Sinner (Shelter Harbor #1)(111)

“Hey, tiger.”

I growl low in my throat as I let the door shut behind me.

“What are you doing here, Ashley.”

Ashley Kemp gives me a pouty look, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder as she slinks off the edge of my desk she’s been perched on. Her boots are tall, her skirt is short, and I know that shirt has more buttons than that.

“Well that’s no way to say hello.”

“Ash,” there’s a warning edge in my voice as I stay right where I am by the door and cross my arms over my chest. I am not in the mood for bullshit like this.

“You never called last night,” she says coyly, bringing a finger up to her painted lips and letting her nail trace across them as she stalks towards me.

I don’t do this. I don’t do dependency, and expectations. Those are relationship words, and I, Landon Reece, do not do relationships.

This right here is a clear indication that things have officially gone too far with Ashley.

“I was busy,” I say brusquely. My hand comes up to pinch the bridge of my nose. “Actually, I’m still busy,” I say, hoping she gets the hint and we can avoid the dramatics I’m all but positive are about to happen.

“Awww, well it’s a good thing I’m here to get some of that tension out, hmm?” She purrs as she slinks towards me and puts a hand on my arm.

Well, so much for hints.

“I’m busy, Ash,” I say again, sharper this time as I push her hand away from me.

Her mouth purses. Yeah, she’s getting it now.

“Well you’re not very fun today.” That obnoxiously childish pout comes back to her face. “Are we still on for our Wednesday thing?”

Our Wednesday thing.

Yeah, alarm bells are ringing.

Like I said, I don’t do this, and this is exactly why I don’t see women more than once. This is why I have rules. Clearly, breaking them by seeing Ashley twice now is coming back to bite me in the ass.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ashley,” I say it evenly as I reach behind me and open the door to my office.

Her jaw drops a little.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Quite.”

“I left work early to come here, you know,” she snaps.

“That was certainly your prerogative.”

I made myself abundantly clear to Ashley the first time I slept with her. And I’ll admit at least half fault for letting her wear me down the second time, but there was nothing ambiguous about how clear I’d made myself after that. No, I’m not looking for anything, serious or otherwise. No, I can’t come to dinner on Tuesday. No, I won’t spend the night. Women like Ashley hear what I’m saying to them, but they’re not actually listening, because they want to pretend if they don’t, then it’s not true. Women like Ashley think they’re the exception.

There are no exceptions. Not to my rules.

She narrows her eyes at me.

“You’re seriously kicking me out of your office?”

“I’m not kicking you out,” I say evenly. “But I’m very busy, I have a lot of shit to do, and we’ve already been over what this is.”

“This?” she says icily. She darts her finger between the two of us. “You mean this thing between you and me?”

I shake my head. “There is no you and I, Ashley. You know that.”

Yep, there’s the indignant rage building up like fire behind her eyes. There’s the realization that all those things I said about how I didn’t date, or that I was only looking for something extremely casual weren’t some sort of game or me ‘playing hard to get.’ This is her finally listening to me.

“You’re an asshole,” she hisses.

I shrug. “I’ve been completely upfront with you.”

“You know what!” she snaps, her hands on her hips. “I came here today to fuck you, but you can go fuck yourself!”

She storms past me, past Lydia fastidiously looking at something on her computer, and out the door to the waiting room, letting the door slam shut with a rattle behind her.

I clear my throat and Lydia just shakes her head with her eyes still locked at whatever is so important on her screen.

“I heard nothing.”

A smile crosses my lips for a second.

“Could you hold all calls for the next hour or so?”

She nods.

“Thank you.”

With the door closed, I sink into my office chair with a heavy sigh.

Jesus Christ, what a day.

I almost reach for the bar cart by the window behind my desk, but I turn to my laptop instead. Forget Ashley Kemp, I need to find out exactly who the hell Serena Roth is.

I do the standard internet stalking - Facebook, Google, Linkedin - and see exactly what I already know. Lives in Houston, works for the Houston Bulls as internal head of advertising and marketing, best friends with Bulls head scout and negotiator London Jacobs, who’s father, Archie, owns the team.