Big Rock

“I believe her exact words were, ‘It was never real.’”

“Those were her words. And generally speaking, I believe a man should pay keen attention to a woman’s words. But sometimes actions speak louder, and what did Charlotte’s actions tell you?”

An image of her yanking off her ring mocks me.

“That she doesn’t feel the same,” I say bluntly. No point mincing words. He saw the same thing.

Or maybe not. He tilts his head to the side, and raises an eyebrow. He shakes his head. “I saw a woman who put her heart on the line for you.”

I stare at him. His words don’t compute.

“I saw a woman who took the fall for you,” he continues, gesturing from him to me. “You and I both know that Charlotte didn’t ask you to be her fiancé. You asked her. She said yes to you. She wanted to help you. And today, she wanted to help you, too. It might not have worked the way she intended, but she was trying to save this deal because she cares about you. She was trying to help you stay out of trouble by throwing herself under the bus.”

Something comes alive inside me again.

Not an alien, or anything weird like that, but a racing heart, a spiking pulse, a thrilling possibility.

“Holy shit,” I say under my breath, cycling back through the day, the morning, last night. The sandwiches, the noodles, the whiskey. The broken rules, the jealousy, the pure, private moments of bliss and connection. Last night, and the way she said she was falling. How she looked when she was naked on top of me.

I grab the collar of my T-shirt and tug. Whoa. It’s hot in here. Not my brightest move to linger on a sex memory.

I shove it aside.

Most of all, I rewind to how she was always saving me from me. From the very start of this affair, right through to the end, she saved the day when I needed her most.

“I need to find her,” I say, patting my pockets. They’re empty. “Oh, shit. She has my phone. And my wallet. And my keys.”

“Good. Because we’re not moving that fast.”

“Why not? Shouldn’t I just go to her place and tell her how I feel or something?”

“Or something?” He arches a brow as he mimics me. “You might know a thing or two about how to land the ladies for a night. But I know how to win one woman for a lifetime,” he says, tapping his heart. “Your dad happens to be a hopeless romantic. So let the master give the apprentice some lessons in winning back a woman.”

I stand and hand over the reins. “I always did kick ass in school. Teach me your secrets.”

He surveys my attire. “First, we need to get you into some decent clothes.”

“I don’t have my wallet.”

He rolls his eyes. “I bought your first onesie. I think I can spring for a nice pair of slacks now.”

“Dad, that’s fine and all, but can you swear to never say that word again in relation to me?” I say, as we leave his office.

“Onesie, you mean?”

I nod.

He shrugs. “I’ll do my best to never discuss how adorable you looked in a little baby blue onesie.”

“Dad.”

“Right. You weren’t adorable in it. You were manly and rugged.”

Have I mentioned I have the coolest dad in the universe?





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT


I look sharp. I’m rocking a pair of charcoal gray pants, a navy blue button-down, and new shoes. And…wait for it…I’m freshly showered, too. Yup. Dad took me shopping and let me use the guest shower at his home. And damn, do I clean up well.

He wouldn’t let me call Charlotte though.

And yes, I do know her number. It’s one of maybe two I have committed to memory. Hers and the Chinese food delivery joint. Instead, he called her, and inquired politely if she was still available to see me tonight. Evidently, she said yes, so he told her I would be arriving at six.

As the town car I hired pulls up to her building, I feel a bit like a teenager arriving for prom. Except I don’t have a corsage, or teenage stamina. Grown past that one, thank you very much.

But the nerves are the same, and mine are sky-high. I step out of the car and head to the doorman. He buzzes her, and I wait, pacing in the entryway, checking my watch, counting the number of tiles on the floor. Three interminable minutes later, Charlotte crosses the lobby.

She wears a cranberry skirt and a black top. It’s the outfit I took her ring shopping in. The fact that she’s wearing it knocks the breath from my lungs. It feels like a sign. As she nears me, I take in every detail. Her hair hangs loose and beautiful down her shoulders. Her lips are red and glossy. Her legs are bare, and she wears black high heels. I’m not sure I’ve ever told her that those shoes are my favorite, and somehow it turns me on even more that the ones she likes wearing are the ones I like seeing her in.

I can’t believe it’s been only eight hours since I’ve seen her.

She stops in front of me. Narrows her eyes. Points. “I don’t know whether to kiss you or punch you. Because I’ve been sending text messages all day. To my purse,” she says, dropping her hand into her purse and hunting around.