I file the morning’s incident under Shit I need to deal with but am too chicken shit/busy/stubborn to do so, and turn my attention back to my cell. It remains silent aside from Tamara’s constant updates on the event my firm is hosting for a premium tequila launch tonight. I let her take the lead on this one, forcing myself to resist the need to micromanage and give her enough space and opportunity to flourish on her own. She has it in her—we both just need to trust it. However, I insisted on updates on everything from the catering to room layout to the swag bags for guests. My name was still stamped on this party, and I would demand no less than perfection.
I’m punching in a reply to Tamara’s inquiry on the guest list when a deep, sinuous voice stops me dead in my tracks, leaving my finger hovering over the Send key.
“You know, you really should hire reliable help. Anyone could just walk in here.”
I look up to find Ransom filling the space of my office entrance, leaning against the doorjamb with the grace and swagger of a man who knows and loves every inch of his body. I don’t doubt that he does. I’ve only had the pleasure of seeing a glimpse of it, and I still can’t erase that image from my mind. Who would want to?
“Anyone like you?” I quip, schooling my features into a cool expression. I don’t smile. I won’t let my happiness be manipulated by this man.
He’s unruffled by my cold demeanor and enters the room without invitation or apology. The best way to describe it is saunter. Ransom saunters into the room, but there’s nothing flamboyant about him. It’s as if he’s completely unbound by bones or skin, the way he moves as fluid as the silk of his voice. He stops in front of my desk and regards me with a devious smirk before folding himself into the chair across from me. He doesn’t play by the rules. He just creates the game. At some point, I need to stop being such a willing participant. I need to quit playing myself.
Neither of us speaks for a hot minute. We just stare each other down as if we’re seeing one another for the very first time. Or for the last time. Before I can find good sense enough to clear my throat and question him on his presence, he speaks up.
“Exactly like me.”
I blink half a dozen times, causing the hardened ink on my lashes to gently bite my eyelids. “Excuse me?”
“Anyone like me could just walk in here. And you don’t need that. You don’t want that.”
What the hell do you know about what I want? I silently ask him. He smiles as if he’s stolen the question from my lips.
“You’re right,” I say, not meaning a word of it. It still doesn’t dissuade his grin. “What can I do for you, Ransom?”
Relaxing, he folds a leg over the other so that his knee juts out to the side. His fingers rest atop his knee and begin to tap rhythmically. “Your POA proposal.”
“What about it?” I set my phone down and give him my undivided attention. Business. This is about business. I can do that.
“We’re doing SNL tomorrow night.”
“I’m aware of that.” Obviously, that had been in the works for weeks, at the hands of his agent.
“I want you there.”
I pause, snapping my lips shut on my initial response. Why does he want me there? Why would he need me there? The band is performing—that’s it. And from what I’ve seen, they make a cameo in a short skit alongside featured host, Rebel Wilson. Essentially, a publicist wouldn’t be needed.
“I’d feel better if you were there,” he shrugs, reading the questions escaping my expression.
“Why?” Why me? Why now?
I don’t say it, but I know he can see it. I know he can see me.
“Why not?” Because I want you.
Suffocating silence lies between us when my cell rings, and I scramble to answer, assuming it’s Tamara. I don’t even think I replied to her text earlier.
“Bunny, I’ve only got a quick minute.” I can hear the urgency in Tucker’s voice, and it instantly sobers me.
“What is it, Tuck?” Instinctively, my eyes drift over to Ransom and I cringe. I don’t know why I do it; I don’t know why there’s the distinct knot of guilt caught in my throat, but there is.
“I’ve got to work late tonight. Something’s come up.” Translation: One of my patients is in the midst of a crisis, and they need me more than you do. “I know you have that thing tonight. Will it be all right if I pass?”
Without rhyme or reason, my gaze goes to Ransom, who lifts a curious brow in response. “Sure, honey. Not a problem.”
“I’m sorry. I can try to make it later. It’s just . . .”
“It’s fine, Tuck. I’ll be fine. I’ll make an appearance and head home. No need to come, I promise. Go on . . . go be amazing.” There’s a smile in my voice, but it doesn’t touch my face.
“Ok, babe.” There’s a rustle on the other end as if he’s on the move. “You know I love you, Heidi.”
I suck in a breath, drawing in those sweet, tender words and letting them fill the space he left empty early this morning. The space that’s remained empty since he pressed me face-first into the wall almost a week ago.
“I know,” I respond on an exhale. “I love you too.”
When I look up, Ransom is regarding me with unmasked wonder.
“What?” I ask, almost annoyed with his candor.
“What can’t he make?”
The papers on my desk serve as the perfect distraction, and I focus on shuffling them into neat piles. “My firm is handling the launch party for Lujo Tequila. I have to actually head over there soon to ensure everything is set for tonight before getting ready.”
“Really?” I can’t tell if his interest is feigned or genuine, but he suddenly sits up straighter. “What time does it start?”
“Eight P.M. Why?”
Ransom climbs to his feet just as lithely as he sat, and I am hurled back into the memory of his body sliding out and off of mine. I shiver, the need to feel that heat again fresh on my mind.
“Because I’ll be in front of your place at seven thirty.”
“What? Ransom, no. I don’t need you to do that.” I’m already moving around my desk to stop him from leaving with that crazy notion on his brain. He turns just as he hits the doorframe.
“I know. But I’m doing it anyway. So be ready.”
He doesn’t explain himself. He doesn’t give me a chance to refute his offer—no—his demands. He just turns around and walks away, taking my good sense with him.
I finish the afternoon in a robotic, yet efficient, haze, which isn’t far off from the norm for me. When I stop by the venue to ensure all is set for tonight, only Tamara notices that I’m less than present. But even she’s too preoccupied to give a damn.
By the time I head across town to our condo, I’m seized with nerves. I don’t know why. I could easily text Ransom right now and tell him to forget it, that his presence isn’t welcome. That it is highly inappropriate for us to carry on so casually. But as I step through the threshold of the front door to see that Tucker isn’t home, I release a sigh of shame-laden relief.
I dress in a simple black dress with a modest neckline and a back dip so low that my entire spine is on display. It’s the mullet of dresses—business in the front, and all party in the back. I can get away with it at a function like this, but just barely. Still, I clip my ice blonde hair up to show off the dramatic plunge. If there’s one advantage of having fun-size breasts, it’s definitely being able to rock a daring outfit sans bra.
I’m anxious as I make my way downstairs. Part of me hopes he was just bluffing. A much larger, more physical part of me hopes that the black limo at the curb in front of my building contains one Ransom Reed.