“You sure we’re okay?” I invade her space like I own it. Spending the rest of the week with my tail tucked doesn’t appeal to me. Plus tipping the power balance back to my favor requires a small dose of chivalry.
Her head falls back, sleek auburn strands spilling down her back as she groans.
“Beckham, why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Making this into a thing. It’s unnecessary.” Her spine zips straight as she spins on her heels to face me. “You said what you said. I told you my feelings aren’t hurt. Let it go. I can’t move past this unless you do.”
Odessa shrugs, her mouth holding straight. There’s something off about the way her gaze holds mine. Can’t put my finger on it.
“I’m tired.” Her hand rests on the doorknob.
It’s all I can do not to bang my head against the wall behind me. I’m getting nowhere with this one.
I’m not a man built of remorse and difficult choices, but fuck if I don’t regret every decision I’ve made in the last five days beginning with that kiss in the elevator. Had I known it would catapult me into unchartered territory, I’d have never considered it. I’d have sent her off, crawled back in bed, and rested my ego.
I loved my old life. Relying on no one. Seeking my happiness the best way I knew how. Free and untied, my mind hedonistically unconsumed.
“Goodnight, Beckham.” Odessa disappears behind her door. The click of the lock is mildly insulting.
Challenge accepted.
***
Mathilde meets us by the porte-cochere with brown-bagged breakfasts still warm from the kitchen.
“Bonjour,” she says, placing the bags in our hands. “Monsieur Townsend had our chef prepare your breakfasts. He went into the office earlier, but he wanted to ensure you were fed before you left.”
“Merci beaucoup,” Odessa says, pressing the warm bag against her chest.
Bronson pulls the car up, and we shuffle outside.
“You sleep well?” I ask once we’re settled in the back.
“Yes. You?” She pulls a container of steaming oatmeal from her bag followed by a banana. Her fingers grip the girth of the ridiculously oversized fruit, and I fight the twitch in my lips when a thought originates in the filthiest corners of my mind.
“Like a baby.” I tossed and turned all night before cranking one out. Forcing myself to stare at the assortment of topless picture messages stored in my phone didn’t do it for me either.
It had to be her.
“Think we’ll have time to go over the website today? Devin would like to wrap the project up by Friday. He’s got another lined up for next week.” She stirs her oatmeal with a plastic spoon and takes a bite. A small blob falls on her chin, and without thinking I drag my thumb across to catch it before it lands on her freshly pressed pencil skirt. Odessa jerks away.
I smirk. “You’re welcome.”
“Anyway, the website?”
I see what she’s doing. She’s keeping the conversation safe.
“I’ll carve out some time to discuss the website, yes.” I watch her politely consume her breakfast from the corner of my eye, her pink tongue gliding along the bottom of the spoon in slow motion. She’s trying not to drip. Her phone chimes, and judging by the speed at which she drops her oatmeal and pulls the phone from her pocket, I’d think she was expecting a call from the President of the United States.
With shameless curiosity, I check out the screen, eyeing a message from someone named Jeremiah asking what she’s doing in Utah.
She fires a message back and stares at the screen, waiting for a response.
“That your ex?” I ask.
Odessa pulls the phone flat across her chest and leans away. “Were you reading over my shoulder?”
“You’re sitting a foot away from me,” I say. “It’s not hard. Besides, I wanted to see who could make you move that fast. I’ve never seen you move like that.”
Her phone chimes again.
“How’d he know you were in Utah?” I ask.
She sighs, typing another reply.
“Does he still keep tabs on you?” I ask. “Even though you’re not together?”
Odessa jerks her head once. “Carly must’ve told him.”
“Who’s Carly?” Funny how she’s letting me into her personal life, one thin layer at a time. She’s so consumed with texting that ass that she doesn’t even notice she’s doing it.
“My best friend,” she mutters. “She’s his best friend too. We all went to Purdue together.”
“Tricky.”
“What’s tricky?”
“Your friend. She’s a double agent. Don’t you question her loyalty?”