Page 10 of Craving the Edge

“The press conference for Sydney has been moved up,” Rhys said, not even saying hello. “Ten a.m. Thursday. Sharp suit, clean shave. No excuses.”

I grunted, not taking my eyes off Charlotte. I watched her tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. I’d walked past her desk yesterday to get my water bottle and a scent had clung to the air around her. Not the reek of perfume most women drenched themselves in, but something softer. Vanilla and something flowery. Tangy.

“Declan. Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, Rhys. Ten a.m. Got it,” I drawled.

I’d been with more women than I could count. Models, actresses, fans with greedy hands. It was easy. A quick fuck for a loneliness I didn’t want to name. I knew what lust felt like. It was a cheap burn that faded as soon as I’d come.

This wasn’t that.

This was inconvenient as hell, with a fight weeks away and a hand threatening to fall apart, but it was there. A fucking burn that had nothing to do with my body and everything to do with the way she refused to look at me.

Rhys was still talking, his words a stream of noise about brand obligations and media commitments. The whole suffocating performance I was paid a lot of money to uphold. I looked from him back to the woman at the desk. Back to the one person who looked at me and saw nothing more than a wanker.

I wondered what she’d think if she knew me. The guy who was fucking exhausted and didn’t know how much longer he could keep all the pieces together. I wondered if she could ever see him….and if she did, if she’d even like what she saw.

I jumped as I felt the sting of Tomas’ skipping rope hit my leg. I glanced at him, scowling at the stupid grin on his face.

“The police haven’t made any arrests for the Ironbound fire,” Rhys was saying. “But they’ve confirmed it’s underworld. Seems the owners had some side deals, owed the wrong people a lot of money.”

I snorted. “It’s always about the money, huh?”

A flash of irritation tightened Rhys’s jaw. He clearly didn’t appreciate the commentary. “And this arrangement? You’re being treated well here?”

My gaze flicked back to the front desk. Charlotte was still planted in her chair, her focus locked on the laptop in front of her. She hadn’t turned around once.

“Yeah,” I said. “No trouble. No one’s caught on we’re here.”

That seemed to placate him. He nodded, but his phone buzzed and pulled it from his pocket. He waved a dismissive hand at us, despite neither of us saying anything, and put the phone to his ear as he walked away.

Tomas let out a low laugh, his skipping rope coiling on the floor as he shook his head at the empty doorway Rhys had disappeared through. “He’s got a stick so far up his arse it’s coming out his throat.”

He turned back to me, his grin wide and knowing. It dropped as he followed my gaze. Back to her.

“For fuck’s sake, mate,” he said. “Just go talk to her. It’s painful watching you stare.”

“I’m not staring.”

“Bullshit. You’re like a dog watching a steak. You want to fuck her?”

The words were so blunt, so direct, they caught me off guard. Heat climbed my neck. “It’s not like that.”

Tomas snorted. “Looks a lot like that from over here.”

I glanced back at her and knew he was right. I did want to fuck her, but not like that. “She doesn’t want to talk to me. She’s made that pretty clear.”

She wanted us gone. I got it. She wanted her gym back to normal, and pushing my way into her space would only make it worse.

“She thinks you’re a dickhead because you act like one,” Tomas said. “You walk in here every day with him,” he hitched a thumb toward the door, “and you don’t even say hello to her. What’s she supposed to think?”

He had a point.

“Go on,” Tomas urged, quieter this time.

I shook my head, my shoulders tight. It felt like one move too many.

“Fine,” he said. Then he shoved me, hard, between the shoulder blades.