Page 92 of Perfect Satisfaction
“See you in a few. No, Ward! You can’t come!” is Angie’s final shout before I disconnect the call and deal with my own drama. Six feet two of seething male fury. “Can I help you?”
“What is it you’re wearing? Or not wearing? Did whoever designed it forget to send you pants?” Arek does a circle around me and whistles when he gets the full impact of my dress.
I refused to be pleased by his reaction, I tell myself. Instead I focus on the fact what I wear is none of his business. To not waste any of the precious time I have before the driver arrives, I inform him, “One of my clients is Amaryllis Designs. Ever since their international expansion, they don’t have the wherewithal to handle the logistics for Fashion Week. I handle setup. In other words, this conversation is causing me to be late when I need to be on site.”
I move to slide around him, but he blocks me. “I really don’t have time for this. The car will be here in ten minutes.”
“Sula,” he begins. Then his voice gentles. “Listen, I just wanted to ask if this is going to cause any problems?”
“Problems?” I echo.
“With your head. When we were arguing, you said stress and shouting bother your head. It’s bound to be loud.”
The part of me that will forever be in love with this man simply melts. “I don’t have a choice, Arek. It’s my job.”
He studies me intensely. “If I promise not to snoop, would you give me permission to be in your space later? Just for a few minutes?”
I open my mouth to tell him to go to hell, when he reminds me of something I purposefully blocked out. “You loved baths when we were . . . I remember I used to have to drag you from the tub.”
Startled, I admit, “I still do.”
“I just thought it might help relax you. You mentioned that part of the penthouse has a bedroom. Knowing you, there has to be a killer tub in there.” He smooths my hair away from my cheek. “Let me do this for you.”
Since the last person to actively take care of me was the man standing before me, hearing him offer this is tantamount to a knife sliding between my ribs. I step forward and clasp his hand.
He squeezes mine in return. I’m tempted to hurl angry, hurtful words back, but I don’t have it in me. When this is over, I want the memory of his sweetness, not this festering anger that keeps rising between us. “Thank you, but I’ll be all right.”
Dropping his hand, I make my way to the door and slip out knowing his eyes are on me the entire way.
“You look like you could use a magnum of champagne and an exterminator,” Carys declares bluntly.
It’s after the show—another roaring success. Dani is celebrating with the rest of the assorted Amaryllis team. Angie is presently chatting with my brother. Carys looks concerned.
“That obvious?”
“Only to someone who’s been there. Want a shoulder?”
“Well, it’s been an interesting few months.”
“I imagined it would be.”
“Things were icy. Cordial. Then we had a midnight rendezvous”—
“Those are never good,” Carys mutters under her breath.
—“where he essentially called me JB’s whore,” I conclude smoothly.
Carys gasps in outrage.
“Right around the same time he told me I have no moral ground to stand on with Angie since I sold out my father as he pieced together I’mMoore You Want.”
She begins to sputter incoherently.
“In between, trying to get me to engage with him in verbal warfare, he’s decided he’s concerned for my well-being and was outraged at my outfit for tonight.” I take a sip of the mineral water I’m consuming instead of champagne and debate the analysis running through my brain as Em’s models parade down the runway. “I figure he wants to get laid.”
Carys spits her drink into her glass. Then she laughs. “Why haven’t we ever hung out before?”
“It’s the whole living in another country thing. Puts a crimp in my style.” We exchange smirks. Then I get serious and confide, “Seriously, he offered to draw me a bath when I got home like, like...”
