Because he is looking at me. His eyes drag over my body like he has all the time in the world. Like he’s memorizing. Like he’s deciding exactly how he wants to reply to my question.
There’s no hiding the hunger in his gaze. I've tailed dozens of targets before. Men who cheat. Men who lie. Men who think they're slick. Occasionally, I’ll come away with footage that proves their faithfulness. At least for that night. I've never once felt attracted to any of them. They're a job and nothing more.
Until right now. Roman is making that rule of attraction extremely difficult to follow.
The moment his full attention locks onto me, something electric snaps under my skin. A slow burn starting low in my stomach, lighting up nerves I forgot I even had. His knee presses a little firmer against mine. His jaw flexes. His mouth tilts to one side, not quite a smile but a confirmation, like he already knows what I'm feeling and he's feeling it too.
It doesn't help that I'm ovulating.
Look, I know that sounds insane but hear me out. Women are genuinely more attractive during ovulation. Their facial structure shifts subtly, their scent changes to something that their partners can sense, their brain crackles with creative energy which means that painting and writing hobby I haven’t yet started? Now’s the time!
I even have a little ache low in my pelvis, the sharp, uncomfortable pinch of a microscopic egg barreling down my fallopian tube, desperate and greedy, searching for a sperm to latch onto. It’s the cruelest kind of irony, feeling that, given that I spent five years and an obscene amount of money and heartbreak trying to get pregnant with my ex-husband and never managed it. Every time my period tracker app throws up that little starburst indicating I’m fertile, it's a reminder of everything I still can't control.
At least for tonight, my ovulating body is an asset and not a problem. My chest feels fuller, my grandma swore my cheekbones looked higher when I left her home, there’s even a glow to my skin that expensive creams and oils couldn’t fake.
My little egg is out here doing the heavy lifting and I'm just along for the ride.
"I came over here," Roman says, his voice going even lower, "because I thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. And I wanted to know your name."
Oh, he islayingit on thick. Kacey's going to love this footage. Or hate it.
"I think you're one of the most handsome men I've ever seen," I say, and I hate how much I mean it.
His grin widens, teeth white and perfectly straight, his laugh a low rumble that vibrates in the air between us. "What's your last name, sweetheart?"
Sweetheart.
My heart stutters for a second as my brain tries to keep up. This guy doesn’t know me, yet he’s already giving me a pet name. I’ve never had a pet name before. Frankly, I’ve always thought they were annoying things that only guys in romance novels do and sometimes the names they give are straight up obnoxious. I don’t want to read the word princess on four hundred pages of text repeatedly while describing a grown woman. Even baby girl gives me theicksometimes. Oddly, I don’t hate sweetheart.
I remind myself I'm working.
"Christina is enough," I say, and extend my hand.
He takes it with a firm grip that feels intimate, his thumb drags along the inside of my palm when he shakes it. Heat creeps up my arm.
"Well,Christina is enough,it's nice to meet you at my company party."
I tilt my head and let my hair fall over one shoulder. "So, do you want to take this somewhere a little more private?"
It's a test. If he bites, I have what I need for the footage. A quieter corner, fewer witnesses, better angles. He’s already confessed his attraction to me, but Kacey paid for the full package which means I need him to make a move or at least, reciprocate a move on me. And it needs to be on video.
Unfortunately, he shakes his head no.
"As tempting as spending more time with you is," he says, and the regret in his voice sounds almost real, "I can't."
I let my expression fall on cue. "Oh. Because you have a girlfriend?"
His laugh is low and easy. "No. Haven't had one of those in a very,verylong time." He runs a hand through his hair and glances briefly over my shoulder, somewhere distant.
And there it is. That single sentence ignites something hot andsharp behind my sternum.
Poor Kacey is at home, probably already suspecting the worst, and this guy is sitting here lying through his teeth without a flicker of guilt.‘Haven't had one in a very long time.’The audacity of it! Men like this always have a story, always a justification, always some version of events where they're the reasonable one and she's the paranoid one. I know that playbook by heart. I lived it.
"I can't because these are my employees," he continues, his eyes drifting to the room behind me. "I recently started this business, and they've worked hard to get here. We’re celebrating our first winter together and the progress we’ve been making. I don't want to leave them." He pauses, his gaze dropping to my lips. "But can I give you my number? Maybe I could call you sometime."
I bite my bottom lip like I'm considering it. I’ve now got him on camera, claiming he doesn't have a girlfriend, but Kacey paid extra for physical evidence. There's been nothing beyond some knee-grazing and flirting. It’s not enough. I need the smoking gun, and I need it tonight, because I'm not making another trip to Manhattan for this man, no matter how devastating his jawline is. Because Manhattan reminds me of my ex and everything I lost.
I slide off the barstool, reach for his hand and pull. He doesn't move. He's a wall. An absolute wall of muscle and the attempt to get him to follow me nearly dislocates my wrist.
