Page 7 of Plenty Of…

“I didn’t get much sleep,” I admit, shrugging my shoulder. “You know this time of year is always a rush before we close.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not like I can tell him I woke up after dreaming about Forbes and after trying to fall asleep again, the only thing that helped was getting rid of the tingle in my jingle. I’m almost ashamed to admit I couldn’t sleep until I’d had two orgasms, courtesy of my vibe and thoughts of Forbes. I felt better afterwards, but a little dirty too.

“If that’s all it is,” he replies, brows still furrowed.

“It is,” I assure him. We stand, and he gathers his file for William Brighton, his newest acquisition, and another luxury brand that recently joined our impressive repertoire of clients.

“Very well,” he sighs. “And you’re still coming on Saturday?”

I want to roll my eyes at his persistence, but he hates it when I do that. He says someone my age shouldn’t be rolling her eyes at her boss, even if he is her father.

“I am, but I’m not coming with a date.” He opens his mouth but I lift my hand. “No, I don’t want to drive with you and Daphne. I’d rather not witness you making googly eyes at each other.”

He scoffs, but the rosey hue rising to his cheeks bellies his indifference. “I don’t make googly eyes, Avril. Do I look like a teenager?”

I snort. “No, but it’s really cute how you get all tongue-tied talking to Daphne.”

“Well,” he clears his throat. “I like her.”

I give him an honest smile. “I’m glad, Ralph. You deserve to be happy, and I like her too. Obviously I don’t want to bone her, but—”

“Avril!” Dad blushes a tomato-red, and I can’t help my giggle.

“Oh, come on, Dad. We’re both adults here, I’m positive you’re not a virgin, and I’m not either, so—”

“Okay, enough. Jesus.” He chuckles, his eyes alight with humor. He can take a good teasing, as can I, but I think he needs to lighten up. “You want to have lunch with me?’

My smile falters, just a bit. “I can’t, I have work to do before we close on Friday. But thanks.” I leave the conference room as calmly as possible, my phone burning a hole where I’m holding it in my palm.

It’s only once I’m behind my desk that I take a full breath, and look at my phone. Forbes hasn’t sent another text since I want to see youbut if I have lunch with my father, he’ll notice just how skittish I am. I’m not just tired, I’m on edge. And I’d be lying to myself if I said the urge to say yes isn’t there. I leave my phone in my desk drawer, and get back to work. I wasn’t kidding when I said it’s always a mad dash the week before the Christmas Gala, we try to wrap up what we can for existing and new clients, and I always work harder than our other account executives because my father demands it. And, okay, because the busier I am between now and the first week of January, the better. I only really take Christmas Day off, Dad and I usually have brunch at his house and invite my grandparents (his parents). It’s a small family affair, we exchange gifts, and then I’m home by four in the afternoon, back behind the iMac in my home office. Penny goes back to Pennsylvania for a few weeks to see her parents and I stay in the city. I don’t have a large circle of friends, and I’m okay with doing my own thing. It’s never bothered me before. The office is blissfully quiet a few hours later, even the cleaning staff have left. I texted my father earlier to let him now I’m pulling a late one, and he didn’t question it. I suspect he’s having dinner with Daphne, and I hope like hell he gets laid because he needs to chill. He’s been acting off since our conference call, a little broodier than usual, and even Penny asked me if I knew what was going on because he snapped at her. And he never snaps at anyone. Everyone here loves him, and employee morale is always high. Whatever. I expel a breath, I’m even more tired now than I was this morning, so whatever crawled up Ralph’s ass and died can be dealt with tomorrow. Though I do hope Daphne can help him with that problem so I won’t have to. I power off, snatch up my current client files, and throw my purse over my shoulder before locking my office door, and take the elevator to the ground floor. I don’t live far from the office, but I’m so tired, I hail a cab to drive me home rather than walk. I’m checking emails when the cab stops curbside outside my apartment building, and I’m too preoccupied with paying the driver to notice the man sitting on the front steps. I go to walk past him — he could be here for someone else — but hearing my name fall from his lips stops me in my tracks. Looking up, I feel the blood drain from my face. And then rushes back just as quickly because, “What the fuck?”

Anger like I’ve never felt surges from the tips of my toes, and gathers in my chest.

Forbes chuckles. “Not the greeting I was expecting, but I’ll take it.”

“What are you doing here? And how the hell did you find me?”

“I came to see you, since you wouldn’t agree to have dinner with me,” he replies, too calm for my liking. “And I have my ways.”

“Great, you can add stalker to that impressive resume of yours and then leave. You’ve seen me, now go.” My body is too small a container for everything I’m feeling, all the details I’m taking in. The last decade has been extremely good to Forbes, he’s hardly aged at all. His eyes are still that icy blue, the kind of color that doesn’t look real, his hair a rich chestnut brown cut short on the sides, and a little longer on top. He’s also still well-built, maybe bigger than ten years ago, and those muscles are accentuated by the jeans that hug his thighs, the black button-down shirt that clings to his chest. The collar of his coat is flipped up, and the whole look screams both money and arrogance. Unfortunately, I can attest that Forbes isn’t arrogant, he just looks it.

“Glad to see you still have that attitude.” He smirks, his gaze moving over me. “And you’ve certainly grown up.”

Now I do roll my eyes because my father isn’t here, and, “Obviously. I’m not eighteen anymore.” My hips are wider, I’m three inches taller than I was at eighteen, and my body is toned in a way it wasn’t a decade ago. I look good, I know I do, but it certainly isn’t so that Forbes can appreciate it. I walk past him, intent on ignoring him, but he just follows me inside like he has every right to do so. I growl, and swivel on my heels to face him, realizing my mistake a little too late. He’s right in my face, and in even in heels I have to tilt my head to look at him. His scent surrounds me in a flurry if pine, and oak, and sexually-charged pheromones, the combination so heady I sway on the spot.

“What do you want?” That was supposed to come out as a bark, not all breathless and shit. Damnit.

“To see you,” he shrugs. “I thought that was clear.”

“And now you’ve seen me,” I repeat. Maybe he’s become hard of hearing since I last saw him. He has to have a flaw. “You just can’t take no for an answer, can you?”

“No, but that should hardly come a surprise to you.”

“Yet you have no problem saying no when it fucking suits you.” I manage to snap that out, thank God.

The security guard behind the desk in the lobby clears his throat. “Is everything all right, Miss Bennett?”

I glance at him. “Yes, thank you, Scott. Mr Macallan—”

“Is a guest,” Forbes cuts in. “We’ll continue this conversation in private.”

I could cause a scene, maybe even stomp my foot like a child and lose my shit, but if I do, Scott will call my father, and I can’t risk him asking why Forbes is here to begin with. Obviously Dad knows he’s in town, if he has an invite to the gala on Saturday night, but I wouldn’t have a plausible excuse as to why Forbes is here here, as in my apartment building. Which leaves me with very few options.

“Fine,” I mutter to Forbes, exasperated, and to Scott I say, “He won’t be long, you can put the phone down. There’s no need to call my father.”

Before either of them can say another word, I walk to the elevator and hit the number for my floor. Forbes steps in beside me, and casually tucks his hands into his coat pockets.

“You have ten minutes,” I tell him. “Then I want you gone.”

He scoffs. “You always were a terrible liar, Avril.”