Page 30 of Resist

“What if I want to see Saxony again?”

I jolt at his question, unsure how to respond. “What?”

“I asked, What if I want to see Saxony again?”

“I heard you. What I meant was . . . why?”

“Maybe she intrigued me.”

My throat feels like sandpaper when I try to swallow. “She no longer works for me. After what happened, I let her go.” I say the words because it’s the right thing to do but am confused knowing that a little part of me wonders why he’d want to see me again.

“Why would you do that?”

“It seems pretty self-explanatory to me.”

“I want to see her again.” His tone is more adamant this time.

“Mr. Lockhart,” I say to try to bring him back to reality. “Like I said, she no longer works for Wicked Ways.”

“Yes, she does—I’m speaking to her right now.”

I open my mouth, but no words come out as his comment shocks every part of my system. I laugh in disbelief, and then it takes me a few seconds before I can respond. “That’s funny.”

“I make a living out of observing people, catching nuances, Vee . . . or is it Saxony? Which name do I call you?”

“This is Vee. I’m not sure what—”

“You’re talking about,” he finishes for me. “But you know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

“Mr. Lockhart—”

“So official sounding now when it was nothing but oh, Ryker the other night.”

“As I said previously, Mr. Lockhart, feel free to revisit my website and pick a date of your choosing. An evening with her will be on the house.”

“And I already told you who I wanted.”

I end the call.

It’s hasty and chickenshit, but I didn’t know what else to do because I was getting flustered, and now I’m staring at my cell wondering why I just fucked this whole situation up even more.

And to make matters worse, why did I want to tell him yes?

This time when I sink down onto the edge of my mattress, I stay there, flop back, and grab a pillow to put over my face.

Maybe if I hold it here long enough I’ll put myself out of my own misery.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ryker

Exhaustion owns every part of my body. My hands hurt and my arms feel like jelly, but I punched and kicked and dodged and weaved my way out of my sexual frustration with my boxing workout only to step into the lobby of my building and face a whole different kind of sexual frustration.

I take her in. Auburn hair pulled back in some kind of sophisticated twist at the back of her neck. Green eyes that already beg and plead for my time—my forgiveness—before I even say a word. A body made for sin that’s covered in some exercise outfit made to sweat in that I’m sure is worth more than most people’s car payments.

A body made for sin that I’ve sinned with.

“Roxanne.” It’s the only thing I’ll give her as I take a step back when she tries to kiss me in greeting.