Page 121 of Hard to Resist

“And?”

“And it’s, what, two stops from where I work?”

“Sounds about right.”

“Two stops in theoppositedirection.”

“All right. Any other geographic facts you want to tell me?”

He grins at me, and I place a hand on my hip.

“Cullen, I’m being serious. Have you literally been taking the subway every single morning past your work an additional, like, eight stops, just to ride the train the entire way back with me?”

“Yes.”

My mouth gapes open, all my words lost to the ease with which he just answered me.

“What is wrong with you?”

“What’s the issue?”

“What’s the—really? Why would you go through all that effort? You are basically turning a ten-minute commute into an hour! Not to mention how much extra time you spend picking up the pastries or the coffee or—”

“Most of those places are near here. We can actually stop by that coffee place you really like if you want—the one with the pistachio praline drink. Way better than these pods.”

“Cullen,” I whine.

“Verity,” he teases back. He pushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “I wanted to spend the extra time with you. I only have so many minutes in the day; any I can spare for you are worth it.”

“But—”

“Plus, you weren’t speaking to me, if you remember. I had to find some way to break down your walls.”

A prickle of guilt purses my lips. I feel like an ass now. There I was, giving him the silent treatment for two weeks, when this man was hauling his ass all the way uptown to sit with me every single day on the subway when it was totally out of his way.

“Don’t make that face.” His thumb rubs the skin where my jaw meets my ear. “I like commuting with you. I like spending time with you. I like you.”

“I like you, too. I guess.” I whisper the words, shyness heating up my cheeks.

Cullen chuckles, slinging his arm around my shoulders and pulling me close.

Everything in this moment is perfect, except…

My phone alarm goes off, blaring into the moment. Cullen and I both jerk at the noise, and I once again remember the panic from an hour ago.

Crap, work.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

VERITY

Ireally did not think any of this through.

I sprint down the busy street, sidestepping tourists and almost tripping over a homeless man camped out on the corner. I grip my Goyard within an inch of its life, knuckles white as I try to prevent the thing from swinging loose in my marathon and spilling on the ground. The last thing I need is another delay.

Again, this is why I don’t go out on Thursdays.

I cannot believe I forgot we are presenting to Frankie Jones. In all fairness, I’d been under the assumption that he was meeting us at the office. My mistake because obviously a man like him wouldn’t have the decency to bring himself down to our meager level. No. We have to meet him at his apartment to present the deck.

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