The hot-and-cold thing. The kiss-me-then-pretend-I-don't-exist thing. The same thing every alpha male in every building I've ever worked in has done to me. Dangle something, then yank it away just to watch me scramble.
I should've known.
I spend the rest of the afternoon shoving that thought down, blaming myself because… to be fair, I'm just as much at fault for our situation as he is. I told him it meant nothing, I said it was reckless.
Somehow, I bury it under spreadsheets and social media schedules and the slow, satisfying rollout of the ticket promotion that's already getting traction online.
By the time I look up again, the arena's gone dark.
Everyone's left. The cleaning crew probably finished an hour ago. It's just me, my glowing laptop, and the faint sound of the ocean breeze hitting the windows outside.
I finally slam the laptop shut, rubbing my burning eyes.
My back aches. My stomach's empty.
And I still haven't processed a single thing about last night, because apparently that's just my life now… I'm too busy surviving tofeelanything.
I grab my bag, ready to order room service and binge Netflix alone in my hotel suite for the rest of the night.
And then a knock against my open doorframe scares the living daylights out of me.
I look up, and my heart slams into my throat.
"Declan?"
He's leaning against the frame, looking way too good in a white tee that clings to every ridiculously muscular inch of him. His arms are crossed, and those stormy blue eyes are fixed on me like he's been standing there longer than he's letting on.
"You're here late," he says.
"So are you." I clutch my bag tighter and grab my phone off the desk. "Don't you have a mansion full of margaritas and stray dogs to get back to?"
"I do." He pushes off the doorframe, stepping inside. "But I saw your light on."
"Stalking me now?"
"Depends. You into that kind of thing?"
He grins as his eyes do that thing again. That slow, deliberate sweep that makes me feel like he's mentally undressing me while simultaneously planning exactly what he'd do once I'm naked.
Why does that turn me on so much?
"Into what kind of thing, exactly?" I ask, crossing my arms and immediately regretting it when his gaze drops to my suddenly tight nipples. "Stalking? Because I'm pretty sure there are laws about that."
He pushes off the doorframe and steps closer. "I was just finishing up at Breakers and saw the light on. Now I'm here, making sure you're not working yourself to death in an empty building late at night."
"How thoughtful. And here I thought you were just being your usual charming self."
His mouth quirks up at one corner. "You think I'm charming?"
"I think you're a lot of things." I grab my laptop and shove it into my bag, if only to do something with my hands. "Charming isn't the first word that comes to mind."
"What is?"
The question is quiet, but there's a layer underneath it that makes me look up. It feels less like banter and more like... curiosity. Like he actually wants to know what I think of him.
Dangerous territory, Josie.
"Complicated," I say finally. "Definitely complicated."
