I look up and find Sloane standing over me, both arms crossed overher body in a protective stance. It takes me one second to note the redness around the rims of her eyes, and the black smudges of mascara caked up around the corners. Her hair, which was a cloud of loose curls that framed her heart-shaped face earlier today, is pulled up into a messy bun on the top of her head, drawing attention to the fresh tears that have just cascaded down her cheeks.Fuck, she’s upset.I push to my feet and go to her, every one of my protective instincts roaring to life, demanding I find the person who made her cry and plant a fist in their face.
Bonus points if it’s the asshole I saw her kissing today.
I would bet my life that’s not it though, especially not after the conversation we had in the hallway once we were away from Sloane. I’d taken the hand he had on my shoulder, the one he’d just used to hold her body to his, and twisted it up and back until pain wiped away the smug smile on his face. Then I told him if he ever touched her again, especially without her permission, I would gladly make him disappear.
At first, he looked shocked at my volatile reaction, but then understanding dawned on his face, and he apologized profusely for coming on to my best friend’s wife. Muttering something about not knowing it would matter since it’s been four years. If it hadn’t been for the red clouding my vision and the angry beast snarling in my chest, I would have laughed.
I wish my issue with them kissing had something to do with Sloane being Eric’s wife. It would make my reaction a hell of a lot more honorable.
“What’s wrong?”
It’s a challenge to keep the rage out of my voice, and the tears shining in her soft hazel eyes make it even harder. Sloane blinks up at me. For a moment, she looks ready to spill her guts. Vulnerability isn’t an easy thing for Sloane. Especially not with me, and I know why. Being cordial for less than a week doesn’t negate years of gutting each other verbally, but now more than ever, I wish it did, because the urge to hold her is so strong I have to physically restrain myself from doing so.
I see the exact moment she decides I can’t be trusted with her pain and watch in awe as a carefully constructed mask falls into place. She schools her features into passive submission and then wipes the tear tracks on her cheeks away with a flick of her hand.
And just like that, the transformation is complete.
“Nothing.” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. The movement makes the hem of her dress swish around her knees. “Did you need something?”
The name and location of the person who put those tears in your eyes.
I scrub a hand over my face to buy some time to make up an excuse. The truth is, I have no idea why I’m here. I should be meeting up with Chris, Mal’s ex from college who’s just moved back to the city, but instead I’m standing in front of Sloane and choking down the questions I have about her and James. That kiss. His hands on her skin. The indecipherable look in her eyes when she turned around and saw me standing there.
None of your fucking business.
“Yes,” I lie smoothly. “My assistant lost the contact information for the stone vendor. The guy who has the marble you chose for the Presidential Suite. I wanted to call him and get an estimate for another project I’m working on.”
Sloane frowns, and a small crease pops up in the center of her forehead. “Oh. You didn’t have to come over here for that. You could have texted me, and I would have sent it again.”
“You’re right.” I put my hands in my pockets. “Except I needed the information immediately, and we don’t have a great history with text messages.”
She laughs, and it’s a sweet, simple sound that works at the flame in my chest that started hours ago when I barged into that office just because I knew she was in there. Alone with him. “Speak for yourself, Dominic. I have a perfect text message return record.”
Does she? I probably fucked up my only chance to find out when I left her on read last week. I doubt she’ll be giving any second chances.
“Text message return records.” I suppress the smile pulling at the corner of my lips. “If there was such a thing, you would be the kind of person to keep track of it.”
She raises her chin. The sadness in her eyes is chased away by a glint of playful stubbornness. “Of course I would. I’m detail oriented. Unlike you and your assistant, who somehow managed to lose the information I sent in an email. How does that happen?”
I shrug. “No idea. Alex must have deleted it by accident.”
He would hate me for lying on him like this. The man never loses anything. He’s more detail oriented than the arrogant woman standing in front of me. Sloane shakes her head and digs her phone out of her purse. When she taps on the screen, it refuses to come on since it’s dead.Guess she missed that detail.
“Damn. I forgot to charge it on the way to my parents.”
Her parents? Pieces start to fall into place at the mention of the wealthy older couple I’ve only met a few times. From what I can remember of them, Mark is open, personable, and completely in awe of his daughter. He looks at her like she hung the moon, but his wife is a different story. Beautiful, like her daughter, with none of the softness in her hazel eyes.
As far as I can tell, the only person who pisses Sloane off more than me is her mom, and I get it, because that woman could give Cersei Lannister a run for her money in the cold and ruthless department. The queen would at least soften for her children though. I don’t think Lauren Carson knows how to be anything but glacial when it comes to Sloane. On the day of Eric’s funeral, she spent the entire service frowning at Sloane’s tears. Like she was morally opposed to a show of real, human emotion.
Is that what happened tonight? Did Lauren spend the evening berating her daughter for not being a heartless bitch? I search Sloane’s face,wishing for a crack in her mask, a peek at the emotions I know are brewing beneath it, but all I see is what she allows me to.
“You must’ve been too busy keeping track ofotherdetails to notice.”
It was supposed to be a joke, but the moment the words leave my lips, I hear the note of bitterness in them, the indirect reference to the kiss burning my tongue like acid. Sloane catches it too, and her eyes flash with emotion. Going from surprise to guilt before landing on indignation.
My brain chooses to ignore the last emotion, opting instead to focus on the way her pulse is fluttering at the base of her throat. A slight incline of my head, and I could press a kiss there. Breathe in the sweet, fruity smell of her. Feel every beat of her heart against my lips.
Why the fuck did I just think about that?
