He narrowed his eyes. “Why? And why did you keep it from me?”
“Because it’s personal and I don’t think it has anything to do with us. Not that there is an official us. You know what I mean. Our deal.”
“I don’t understand why he’d trust you with that kind of private information,” he said.
She stood, restless. Leaving the iPad on his desk, she started to pop her knuckles. “I’m his friend. We talk about stuff.” She opted not to tell Devon about Matthew’s hidden agenda in hiring her so Devon would try and seduce her and get in trouble. The last thing those two needed was more bad blood running between them. Besides, she had been adamant with Matthew. If he used her to nab that CEO spot, she would make sure people knew about his plan.
“Friends. I guess I gotta get myself some of those,” he said, his voice smooth. His lips curled at the corner of his mouth, and she wondered if he believed her or was only pretending to. “By the way, after work today, I have to go straight to my club. Some business to take care of.”
“I totally understand.” Totally.
“You can stop by if you’d like. For a friendly visit,” he said, drawling at the last sentence.
“Thanks. Clubbing isn’t really my scene, but I will keep that in mind.” God, not really her scene? How old was she? Ninety?
He winked at her. “You do that.”
***
Showing up at Smolder, after work, without texting Devon, was a bad idea. She cemented her insecurity the minute a couple of tall women with fiery red hair strode into the club the same time as she. Everyone seemed to be way cool and too hip. She touched her fifties-style black dress—tight on top, with a flowing skirt down to her knees, and reached for her chunky pearl necklace. I look like a vintage Stepford wife.
Ugh. Why had she changed her mind? Going far from her comfort zone was one thing. Visiting his second place of work carved a pitiful hole between them. She leaned across from the bartender, and waved at the bald chick with purple lipstick and dark clothes. “Red wine, please.”
The bartender nodded, and turned around to get the bottle. Some alcohol had to loosen her violin string-tight nerves. Right? She lifted her hands and fiddled with the pearls, and wondered if taking them off wouldn’t be a better choice. Ah. Might as well own it.
Her gaze zapped from the bar area to the dance floor. It was strangely intimate. The nightclub had a theater-like feel, with special VIP boxes that overlooked the dance floor like old-fashioned terraces, and several antique chandeliers dropping from the ceiling. Gorgeous GoGo girls dangling on trapezes and the ultramodern music—a tattooed DJ worked the tunes in a higher box—gave the place an edge.
A lot of the women could be models, and probably were, with their slinky bodies and sophisticated get-ups.
“Here,” the bartender said, and she turned to grab the drink.
She sipped the wine a tad too quickly. Was it too late to go home? No. Besides, her pragmatic side warned, she was checking out the club. Matthew had hinted Devon could be stealing from the company because of the other clubs he was about to open, but a glance at her surroundings was all she needed. Why would he need to embezzle money? This club was in full swing, and given the classy décor and overpriced drinks, she doubted Smolder was on its last legs.
She eyed Devon, before she was prepared. He was talking to a couple of gorgeous brunettes. Her heart raced. She lifted her shoulders, and finished the remains of her drink.
“Another.” She pointed her head in the direction of the glass to the bartender. “Please.”
The woman smiled and turned around to get the bottle.
Damn it. Of course he flirted with other women. The man had an open relationship before her, and what guarantee did she have he wasn’t planning on screwing any of them tonight? She had told him she wouldn’t come. Besides, they didn’t have anything concrete. Anything lasting.
Do you want to?No. Of course not. If she hadn’t been able to handle a man like Timothy, crazy and sick as he was, how about a man like Devon? He oozed sexiness. And trouble. Especially trouble.
She gave herself a mental slap on the forehead, and searched for him again. Her pulse spiked. Across from her, a few inches from the entrance to the VIP area, he still talked to the two women, and nodded. She zoomed on his face. No smile. A stupid part of her rejoiced. The women leaned forward, one of them laughing while the other batted her eyelashes. He shook his head and said something, then walked away from them. Well, if body language was anything to go by, he wasn’t interested in a threesome. Phew.
Stupid. Stupid, stupid. He also wasn’t interested in a long-term commitment. And neither was she—not with him. She longed to find someone for a meaningful relationship, and should be thankful Devon was giving her good sexual memories to cling to for the near future. Sex. Good. Hot. Sex.
His gaze found hers, and she shifted on her seat. While he erased the distance between them with long, graceful strides, she parted her mouth. All of a sudden, it was like she had a freaking cold. Air restricted in her lungs, she had to clear her throat. Twice.
“Look who’s here.”
“I… I was in the neighborhood.”
He threw his head back, and laughed. “That’s right. You were in the neighborhood,” he said, a silver spark in his eyes mocking her. “And no vagina dress?”
“A pity, I know.” Her lips broke into a smile, and she lifted her hand to her neckline. She was burning. “I changed my mind. Wanted to see how you can do this. Work all hours.”
“This is pleasure.”
