Page 23 of Face Off With Fate

God, help me.

Why wasn’t she wearing more fabric? Summer in San Jose felt like a cool winter’s day compared to Dallas. She should be in a coat. No, a damn parka.

“Are you listening?” She snapped her fingers in my face, seeming to have appeared out of thin air in front of me. “Why aren’t you looking at me?”

“You know I can listen without facing you, right?” I growled. “I’d prefer that, actually.”

Easier to remind myself I needed to keep my guard up and my distance.

She dug her fingers into my jaw, tipping my face toward her. Citrus and something warm tempted me to lean forward and run my nose along her skin.

“Then what did I say?” Her glaring down at me had the unsettling effect of making my dick twitch. Fuck.

“You admitted you’re a pain in the ass,” I deadpanned.

My jeans rubbed against the upholstered cushion as I shifted, the scratching sound like a damn announcement of my attempt to hide my growing bulge.

She clucked her tongue, eyes rolling, but she let go of me. “Now he’s got jokes.” Graciella’s smile dimmed, the corners melting into a tight line.

Dread rooted in my chest as her eyes pulled away, studding the carpet. She wet her bottom lip, pulling it between her teeth, and my thumb itched to dislodge it.

“Try to keep it together when we present our proposal to Tommy.”

The bubble popped, and a scoff slipped out of my mouth, tasting as bitter as it sounded in the quiet waiting area. “Our proposal? As if I had a damned say in it. I don’t even know what you’re about to tell him, Graciella.”

Those pouty, glossy lips of hers opened and closed, not a damn peep coming out for a moment. “Look, Monroe.” The plea was empty. “Tommy thinks you wanted to work with me⁠—”

“Yeah, and why does he think that? Huh?” I locked eyes with her wide ones. “Could it be because you played me to get this gig? Forced yourself into my business with not as much as a second thought about what I wanted?”

For a split second, something like hurt flashed across her face, and my stomach knotted, torn between telling her the truth and the guilt that maybe I’d been too harsh.

“Okay, you’re right.”

I blinked. Well, I’ll be damned.

“Never thought I’d hear you admit you’re wrong.”

“Doesn’t happen often, so don’t get used to it.” She smirked, but the harsh overhead lights shone a practical spotlight on her thumbnail digging at the nail bed of her ring finger.

I opened my mouth, but Tommy’s receptionist poked her head around the corner.

“Mr. Monroe and Ms. Barerra, Mr. Schwartz will see you now.” Her eyes flicked between us from behind her red-rimmed glasses, and she flashed a smile, then disappeared back to her desk near the entrance.

“All right, showtime,” Graciella said, walking toward Tommy’s office door. Something about her retreat made my stomach knot. I followed, matching her step for step.

“What are you not telling me?” I spun her around so her back was against the door.

“What are you talking about?” She raised her chin, but the bob of her throat as she swallowed gave away her nervousness.

My hand landed near her head with a hollow thud. “What’s the plan you’re about to tell Tommy, Graciella?” I clamped my other hand around hers on the handle.

Anyone could walk by and see me caging her between the smooth surface and my body. Only a few inches separated our faces. Didn’t matter that she glared up—this was anything but professional. But it was as if my boots were cemented to the floor. Refusing to move away.

My thumb grazed the warm skin on her hand.

The movement was brief, but enough to make her suck in a breath. Her wide eyes traced down my chest and back up. It was fucking distracting, and a swirl of heat looped low.

“I’ve got a full plan all worked out, and you’ll hear about it in like two seconds.”