Blind Date (11 page)

Agreement screwed already.

Fuck. I couldn’t have realized this before, could I?

“Dave seems to have a handle on his team,” Carter remarks, shifting so he can look at me. There’s a questioning glimmer in his eyes, one that doesn’t make much sense.

“I’d hope so. He’s been working with some of them since he was sixteen. It’s his father’s business, but he sticks to the office side more often than not now. Dave unofficially runs the show,” I answer.

He nods slowly. “And you’ve known each other since school?”

“Kindergarten. Our moms are close friends. They wasted five years trying to set us up.”

“And has it ever worked?”

My eyebrows shoot up at the personal question. “We went on one date. I got food poisoning and puked on him when he went to kiss me.”

Carter half-smiles. “Was that before you learned how to voice your aversion to commitment?”

“I believe that was the day I learned.” I smirk. “What about you? Aren’t you kind of young to have such an… exclusive… restaurant?”

“When my grandfather passed, he left me a trust fund. The only catch was that I had to invest it into property. I bought the restaurant when it was a run-down ice cream parlor when I was twenty-three and used the cash I had left to turn it around. I barely made a profit the first year.”

“How’d you get from teenagers on first dates to sex in private booths?”

The grin that teases his lips is just pure sex. “I added hot food. More people started buying food than ice cream. I lived in the upstairs apartment and lived frugally. I renovated when I had enough money to get a loan from the bank two years later.”

“So you were… twenty-six.”

“Correct. It took three months, but when I reopened, it was with a better menu, and the area was becoming more exclusive. By the end of that year I’d paid off my loan and still had money to spare. When I was twenty-nine, I bought my house and added the bar. Four years later, I own my house outright, cater to people whose names I’m not allowed to mention in public, and have a bank account that would make many Hollywood stars weep.”

“From just one restaurant?”

“No. I have several. A handful in-state, then Chicago, Boston, Denver, and Seattle. I have one opening in Los Angeles later this year.”

“Impressive,” I say softly. “All that from a trust fund.”

“Yep. All he asked was when I made it, I’d put that money in a fund for my child or grandchild.” Carter shrugs a shoulder. “Seemed fair. It’ll likely go to my niece or nephew when my sister has a child. She’s the fairytale lover out of us.”

“What? You don’t think you’ll find your Cinderella? I’m shocked,” I say dryly.

He chuckles. “Actually, I’m pretty sure I’ll find her, but the chances of me returning her shoe are pretty slim. I’ll just send her a check for the cost or something.”

“I’d keep that to yourself if I were you.”

“What would you want? The shoe or the check?”

“The shoe, and then I’d thank you and slam the door in your face.” I smile sweetly.

His chuckle grows to a laugh. “And you doubted I’d find Cinderella.”

I roll my eyes. “Please. My shoes are far too expensive to leave behind.”

“I know. I have to buy Izzy a pair every birthday,” he drawls.

The driver raps on the partition and Carter leans forward to open it. “We’re here, Mr. Hughes,” he says.

“Thank you. Wait, please.” Carter opens the door and gets out of the car. He holds the door as I slide across the seat, then reaches down and takes my purse.

My eyebrows shoot up as I look up at him and put my hand in his offered one. He steadies me as I get out of the car and step onto the curb. He shuts the door before releasing my hand and passing me back my purse.

“Thank you,” I say for a third time this trip, mildly surprised by his actions.

He smiles slowly, his green eyes reflecting a flash of amusement. “It’s simple manners, Bee.”

“Of course.” I straighten my skirt as he reaches for the studio door and holds that open, too.

He touches his fingers to my waist as I come to walk past him and dips his head. “Some of us are still gentlemen, you know.”

“Nice to know,” I whisper on an inhale.

Acts like a gentleman. Talks like a wet dream. Fucks like a pornstar.

I’m. So. Screwed.

***

We leave Kevin Peters’ studio happy, and Carter with a further two pieces commissioned, this time for his house. Apparently the man is somewhat of an art connoisseur.

Me? I just want something to eat. I’m starving.

“Are you headed back to the restaurant to make your calls or your office?” he asks me once we’re in the car and heading back into Manhattan.

“The office would be great. It gets noisy when they start ripping shit up.”

He nods and checks his watch. “We can stop for lunch if you’d like.”

“Oh… It’s okay. I’ll order something in when I get to my office.”

“Are you sure? I know a really great burger place.” His eyebrows arch, and the upward turn of his lips are convincing.

“I’m not really dressed for a burger place,” I answer. “Honestly, I’m fine. Thank you for offering, though.”

He sighs and sits back. “You’re one of those salad-only types, aren’t you?”

“Only if I can order pizza the next day.” I snort. “Trust me. I watch what I eat but I’m not obsessive. I enjoy a burger as much as the next person.” I won’t tell him I ate almost a whole sharing bag of tortilla chips right before we met.

“So get lunch.”

I sigh softly. “That isn’t a good idea, is it?”

“Why? We’ve been successfully alone for…” He looks at the time. “…Almost two hours.”

I purse my lips. “Which is against what we agreed.”

He rests his arm across the back of the seat and levels his gaze on me. “Bee, I’m not asking you on a date. I’m asking you if you’d like lunch. Fuck, argue about buying your own if it’ll make you feel better. We have a working relationship and I’d never do something that’ll make you uncomfortable.”

I could really, really go for a burger right now. “Okay, okay. Fine. But I am paying for my own.”

The smirk that accompanies his side-eyed glance as he sits forward to tell the driver where to go informs me that my argument is entirely futile, but hey.

It feels good just to make that point… Even if it was a waste of breath.

After several minutes of silence ranging from comfortably looking out of the window to awkward moments of eye contact and an almost knee-brush, we pull up outside a burger place. Once again, Carter helps me out of the car, purse and all, before shutting the door. He places a hand on my lower back and guides me into the building with a gentle push.

A shiver runs down my spine, one I can’t control. His fingers twitch where his touch is burning into my skin at my side. My heart does a quick double beat as the smell of burgers assaults my senses. I do my best to focus on the rich scent, but I can’t.

The sensation of his touch is just too consuming.

He keeps his hand on my back as I stutter my way through my order and make a last-ditch attempt to protest about him paying for my lunch. I only breathe easily when he lets me go to pull out his card and pay.

I take the chance to run and snag a table. I just… need to breathe. It’s like he’s touched me once and through his fingertips, he’s drawn out every bit of oxygen I need to survive.

These feelings are insane. So what if we had one night? So what if I know all the things he wants to do to me and in all the places? Christ—this isn’t okay. Why did I let him talk me into lunch?

What’s it going to be next? He’s going to talk his way into slipping his cock inside me?

I don’t care if he is being a gentleman. I don’t like him being a gentleman. I don’t think I can take one more brush of his hand across any part of me, even if it’s my fucking shoulder or ankle something.

Hell, don’t even touch my purse, man. I’d probably shudder at that shit, too.

I need to calm down. I need to breathe. Nine more days of this—surely I can do this by avoiding him? Call ahead before I go to the restaurant or just hope he has other things to do? That works, doesn’t it?

Questions, questions, questions. It’s always questions with him, isn’t it?

Maybe Charley was right. Maybe I’m a dumbass for not fucking him again when I had the chance, when he was offering it right there and then. Would I want him less if I did?

Should I try—

No. I shouldn’t. I should not try and proposition him.

“It’ll be around ten minutes,” Carter says, taking the seat next to me and putting my water in front of me. “Tell me about Donnelly Designs.”

I take the bottle and uncap it. “What about it?”

“How did you start it? You’re part owner, right?”

Slowly, I nod. “My mom owns the majority. She started it when I left college.” I run through everything, and when I’m done, our food is here.

“So your mom controls it all?”

“Kind of.” I dab the corner of my mouth with my napkin and peer up at him through my eyelashes. “Thanks for calling her that time, by the way. She’s still bitching at me about my supposed attitude.”

His eyes glitter with restrained laughter. “My apologies. I’ll make sure to follow up and tell her how talented you are.”

I stare at him flatly. “Gee, that doesn’t sound patronizing at all.”

He grins and takes a bite out of his burger.

I kind of want to hit him in the face with mine.

Thankfully, he doesn’t respond, and we finish our lunch in amicable silence. Well, I say amicable… His silence is amicable. Mine is definitely pissed off. I think I’m learning he has this effect on me.

Turns me on one minute, pisses me off the next.

We make our way outside where the car is still waiting, and I glance over it. There are an abundance of cabs, several of which look empty, and I weigh up my options—another few minutes with him in a car or get a cab?

It isn’t hard to choose.

“Thank you for lunch,” I say to him, tucking some of my hair behind my ear. “I need to get back to the office now, but I can check in with you later to update you.”

“I’d appreciate that. Can I take you there?”

I smile coyly. “Until you’re in the driver seat, you’re not really taking me anywhere, are you?”

One of his dark eyebrows quirks up. “Well, any time you want me to hop into it, I’ll be happy to take you wherever you want to go.” His voice is husky, and fuck the goosebumps that are appearing up and down my arms. Fuck them so hard.

I step off the curb and raise my arm. A cab turns toward me almost instantly, and I grab the door handle, wrenching it open. “Noted, Mr. Hughes.”

“Have a good afternoon, Ms. Donnelly.”

Oh I will, I think as I get in the back seat and direct the driver to our office building. Especially since he won’t be in it.

“Well, that was a bust.” Charley sighs and drops herself onto my snuggle armchair. Her purse falls to the floor, and she kicks her heels off.

I wince as they hit my wooden floor, heel first. “The date? Why?” I almost forgot that tonight was her second date with Carter’s friend… The bastard behind my initial meeting with the man.

She groans. “He thought we’d… You know.”

“Bump bulls?”

“Yes. That. I had to disappoint him because I don’t have sex on the second date.”

“You’re on your period, aren’t you?”

Another groan, but this one sounds so much more painful. “Yes! And it’s like a thousand rabid woodpeckers are trying to drill their way through the walls of my uterus!”

I get up, walk to the pill drawer, and grab a packet of period pain pills. I throw them at her head. “Here, bitchypants. Take two of those.”

“Thank you!” She sighs and pops two from the foil strip, then takes the glass of water I hand her. “Anyway, long story short, he was apparently only in it to get his snake in my turban and that’s the end of that.”

“I’m sorry. That sucks.”

“Oh, you sound real sorry.” She rolls her eyes.

“Hey, I tried!” I protest, sitting on the sofa and crossing my legs in front of me. “That counts for something, right?”

“S’pose,” she mutters, reaching inside the front of her dress and fiddling with her bra. She slides the straps down her arms, just avoids a nip-slip, and sets her bra in her lap.

Welcome to Best Friend Ville. Population: Crazy.

If I didn’t do the same thing to her, I’d be real pissed.

“I don’t know why you keep trying so hard. This is New York. There are thousands of guys that actually deserve your time. All you’re doing by going on these endless, useless, fucking shit dates is hurting yourself. Cinderella didn’t go to her fairytale, and neither did Sleeping Beauty or Snow White. Their fairytales came to them.”

“Meanwhile, Rapunzel whacked hers over the head with a frying pan,” she replies dryly.

“And I am so Rapunzel,” I answer. “But the point is Flynn Rider still came to her, did he not?”

“I guess.” She’s just grumbling now. “I already tried that though, remember?”

“Charley, you went two weeks without going on a date. That’s like waiting for the flowers in your window to bloom.” I roll my eyes. “Wait for them to die and come back. If it doesn’t work then, then go back searching. The only dates you’re finding are rotten and moldy.”

“Mmm. I’ll think about it. Anyway, how’s the issue at work?” She rolls her face to me. “You didn’t call yesterday so it can’t have been bad.”

I shrug and pick at a loose thread on my sock. “Yesterday was… odd, but okay. Today was the best. I didn’t see him even once. Didn’t even call or anything. It was like heaven.”

“You’re laying it on pretty thick.”

“Pretty thick is exactly how I feel.”

“You were alone with him yesterday, weren’t you?”

Best friends. Knowing what you don’t say since the dawn of time.

I tell her everything about the first day, from the trip to the artist’s studio to lunch to the two minute phone call as I updated him. I was super glad not to see him today because, honestly, I don’t know how much of him I can take. I think my Carter Hughes meter is getting pretty full.

I might need a vacation after this job is done. Or halfway. Whatever.

“Didn’t you guys agree not to be alone?” Charley questions.

“Yep.”

“And you broke it on the first morning.”

“Yep.”

“You know the chances of you finishing this job without kissing, sucking, or fucking him are incredibly small, don’t you?”

I sigh and cup my chin with my hands. “Yep. But I’m holding onto that little chance. Like when you rush to the store when there’s a sale on for those shoes you want but you know probably won’t be there in your size? They’re never in mine. So sex with Carter is my new coveted shoe that I absolutely won’t get.”

Charley pauses for a moment. “That actually makes perfect sense. Kudos.”

“Thank you.”

She swings her legs around the chair. “Now that’s out of the way—where’s the ice cream?”

***

Another day passes without seeing Carter.

I like it that way—always have, regardless of the client. Some can be overbearing and constantly question the way I do things. The worst one was a socialite whose husband had given her free reign with the whole house. It took months to complete, and in the end, I had to tell her husband very nicely that if he didn’t whisk her off somewhere nice on vacation for the final three weeks of the project, I’d be quitting and billing him for the mental health days I’d surely require.

Thankfully, he laughed, winked, and the next day, they were on their way to Bora Bora.

Nice work if you can get it.

The restaurant is now totally bare. It’s day three and the floors are up, the wallpaper is pretty much all stripped, and the bar has been demolished. There’s nothing but wood, wood, and more wood. Also a bit of brick here and there. Apparently there was some cracked plasterboard beneath the paper, so that’s getting fixed up first thing this morning.

I just want it to stop looking like a building site so I can get in here and go wild with the design. I keep mentally rearranging pictures and décor every time I walk into this room. I’m itching to get stuck in and tear open the boxes of things that are sitting in the storage room waiting for the rest of their friends to join them.

Like… God. I love designing, I do. But I love being in the room and seeing it finished—making it be finished.

I can see it now in this room… How to position the pictures for maximum light from the new fixtures being fitted this afternoon. How to arrange things for privacy between tables. How to lay out the centerpieces. The exact angles of tables…

Yet everything will change when all the furniture has been delivered and assembled. I know I’ll change everything until I’m right back at the original design, and that’s the fun of it. Also frustrating, but fun just sounds way more positive.

Satisfied with how everything is going, I tell Dave to call me if he needs anything and grab a cab outside the restaurant. I settle back into the seat on the way to the office and flick through my planner. Aside from a couple of phone calls and a home visit, the next week is dedicated solely to
Carter’s.
Unfortunately, I’m a bit of a useless shit in these first few days.

I’m no wallpaper master.

I put my planner back in my purse, pay the driver, and get out of the car. The clouds are gathering in the sky above me, blocking out the sunlight and sending a slight chill through the air. I shiver at the thought of rain and head into the building. My heels click against the floor of the lobby area and I throw one of the security guys a wave before pushing the button for the elevator.

The doors open with a ping, and I get in. I jab the button for Donnelly Designs’ floor and step back. The doors slowly close, and I wriggle my toes inside my shoes just as a hand slips between the doors and forces them to open.

I swallow my groan as my eyes meet the emerald green of Carter Hughes’.

I knew it was too good to be good.

“Ms. Donnelly. Fancy seeing you here,” he comments smoothly, joining me inside the elevator.

“Yes, it must be so shocking, especially given that I work in this very building,” I drawl.

He adjusts his sleeve at his wrist and shoots me a sideways glance, smirking. “So you do. How are things at the restaurant?”

“Looks like a toddler went into it with a bulldozer.”

“Just as expected then.”

I look over at him, my lips twitching. “Absolutely. Are you here for business?”

“Actually,” he says slowly, turning to face me fully. “I’m here to see you.”

Well, this is going to go one of two ways. “You are?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am.” Thankfully, the doors ping open. I push off the back wall of the elevator, only for Carter to beat me to it and slip out. He flattens a hand against the opened door edge to stop it from closing. “Thank you.”

I swear all I do is thank this man.

“You’re very welcome.” He smiles and follows me.

Carlos is sitting behind his reception desk, slumped forward and looking at what seems to be his Kindle.

I clear my throat.

He looks up, eyes wide. The Kindle quickly disappears. “Bee! You’re back sooner than I expected.”

“Obviously. Good book?” I query, walking up to the counter.

“Not bad. Could use a little less kissing and a bit more murder.” He shrugs.

I just about refrain from rolling my eyes. “Do I have any messages?”

“Mrs. Cortez cancelled again and requested you call her back. Your mother said to tell her—”

“I can imagine,” I cut him off. “Anything else?”

“Yes. She’s at Louis’ for the next two hours working on carpet and wallpaper samples.”

“Carpet and wallpaper samples, hmm?” I take the notecard from him with Mrs. Cortez’s phone number. “Did she say if they were his current ones or future ones?”

Carlos grins. “Nope. I’m going to bet on current ones.”

“I’d bet with you but it doesn’t count if we bet the same thing.” I turn to my office then spin back, almost bumping into Carter. “Hey, did my bookshelf arrive?”

I’d swear Carlos blushes. “It’s due for delivery tomorrow.”

I point the notecard at him. “And you’re sure it’s a bookshelf this time?”

“Your mom watched as I ordered it. Definitely a bookshelf.”

“Just messing with you. Thanks.” I smile and open the door to my office. “Come in, Mr. Hughes.”

He follows me in and shuts the door just as I drop the card with Mrs. Cortez’s number in my trashcan. “Not a fan of her?” he questions, pointing to the trash.

“She’s cancelled her last four appointments. I have her number memorized at this point.” I dump my purse on the floor by my chair and flatten my hands on the desk. “What can I help you with?”

He tugs on his tie, then with carefully calculated steps, closes the space between him and my desk. He rests his hands on the desk in front of mine, and for the first time, I’m thankful for the mess I have between us, otherwise I’m certain he’d make sure our fingertips touch.

He leans forward, his gaze zeroing in on mine in that compelling way he has. I’m trapped in the intensity of his stare, and there’s nothing I can do but stand here and hope that my eyes aren’t giving away the flip-flop feeling in my stomach.

Shit.

“I have to go to California for three days to look over some things with my restaurant opening there,” he says quietly. “I wanted you to be aware that Julia will be overlooking things here, and there’s a high chance my sister might just stop in to be nosey.”

Awesome. “And if there’s a problem?”

“Then you call me. Julia will check in with you twice a day, and as efficient as she is, I’d prefer to handle any issues myself.”

“And you called me a control freak.”

“You are a control freak.” He leans forward even further.

I can feel his breath just ghosting across my lips. “I’m not.”

“You are. It’s why you dislike me so much.”

“What the hell does me supposedly being a control freak have to do with liking you or not?”

“Because.” He reaches one hand up and runs his thumb down my jaw. The backs of his fingers brush across my neck, and I swallow hard, drawing a tiny, knowing smile from him. “You can’t control what your body does when I’m around you. When I touch you.”

His hand dips over my collarbone until his fingers are dangerously close to dipping against my cleavage. I straighten, shoving off of the desk. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. If that was all… I have an appointment soon.”

He doesn’t move. He stands there stonily, the only part of him moving his eyes. They drop to my chest and flick back up, hesitating on my mouth when I lick my lips.

He really needs to leave.
He’s undressing me with his eyes, for fuck’s sake. No—screw that.

The man is fucking me with his eyes, and he’s doing it damn well.

I take a deep breath and draw myself up to my full height. I’ll show him the door. I have to show him the door.

Screw this throbbing in my vagina. She’s the reason I’m in this situation. She can fuck herself later.

I stalk past Carter in the direction of the door. He’s quicker than me, though. His arm darts out and his fingers curl around my wrist, and he yanks me against his hard body. The air whooshes out of my lungs as our chests collide and he secures me against him with one strong arm.

“You’re doing it again,” he murmurs in my ear. “Responding to me. Like I can’t see it. I can. It’s written all over your pretty face.”

My blood, red hot, thunders through my body, and my cheeks flush. “You’re seeing things,” I whisper. “Please let me go.” I push against him, but he only holds me tighter.