Page 83 of Heart Strings & Hotlines
“Let me try again.” How will this make sense to him? “Okay, think back to your very first company. It was yours. You built it, right? Your dream, your baby.”
“All true.”
I imagine him taking in all this information as though he’s a computer and he’s trying to find the shortest distance between two lines. But what he’s missing are the landmines hidden in plain sight.
“Right. So, now pretend you started dating someone who had more experience than you in that business. It was all new and fun, and the relationship hadn’t been tested yet.”
“Go on.” The vein in his neck bounces with each clench of his jaw.
“Well, what would you have said if this woman offered you what you’re offering me?”
“It’s not the same.”
“Why not?”
“I wouldn’t have known if I could trust her, but I know you can trust me.”
“Exactly. You know it.”
He rocks back on his heels with a jolt. “You don’t trust me.”
“I do, but this is also my life’s work. It’s my baby. The first thing that has ever really and truly been mine. If we don’t work out?—”
His gaze hardens, and I’m pretty sure I can hear his teeth grinding.
“Why wouldn’t we work out?”
“Who knows? Why doesn’t anyone work out? We may be a near-perfect match on paper, but it doesn’t account for life experiences, mistakes, hardships. And if we don’t work out, I don’t know that being tied to you in the business world would be good for me. Can’t you understand that?”
He’s silent as he stares at me, but I swear he’s fighting a smile as he gracefully lowers himself to the sofa beside me. When he leans forward to rest his forearms on his thighs, his eyes crinkle at the corners.
“We’re a near-perfect match?” His voice is silvery and hypnotic.
Damn it. I didn’t mean to let that slip.
“After everything I said, that’s what you latch on to?”
“How near-perfect are we, Charlotte?”
“Close.”
His hand reaches out and circles my wrist. With one gentle tug, he manages to slide me into his lap. “How close?”
I can’t look him in the eye. I won’t. It’s as though I’m being scolded by the dirty headmaster, except in this scenario, I like it.
Perhaps I am watching too much Cassio TV. My imagination is hovering right above the gutter these days.
“Extremely close.” If I evade long enough, will he give up?
“Numbers, sweetheart. I want to hear the exact number.” His arms band around my waist, trapping my arms at my sides, and he pulls me back into him, forcing me to toss my legs over the side of his.
I drop my head back and stare at the ceiling. When I don’t answer, he shifts, and his soft lips press to the pulse point on my neck.
“Don’t hold out on me, Lottie. How close are we to perfect?” He nips at my skin, eliciting an inconvenient groan.
For the last week, he’s been living here, sleeping in my bed, having breakfast with me, his sister, and Rafe. It’s all been so…seamless.
I can’t help but wait for the other shoe to drop.
