It’s really hard to argue with reasonable. It’s one of the best things about working with Priya and Ajay, because they’re hardly ever reasonable, with the Gupta love of drama and rash, loud proclamations with little to no logic or evidence.
It’s kind of taking the wind out of my sails.
What’s the harm in one night anyway? It has to be better than this conversation. Or a silent car ride in the dead of night.
“Well, maybe I can just stay.”
He freezes in the process of putting on his shirt, arms stuck in the sleeves with his head buried somewhere in the rest of it.
“I don’t want to pressure you into staying if you don’t want. If you’re really set on going without me, I can call a car from a company we use,” he says as he frees his head from the shirt, the garment now half on and half off.
As a concession since he’s being so reasonable, I don’t roll my eyes at him. I could have just called one of Loot’s drivers, providing just as much, if not more, safety as his anonymous driver.
I slip out of my clothes again, not hearing any complaints as he watches the skin that’s being exposed. I take his shirt off his arms and put it on me before getting back under the covers.
“What are you waiting for, Beau? It’s the middle of the night,” I say with indignation, pulling the covers over my head.
“Woman, you can be aggravatin’,” Beau grumbles, kicking aside his pants and following orders back into the bed.
From Baby Girl to Woman...at least I’m growing up in the world.
I dart up in bed the next morning, heart pounding because I am not in my tastefully decorated SoHo condo. But there’s elaborate molding on the ceiling surrounding a chandelier dripping with gold leaf and crystals.
Wherever I am, at least it’s nice.
I turn to the loudly breathing (snoring) body next to me, brain finally remembering exactly what happened last night. I take in the way the early morning light hits Beau’s peaceful face. He’s just as perfect today as he was the night before, so I can’t blame whiskey goggles for what happened in the elevator, or in the bed.
I wait for him to wake up and tell me he has an early meeting, or his grandmother needs him in New Jersey to help fix the air-conditioning, or he has an appointment to save a bus full of puppies. And that I need to leave to make that happen.
On the few occasions that a guy doesn’t leave before three a.m. like they melt in the sunlight, those are the caliber of excuses I get. I don’t mind since I want them out anyway.
But I don’t know how I’d feel if Beau used one of those excuses on me. I think it would be bad. Another reason I should be heading for the hills because I know where relationships go—they end.
True, Beau didn’t kick me out last night. But that could have been an antiquated chivalry thing. I’m sure he’ll want to make with the excuses now that the sun’s out. So when Beau opens his eyes, I brace myself for the inevitable.
“Mornin’, Baby Girl.” He reaches for me, a genuine smile on his face.
“Morning.” I’m still a little stiff and unsure about how I feel about any of this. But I don’t have time to dissect it while his face gets closer to mine for a morning kiss.
I decide to go back to my fallback position: enjoy the perks of him being here while we’re in the same city. I kiss him back, relaxing next to him.
He pulls away and runs his hand down my cheek in a gesture that has me relaxing even deeper next to him.
Until I see the clock on the bedside table. “Oh, shit.” I shoot up in the bed the second time in a few minutes, this time throwing him off me. “Please say you set the clock ahead an hour for fun.” I get up, frantically gathering my clothes together and darting to the bathroom to get ready.
“I would love to make you happy, but I did not do that,” he yells after me. “I wish I had, because I’m late too.”
I hear him toss the sheets around and rummage through his suitcase.
“Do you want breakfast before you go?”
I shut off the faucet and tear through the suite. “Yes. But no time.”
Beau snags my waist as I speed past on my way to the door. He plants a kiss on my lips and gives me a squeeze before asking, “Tonight? Dinner and more Christmas activities? Or I’ll look at art. Whatever you want. If you’re not busy.”
He’s not going to make this awkward. He’s not playing it cool now only to text me at eleven p.m. to say, “What’s up?” He wants to see me and he’s making a plan to see me.
How odd.
