He curls his fingers around the handle above mine, his chest against my back. I’m still on fire, still reeling from his touch, and now his breath across my skin is cracking the façade I’m struggling to keep in place.
“It took me seven years to find you again, and if you think I’m giving up now, you’re so very, very wrong.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second, but it doesn’t mean you’ll get anywhere.”
“This isn’t over, Dayton. We aren’t over.”
“Oh, it is. We’re very over. Trust me.”
I tug on the door and he releases it. I can feel his eyes on me as I find Liv at the bar, and when I turn, he’s inside, staring at me. Determination clouds his eyes, and I know I’m in for a fight.
“What the hell?” Liv hisses in my ear. “What’s he doing here?”
“He owns this place.” I grab her hand. “And we’re leaving.”
I can’t stay around him any longer. Just when he’s stopped consuming my every thought, here he is, standing in front of me like a dream come to life. Like my own personal heaven and hell mixed together in one gorgeous, heartbreaking package.
Because that’s what he is—everything that’s good and bad spun together into something intoxicatingly addictive, something you can’t help but want. Aaron Stone is and always has been my drug. He’s the one thing that can make me lose my head and send my body into overdrive. He’s the one thing I’m completely powerless against.
I can’t fight the effects he has on my body or stop the pounding of my heart whenever I hear his voice. I can’t change the way I feel when he looks at me or the way I jolt whenever he touches me, but I can’t live with it.
I also can’t live without it.
But I’ve made it this far. Twelve days without him seems like a lifetime, but it’s not really. It’s a small slice of nothing when he’s everything.
Chapter Three
“And what did you tell him?”
I stab my fork into my pasta with a little too much vigor. “I told him it was over. Done. Fini.”
“I assume he didn’t take that very well.”
I drop my fork without taking a bite and look at my aunt, a heavy sigh falling from my lips. “You assume correctly. Naturally, my words went right over his head.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to go to work and pretend he didn’t show up and ruin my night out.”
Aunt Leigh nods approvingly. “Make sure you use plenty of concealer. You could carry your f**king groceries in the bags under your eyes.”
“You know something? Sometimes I wonder how I’m not the most insecure person on the planet.”
“Insecure people are that way because they have people wrapping their asses up in bubble wrap all the time. Honey, if you’d rather me tell you that you look gorgeous and ready to go to work, I will, but next time I do, you’ll be wondering if I’m lying or not.”
I can’t argue that point.
“No? I didn’t think so. What time is your client?”
“Seven.”
She checks her watch. “It’s almost six. You go shower and I’ll clear this away. Your dishwasher works, correct?”
I hold up my hands, showing her my perfectly manicured nails. “Of course it does. Monique would shit a kitten if I turned up with—god forbid—soap on my fingers.”
A smile twitches the corner of my aunt’s mouth. “Just one kitten? She’d shit the litter.”
I giggle into my hand as I head upstairs. This much is true. Monique is Ms. Perfection herself.
I shower quickly, the hot stream of water beating away some of the tension knotting my shoulders, and wrap myself in a fluffy towel. I almost feel like I can breathe easily after that—if it weren’t for the new fear of Aaron popping up everywhere I go.
I tug a black dress from the closet and some red heels to go with it. Red isn’t a color I want to be wearing right now, but Mr. Alexander Carlisle was very specific on how he wants me to dress. And the client always gets what they want.
As long as they’ve paid for it, that is.
I blow dry my long hair in record time and twist it into a sleek updo before stepping into my outfit for the evening. Some of the control I know so well seeps back into me as I roll the tan stockings up my legs and pull the dress down to cover the tops. I feel even more in control of my life as I slide my feet into the red heels and apply my makeup.
That same old rush floods my body. The knowledge of what I have to do—how I have to act, how I’m expected to behave, how I’m expected to speak.
Tonight, at Mr. Carlisle’s request, I’m Kelly York, a woman from a small town just outside Portland. I’m about to graduate from law school, and we met when I interviewed for an open position at his law firm. Of course, he couldn’t hire me because he’s a respectable man who doesn’t mix business with pleasure, and he decided I was better for the pleasure.
And the irony is that he’s hiring an escort.
Very respectable, Mr. Carlisle.
It’s hard not to judge. It’s my job not to, but sometimes I can’t help it. Thankfully I rarely take away my brain-to-mouth filter, so my judgments stay firmly inside my own mind.
“Better,” Aunt Leigh declares, running her eyes over me. “Who’s your client?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.”
“Fine. I might just stop by the Southfall later for a drink or two.”
I purse my lips at her. Goddamn woman. “All right, but if Monique finds out…”
“I worked for her for twenty years. You don’t need to tell me to keep it quiet. I’m just nosy.”
I tell her everything, and she nods the whole way through, reminding me to use my upper-class mannerisms she spent hours teaching me when I decided to do this job. Like I need reminding—but I get it.
This is her crazy way of looking out for me.
Our relationship is dysfunctional, like so many of the others in my life, but it works. Like the others do. Well, mostly.
I climb into the cab—five minutes early, much to my annoyance—and lean back in the seat. I take a deep breath when a thought flashes through my mind.
Shit. Alexander Carlisle is one of the top lawyers in Seattle. This is a high-profile event.
What if Aaron’s on the guest list?
“This better be good, Dayton.”
“Do you know who’s on the list tonight?”