been in business for many decades and are the definition of a tight-knit family. Basically, I learn a hell of a lot about the Maysons and next to nothing about Ruin. What secrets is he trying to hide? Why does he seem to want to avoid detailing his own life story?
“Wow, you know a lot about the Maysons. How long did you say you’ve been working for them?” I ask, enjoying listening to him but hoping he will tell me more abouthim.
“Oh, five or six years now, I think,” he mutters and leaves it at that. He cuts the wheel and pulls up to a large wrought-iron gate enclosing a massive portion of the property.
I look out to see how far the fence goes and stop when I notice it disappears into a thickly forested part of the property.
“Whoa,” I say and whistle.
“Whoa is right. Just wait until you see the inside. Last time I was here was Christmas. Knowing Liz, she may have already hired an interior decorator to come rearrange everything,” Ruin says. “I actually try not to come out to too many business-related events.”
“Prefer your solitude?” I mean it cheekily, but Ruin makes a soft grunt and doesn’t answer. I let it slide, seeing how his body tenses uncomfortably. He parks behind Liz’s custom pink Mazda convertible. It is a gaudy vehicle but fitting for the woman who drives it. Vivacious and bubbly, she is a force in her own right.
“That car gives me heartburn just looking at it,” Ruin mumbles.
His comment throws me off, and I start snorting with laughter. “Sorry,” I say through a fit of giggles. “I just hate that car so much!”
It takes me a few minutes to catch my breath, and when I do, I notice he’s smiling at me.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just… You’re really cute when you laugh.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to respond, just steps out and walks around to the passenger’s side to open the door for me and offers me his hand. I take a deep breath and, when our hands touch, nearly forget to release the air in my lungs. The desire from earlier to pull away is no longer present, and I sigh in relief. As we make our way up the steps to our mutual boss’s ridiculous mansion, I feel—for the first time in a really long time—like I’ve come home.
Three
Ruin
Dinner with the Maysons isn’t exactly what I had planned before the weekend, but dinner with the Maysons and Avalee—that I can manage.
The moment she’d opened the door to her apartment, I had to pause. The black dress she’d picked for the occasion hugged her curves perfectly, but the phone to her ear was a surprise. So was the fact that her dad wanted my personal information from the start. I could understand his overprotectiveness. She’s a beautiful woman, but if she knew me, my history…I could kiss any chance of reconnecting with Avalee goodbye.
Since the company picnic, I’ve visited the main office—something I rarely do—just to catch Avalee’s smile. Losing her so shortly after reconnecting isn’t something I want. What do I want? What does she want, for that matter? If she knew me—what I’ve done—she wouldn’t want me; that’s for sure.
