I jump up and follow the receptionist who’s already started down the long marble corridor, my sneakers squeaking behind the click of her heels as we pass by a row of dark mahogany doors, each ordained with a gold name-plate. I can’t help the irrational fear that Daniel somehow knows I’m here and is going to burst out of one of thesedoors to man-handle me out of the building. My senses have been on high alert since his visit on Sunday. A jittery unease has unleashed beneath my skin, unable to be tamed as his threat plays like a broken record round and round in my head.
I will make sure you have nothing.
I have goosebumps by the time the receptionist stops outside the very last door, drawing me from my thoughts when she takes a moment to smooth her hands over her skin-tight black dress and puff out her ample cleavage, before she raps on the door three times. Somewhere deep down, curiosity peaks. Does she fancy my lawyer?
An office romance,how original.
Without waiting for a response, she flicks her long hair over her shoulder and pushes through the door, stopping just inside the office to prop the door open with her foot.
She gestures me inside and I step past her, briefly scanning the room that, upon first glance, seems too large to be an office. However I barely have time to register the dark wood furnishings, plush cream carpets and floor-to-ceiling window walls that over look Melbourne city before my gaze is drawn like a magnet towards the tall, stoic figure standing in the centre of the room. Casually leaning back against the hardwood desk, wearing a fitted suit as dark as his expression, is the adonis from the hotel.
My heart hitches, stopping my breath and freezing me in my tracks. I feel the colour drain from my face faster than my nephew sucks the coloured syrup from a snow cone.What fresh, unexplored layer of hell have I landed in now?This cannot be happening to me. I blink rapidly as though it might make the man standing in front of me disappear, but of course, no such bloody luck.
His face is so schooled I can’t even tell if he’s surprised tosee me as the door clicks shut and we share a moment of heavy eye contact. He’s all cool, calm collectedness. Not even a touch of acknowledgment that he was buried deep inside me mere days ago. Meanwhile, I’m stuck like a deer in headlights, gawking at the impossible situation before me.
“What the fuck?” I know my jaw is on the floor, but I can’t seem to pick it back up again to save my life.
He quirks a brow, his impossibly dark eyes boring into mine.
“Is this how you always greet people, Gianna?” He drawls, cocking his head. “I’m beginning to get a complex.”
“What are you doing here?” There must be some word to describe the feeling of running into someone you never thought you would see again, but right now I have absolutelyno wordsto describe the horror.
“What am I doing… in my office?” He asks, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at me like I’ve just asked him the stupidest question to exist. Which I probably have.
“Yes, here. In this room.” I gesture wildly around me, but he just continues to glare. Iknowhow stupid I sound, but I’m struggling to keep up with what’s unfolding before my very eyes.
He’s mydivorce lawyer?
Despite my shock, the sight of him is like a stroke of fire to the stomach. A physical reaction to how insanely attractive the man is. I last saw him just six days ago, but even my memory hadn’t done his hard angles and dark eyes justice. His rudeness be damned, he’s even more insanely gorgeous than I remember him to be. Meanwhile, I’m a far cry from the sexy escort he met in the hotel room. With my black tights, grey sweater and hair scraped back into a high pony, I can’t help but feel extremelyless thanwhen placed in front of his literal physical perfection.
“It seems to me that I’m to help you with yourdivorce, Mrs Sanders,”he says, a touch cold, those dark eyes penetrating my skin. It occurs to me then that he actually sounds angry. I furrow my brows and cross my arms over my chest, mirroring his stance. At least this time I can take a punt at why he looks ready to scorch the earth beneath me. He must be pissed off because I slept with him while I’m technically still married.
“I can assure you,David,” I say, relishing the way his face hardens further at the sound of his name, “my husband and I have been separated for months. You’re not involved in some messy love triangle, if that’s what you’re concerned about.” I scoff.David.I let his name wash over me and can’t help but feel like that’s a small win to me, that I finally found out his name when he clearly made a point of keeping it from me. As if it makes me less of the whore he implied me to be. The memory of his words still leave a bitter taste in my mouth.
“Triangle?” He says softly, voice as cold as ice. “With your profession I would say more like a decagon, wouldn’t you?”
My cheeks flush, but before I can respond there’s a sharp knock at the door and it flies open behind me.
“What the hell are you playing at, Z- ” a man bursts into the office but stalls when his wide eyes land on me. He’s boyishly handsome with floppy brown hair and as immaculately dressed as David, although I’ll admit his suit doesn’t hug him almost as well as David’s does. Dammit.Don’t even go there.
“Er, sorry for interrupting, Mrs Sanders. Didn’t realise you were already in here,” he says, then his eyes flick over my shoulder. I follow his gaze to David, who looksdownright furious at the interruption. “Can I have a word, please?”
David pushes off his desk and tips his head toward the door, gesturing the man out as he goes to follow. His heavy gaze finds mine as he passes. “Sit.”
Then he’s out of the office, the door clicking shut behind him.
Still as bossy as ever, I think to myself as I perch on one of the plush leather seats across from his desk. When he gets back, I’m going to tell the pompous ass that I won’t be needing his services. No wonder he looked amused the other night when I told him he could find a career in law. Vanilla and Sandalwood linger in the office and infiltrate my nostrils, causing images from Friday night to flood my mind. The tanned, toned expanse of his smooth back. His rippling abs that were contracting beneath my fingers as he plowed into me. The way he demanded my attention as my orgasm ripped through my body like wildfire.
No, nope, absolutely not.
His mouth-watering scent triggers memories much clearer than I’d been able to conjure up in the privacy of my own bedroom over the last week, which is frustrating because the guy is an absolute asshole, insulting me at every turn like I’ve personally offended him. This makes the sudden heat in my core and slickness between my legs feel like a betrayal. How dare he turn me on and piss me off at the same time.
My phone rings in my purse and I welcome the distraction with open arms.
“Hey,” I answer after glancing at the caller ID.
“Gia, we are hitting the town Saturday night!” Anna’s excited squeal comes barrelling from my speaker. “A colleague has tickets to the opening of a new club and can’tmake it! He gave the tickets to me in return for a work favour,” she rushes out, and I know she’s on her lunch break. She usually calls while walking to her favourite salad bar outside her office.
