Page 52 of Made for Wilde
“I’ll call you back,” she tells whoever’s on the line.
She ends the call without waiting for a response. Then she circles me slowly, like I’m a sculpture she’s appraising.
“Holy shit, big brother. Look at you.”
I cross my arms, suddenly self-conscious under her scrutiny.
“What?”
“You look...” She gestures vaguely at all of me. “Human. Almost attractive, even. What the hell happened to you?”
Before I can answer, she grabs my arm, her manicured nails digging into my bicep as she drags me toward her office. I let her, too tired to resist. The moment the door closes behind us, she rounds on me.
“Where have you been? I texted you like fifteen times yesterday.”
I shrug, dropping into the chair across from her desk.
“My phone died.”
“Liar.” She narrows her eyes, studying me with the same laser focus she uses on balance sheets. “You slept with Charlotte, didn’t you?”
My head snaps up.
“I didn’t?—”
“Don’t even try it.” She sits on the edge of her desk, arms crossed. “I know what you look like after a hookup, and this isn’t it. This is something else entirely.” She leans closer, eyes widening. “Wait, is that a hickey?”
I slap a hand to my neck, cursing under my breath.
Charlotte had left her mark on me sometime during our marathon night, a small bruise just below my collar. I’d forgotten all about it.
“Jesus, Dana. Can you keep your fucking voice down?” I glance at the door, half-expecting the entire staff to be lined up outside with their ears pressed to the wood.
“I knew it.” She sits back, voice gentler now. “That’s why you’ve been ignoring me. You finally made a move.” Then she grins. “I have to say I’m surprised. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“I didn’t make a move.” The words come out harsher than I intend. “The storm hit. Her car died. I gave her a place to stay. That’s it.”
Dana raises an eyebrow.
“And the hickey just appeared out of nowhere? What, did you accidentally fall on her mouth?”
I scrub a hand over my face, exhaustion settling deep in my bones.
“It was a mistake, okay? We both know it can’t happen again.”
“Why not?”
Dana’s question is simple, but the answer is anything but.
“Are you serious?” I stare at her. “She’s half my age. She’s Jason’s kid. You know, Jason? My best friend since we were in high school? The guy who would literally rip my head off if he knew I touched his little girl?”
Dana shrugs.
“So don’t tell him.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It could be.” She tilts her head as she studies me. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”
