Page 14 of Princessa
Chapter 11
She ghosted me.
It made no difference how many times I tried to get her to go out on another dinner date, join me for coffee, tea, or drinks; each time I was dished every lame excuse in the book.
Meetings. Appointments. Bullshit.
And to deepen my wound of rejection, those pitiful excuses were served up ice cold by her assistant. Arabella didn’t have the guts to turn me down herself.
What the fuck went wrong?
During our dinner date three nights ago, we’d hit it off, connected so flippin’ well—or so it seemed. Why would she elatedly agree to spend more time with me one day and then the next day, dodge me like I’m some sort of oxygen-depriving kryptonite?
With the need to know what the hell went wrong, I refused to allow bygones be bygones. Being rebuffed wasn’t sitting well with me, mainly because when it came to Arabella, myshe-definitely-likes-meradar showed signs of being fully intact.
So, I set out to her office, parked my blue-jean-clad ass in the waiting-room chair, leaned back, and kept my eyes peeled for the Too Busy For A Prince Royale to return from her supposed meeting at the local perfumery.
“Are you certain you don’t want to leave Ms. Royale a message?” Emma sat behind her desk, gnawing on her lower lip which to me proved she was anxious, totally hiding shit from me. “I’m, uh, not sure when she’ll be back.”
Yeah, right.
My fingertips rapped the arm of the chair,tap, tap, tap. “No, thanks. I’ll wait.”
Emma offered nothing but a nervous simper in return, then picked up a cell phone from off her desk, thumbing away at the screen, presumedly texting or emailing her dodgy little boss.
After an hour flashed by, I began to lose hope in Arabella showing up, convinced Emma had tipped her off. That was until I heard the sultry timber of a sweet-talking Southern belle off in the distance.
“Thanks so much for giving me a tour of the perfumery, Henri. I look forward to partnering with you on my new perfume.”
Okay, so maybe the appointment at the perfumery wasn’t a made-up ploy to keep me at bay. Still, that didn’t explain her elude-ish behavior.
“And feel free to reach out when you’d like to schedule the fragrance launch party to be held here, at the resort.”
That sexy voice of hers drew closer, and damn it if my cock didn’t pick a worse time to react.
Calm the hell down, Spike.
Yep, I named my dick Spike since he could sometimes be one horny-ass dog.
Anyway, my body stilled; the anticipation of her turning the corner and stepping into the office lobby made me tense, unsure of even how I should fucking sit.
Legs crossed, upright, fully engaged?
Hand on chin, leaning back, ultra-cool?
Head down, engrossed in my phone like I don’t give one-thousand shits?
Neither scenario seemed to work. Instead, I opted to stand, arms folded over my chest, which was puffed out, you know, for effect.
And that’s when Arabella pranced in, not a care in the world, up till the moment her wide-eyed gaze was locked and fully loaded on mine.
“G-Grayson,” she stammered, buoyant stride at a standstill. I could literally see the lump of shock travel down the column of her throat as she swallowed.
“Arabella,” I acknowledged, chin in the air. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
For a few seconds the two of us stood, each shelling out a lengthy once-over, as though we were taking in our presence. Fuck, she looked hot and tempting as ever in a simple pair of black, curve-enhancing pants, a sleeveless satin blouse, sky-high heels, her gorgeous hair pulled back into a ponytail.
“Please, hold my calls,” she told her assistant with a head gesture for me to follow. She brushed past me toward a door that I assumed led to her office, then shut it once we were both inside. My eyes followed Arabella as she sauntered across the room, before she spun around and leaned against the edge of her large mahogany desk. “What would you like to talk about?”
