She says nothing as we amble out of the conference room and head down the hall toward the elevators.
“You’re going to give us one hell of a deal.” There’s sugar in her tone but poison in her words.
“If this is an attempt to extort my company because I didn’t call you back the other week then…”
“This isn’t extortion, Beckham. This is karma.”
“Resentment isn’t a good look on you.” Dane would kill me for speaking this way to a prospective client, but I’ve got this. “You’re a beautiful woman, Abigail. You have no business wasting your time with someone like me.”
Her face softens for a second, her eyes dragging from my eyes to my mouth before she sighs and stares at the gray wall behind me.
“I don’t commit. I have fun. I thought I made myself clear when we met?”
The thought of settling down and becoming a family man makes my cock shrivel and wilt. It’s not going to happen. In fact, I’m so sure it’s not going to happen that I’ve taken permanent measures to ensure it.
I wouldn’t know the first thing about being a cookie-cutter husband and soccer-coaching father. I may have entertained the idea once.
Like an imbecile.
But never since and never again.
Her hazel eyes roll, and she tucks a strand of her sandy blonde hair behind her ear. “You did, but I just thought we had fun. I thought–”
“I would love to have a professional relationship with you,” I say. “You’re clearly a successful woman who knows how to handle herself in the boardroom. I admire that about you.”
My words are scripted and my fingers crossed that she doesn’t notice.
“It’s rude not to text someone back.” She won’t give up.
“You can’t take that personally. It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. I’m not sure how I can make myself more clear here?”
Her mouth hardens.
“I’m sorry.” I say, running my hand along the side of her arm. “I would be a lousy boyfriend. I don’t deserve someone like you.”
It’s the truth. No self-respecting woman deserves me as a boyfriend, but that’s something I’m absolutely okay with.
Her breath suspends until my hand falls. The elevator behind me dings, and I step on. She clutches the handouts across her chest, watching until the doors slam shut.
A week from now, she’ll be calling to finalize the deal on behalf of her impossibly busy father.
And…
That’s how it’s done.
Chapter Six
ODESSA
I lock up my temporary office and head outside. Beckham never returned from his afternoon meeting, but I spent the last half of the day setting up social media accounts. Tomorrow I’ll be working with Devin to brainstorm ideas for the new website. I have a few I need to run by Beckham and Dane, but by the end of next week, we should have our concept nailed down and a test site to explore.
By the time I turn the corner on the sidewalk, Beckham is barreling toward the building, head tucked and on his phone. He doesn’t see me at first, locked in a heated conversation, but once he does, he mutters something and ends his call.
“Cutting out early?” he asks.
“Early? It’s five. On a Friday,” I say. “I’ll be back first thing Monday morning. We’ll go over everything I did today, and we can discuss the website.”
We’re blocking the sidewalk like a couple of assholes, throngs of five o’clockers rushing past, bumping us with shoulders and bags. I’m not sure what else to say to him, so I give him a quick wave and tighten the strap of my bag over my shoulder before heading home.
I peek around my shoulder when I get around the next block, making sure he isn’t chasing after me again or following me home like some crazy stalker.
He’s nowhere to be seen.
I’ll think about being nicer to him tomorrow.
***
My key sticks in the lock to my apartment. Jeremiah used to call the landlord about it every other week, but all she’d do was spray WD-40 into it and call it good. He was going to fix it himself. Two weeks ago. The day before he left.
I twist the key so hard the metal leaves indentations in my fingers, but the lock eventually pops and my door swings open.
“Jeremiah.”
I drop my bag on the kitchen counter and stand frozen. He’s sitting in his favorite chair, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. His spray tan is faded, and his hair appears to be product-free.
“Hey, Sam.” He moves toward me with careful steps, a stark contrast from the days when he’d lunge toward me, slip an arm around my waist and lift me up. I was weightless then, lucky in love.
“What are you doing here?”