Walk of Shame
Page 26

I resist the urge to snatch the box back. My donuts. For me to share. For me to provoke Andrew with.
Instead they’re in Brody Nash’s hands, and his hands are . . . well, his fingers are a little stubby, now that I think about it. How did I miss that?
Knock it off, Georgie.
I step out onto the sidewalk, careful not to jerk back when he puts a supporting hand under my elbow. Instead I smile in thanks, and it feels brittle.
He doesn’t let go as he leads me inside, and even without looking at my phone, even before we’re all the way through the revolving doors, I know what time it is.
I know I’m late.
And then I’m inside the building and it’s confirmed. Andrew Mulroney is already there, elbows resting on the counter, looking uncharacteristically relaxed as he talks with Ramon.
Damn it.
My high heels click against the marble floor, he turns around, and for one heart-stopping moment, I swear there’s gladness on his face.
Only it vanishes altogether when he sees Brody.
Andrew slowly straightens, his eyes going cold and flat.
“Hey, man!” an oblivious Brody says as he pulls Andrew in for a one-sided man-hug thing, made extra awkward because of the donut box. “Adam, right?”
“Andrew.”
“Right! I’m Brody. We met at Georgie’s dinner party last week.”
Andrew’s eyes are ice cold when they flick to me. “Sure. Good to see you again.”
Desperate for something to do, I yank the donut box out of Brody’s grip and shove it awkwardly across the counter at Ramon. “Ramon! How are you?”
Yikes. Is that my voice? It sounds manically chipper, even for me.
Ramon gives me a startled, slightly concerned look, but he never loses his professional smile. “Ms. Watkins. Welcome home.”
“This is Brody,” I say. “He’s my friend.”
All three men give me a look at that, although I suspect none of them believes that Brody’s coming back to my apartment at five A.M. as a friend.
Andrew certainly doesn’t believe it; that’s clear from the stony expression.
I force myself to meet his eyes. “Red shoes, Dorothy!” I say, desperate to get back to our usual place of caustic banter.
He merely inclines his head backward, in the bare minimum of acknowledgment. He doesn’t have his travel mug today, and for some reason it bothers me. I mean, maybe he just wasn’t hungry, but I don’t like when he’s out of his routine.
No—I don’t like when we’re out of our routine.
But I’m also almost glad. It proves my point that he is not the right guy for me, that I shouldn’t have to fall all over myself just in order to get a man to be polite.
“See you tomorrow, Mr. Ramirez,” Andrew says. “Brody.”
Brody’s already opening the donut box, his stubby fingers reaching for the maple bacon donut I bought specifically for Ramon, but he lifts a hand in farewell.
Not that Andrew even sees. He’s already striding away without so much as a backward glance.
Let him go.
It’s excellent advice I give myself, except my body doesn’t listen. Without a word to Ramon or Brody, I dash after Andrew, pushing through the revolving doors into the chilly October morning.
“Andrew!”
He’s already several steps away from the building, but he halts when he hears me say his name. His body is tense, as though he’s willing himself to keep walking, but like me, maybe he’s not entirely in control of his body, because he turns around.
“What the hell?” I snap, striding toward him with as much purpose as I can in strappy Saint Laurent platforms. I’m grateful for the extra height when we come nearly toe-to-toe. It allows me to endure his scowl at least a little closer to eye level than usual, given our height difference.
“What?” he snaps back.
“What was that?” I ask, gesturing with my head toward the building. “You can’t even be civil?”
“We’re never civil,” he counters. His eyes are angry, and that pisses me off. He doesn’t get to be angry. I’ve been nothing but nice to him, and I’m sick to death of being treated like trash.
“I don’t need a hug, but I at least deserve to have my presence acknowledged,” I say, lifting my chin.
His gaze rakes over me, taking in the shorter-than-usual blue dress. “What, Brady’s slobbering attention isn’t enough for you? You need the entire male population to kiss the ground you flounce on, is that it? Because you can count me out.”
“Quit being an ass,” I hiss, placing a hand on his chest and shoving. He doesn’t so much as rock backward. “What is with you? I thought we were making progress on Friday. I thought we were on the verge of . . .”
His eyes narrow. “On the verge of what?”
“Of being friends!”
“I don’t need friends, Georgiana. Not friends like you.”
It’s so mean, so cruelly dismissive, that I lift my hand to slap him, even though I’ve never struck a soul in my life.
His fingers close on my wrist, his eyes furious. “Don’t even think about it.”
I try to yank my hand free, but he holds fast, his grip like a vise even as he bends slightly to set his briefcase on the ground. “What do you want from me, Georgiana? Why are you chasing me outside in the cold instead of taking him to your warm bed?”
“Excellent question. Let me go so I can do exactly that,” I say angrily, wiggling my wrist in a helpless attempt to get free and go back to Brody.
Instead he tightens his fingers, tugging me close. I stumble a little on my sky-high heels and his other arm comes around me, steadying me.
“I know,” he says, his voice quiet and menacing.
“You know what?” I challenge.
His eyes bore into mine, angry and . . . something else. “I know why you’re out here with me instead of inside with him,” he says quietly.
“You don’t know crap,” I say, lifting my hands and pushing against his shoulders. “Let me go so I can go be with a guy who actually likes me.”
“Not a fucking chance,” he growls.
His fingers spread wide on my back, pulling me all the way to him as he lowers his head. And Andrew Mulroney kisses me.
My eyes go wide with shock, but only for half a second, because then they’re fluttering closed as his lips nudge mine open, his tongue taking mine in hot, sweet possession.