I spend the next twenty minutes pacing the kitchen, waiting for the knock on the door. I know it’s coming, and each minute that passes, my stomach gets tied up into more knots, knowing he’ll be here any second.
I should have called him back and told him not to come—apologized for being stupid and weak. But the thought of having someone here is comforting, so I don’t do either of those things.
Then it happens. I stop dead in my tracks, my heart pounding my chest as three gentle raps sound against the door. Closing my eyes and taking a slow inhale, I let it out and step forward to open the door.
I open my mouth to speak, but the moment I see him, the words don’t come out. Dressed in an expensive suit, but messily. His tie is undone, hanging around his neck. The top few buttons of his shirt are open, and it’s wrinkled to hell.
“What happened to you?” I ask, worried he got mugged on the way here.
He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his thick, dark hair. For a man his age, he has luscious dark hair.
“Just out celebrating.”
“Celebrating what?” I ask.
“We got a project we’ve been after for months.”
“Oh.” The smile comes easily. “Congratulations.”
But my happiness quickly fades as I realize I took this man away from a celebration with friends and people he works with—and for what? Because I can’t think before I say things? Because I’m a young, immature woman who can’t take care of her own crap? These are the exact reasons why men like him aren’t into women like me.
“I’m so sorry I asked you here,” I blurt. “I shouldn’t have, and I don’t know why I did.”
“You needed someone here. That’s okay.”
Yeah… I do.
His tone is sincere, and maybe this is more of a dad thing than a man thing. Meaning, maybe he’s being sympathetic to what I’m going through rather than trying to get laid. I don’t want to look at him as a father-figure, not that I’m sure I’d know what that even looks like considering I didn’t have much of one.
“If you’d prefer to take my cock over the job, Miss Sinclair, all you have to do is say so.”
My cheeks flush and I realize we’re still in the doorway, my hand gripping the doorknob as if it’s holding me to this very earth.
“Do you want to come in?”
Of course he wants to come in, Sera. He came all the way here.
“Only if you want me to. I can go back to the bar.”
I blink a few times, unsure of what to do. Why am I acting like such a fool in front of this man?
“You should come in. You came this far.” I step aside and once he’s in, I shut the door.
Turning, I look up at him, noting how small he makes this space seem. I’ve been nearly agoraphobic in this place with all the space. It’s so empty. But Elliot Caldwell has a big presence about him, and he makes this apartment feel different.
I don’t hate it.
“Do you want something to drink?” I ask, moving toward the fridge.
“Do you have alcohol?”
“Uh…” I look around. “No.”
He chuckles. “It’s fine. I should take a break, anyway. Water is fine.”
I grab two bottles of Fiji from the fridge, handing him one and walking into the living room to sit on the couch. He removes his jacket, hanging it on the coat stand by the door, then takes his tie from around his neck and puts it there too.
When he turns to me, the air leaves my lungs. There is something about the way he looks right this very minute. Dressed in expensive clothes, but disheveled. Tight blue slacks, a tucked in white shirt that’s wrinkled and opened at the top. He rolls his sleeves up as he walks deeper into the room, and I have to look away. My cheeks are so hot I swear they could cook an egg.
