His To Love Part 11

"For what?"

"Business trip," he said in a harsh tone, his frustration loud and clear.

"Want to tell me about it?" I asked. The heavy silence made me hesitate. "Or not," I quickly said, and ran my hand through my hair.

"Wish I could," he murmured, "but my cases are generally confidential. Do you know what I wish for more, though?"

"What?"

"That I was next to you, tasting you, and inside you. I haven't thought of anything else since I left your room this morning."

A delicious s.h.i.+ver rolled down my spine at his words...along with the mere thought of him doing what he suggested.

My thighs pressed together and I s.h.i.+fted in the bed.

"Wow," I said, breathing out the word.

His chuckle vibrated through the line. "Sounds like you want that."

I did. So much. I hummed my agreement-he'd left me speechless with just a thought. What would happen when he made good on that promise?

"How about I call you when I get back into town?"

"Sounds good," I murmured, still thinking of how good it felt the other night when we were together in a way that was delicious...just not enough.

"Sleep well, Blue," he whispered.

"Night, Tyson."

I hung up the phone and slid under the covers. Then I fell asleep with a dreamy smile on my face and the memories of a boy who I used to love, and the man he'd become.

Chapter 9.

The week slowly trudged by and I found myself falling into a mundane rhythm of waking up, getting dressed, heading to my parents' house where I spent the day in the kitchen with Clarissa, and distractedly searching for jobs but barely finding anything I could apply for.

Throughout, I knew I was distracting myself from sending texts to Tyson or reaching out to call him. I didn't. He had made it clear he was going out of town for work.

But unfortunately, I continued to be contacted by a man I was having a hard time ignoring. Flowers arrived at my hotel on Tuesday, courtesy of Malik. On Wednesday, he called to see if I would be his date to some sort of political fundraiser he was attending a week from Sat.u.r.day.

Seeing as how my father had already told me about it and my presence was expected, I simply told Malik that I planned to attend but would be accompanying my father since my mother was unable to this year. Malik either didn't catch on to my complete lack of interest in him, or he simply didn't care. Perhaps he figured my opinions didn't matter that much, and upon further reflection, that didn't bother me at all.

Every interaction with Malik made me want to tell him, my father, and my mother to shove their matchmaking down their throats. Instead, I chose to wait until I could see Malik in person. He deserved that respect, even though none was being given to me.

I was also simply missing Tyson.

"I spoke to DPA this morning, Gabriella."

My father's voice snapped me back to the present, where I was sitting in my family's kitchen helping Clarissa prepare the afternoon luncheon for two of his business a.s.sociates. I didn't know who was coming, but I was hoping it wasn't Malik.

I might not have been interested in him, but I also didn't want him to see me with flour in my unwashed hair.

"Detroit Premier Agency?" I asked, my eyes instantly widening. It was the crme de la crme of event planning agencies. It was a small company, run mostly by the owner, Simone Pillar, and had the most exclusive client list in Detroit. My mother used them frequently. Because of its notoriety, I hadn't even tried to apply for a job there. It was out of my league, and I was too inexperienced to do anything other than work in their mailroom. "Why?"

My father walked toward me. Disappointment flared in his narrowed eyes as he took in my messy face, hair, and casual, comfortable clothing.

He blinked, wiping away the disappointment. "Simone is hiring a new a.s.sistant, at least temporarily."

My jaw dropped. "And?"

He had the audacity to roll his eyes, as if my impatience annoyed him. My blood began to boil. "Because you're my daughter and for some inexplicable reason you seem to think you want some sort of career, I gave her your name. Working with Simone would give you the experience you want, and then you can stop this foolishness."

My teeth ground together so hard I feared my molars would crack. Shaking my head and looking away, I pulled in a deep breath. "I want a career because I want to work for a living."

I stopped. He would never understand, and any more time spent discussing what I actually wanted with him was wasted breath. "And I want to find something on my own, but thank you for mentioning it."

His eyes cut to mine and narrowed. "Our name opens doors. You should consider using it for your benefit every once in a while."

In Colorado, I had paperwork, illegal, I knew, that named me as Ella Cochran. At least Cochran wasn't made up; it's my mother's maiden name. It also allowed me to stay hidden, and for a brief moment when returning to Detroit, I'd wondered if I should use it when looking for jobs. The fact that I didn't want to be hidden anymore was one of the reasons that prevented me from doing so. My father's reminder was the other.

Next to me, I felt Clarissa s.h.i.+ft closer. Sensing her silent support boosted my confidence.

"I will earn whatever position I'm given...sir," I bit out at the last moment. I might have been confident, but I wasn't a complete idiot.

He slid a business card with a time scratched in black pen onto the countertop, all while his irritation remained clear in the tight lines around his lips. "Just see her. The job could be a gift to you or a favor to me, depending on how you look at it, but perhaps you'll earn the spot if you're good enough."

The backhanded compliment stung on my cheek like a well-aimed slap. He spun on his heels and left the room as quietly as he arrived, leaving me fuming.

"d.a.m.n him." I slapped my hands on the countertop. Flour from the pie crusts we'd been making wafted into the air, and I sneezed as it hit my nose.

"He cares, bella. He just doesn't know how to show it correctly."

Did he? I was beginning to wonder. As a teenager, I could write off his att.i.tude as a reaction to my teenage angst. But the more I was around him now, the more I was beginning to believe the man simply didn't have a soul.

"Not keeping me away from my family would have been a start, or I don't know...not shoving a man in front of me when I don't want him...or I don't know, not belittling my desire to have a simple freaking job." I huffed and then wiped a hand across my forehead.

He didn't care about me, only about what I could do for him when it suited him.

Reality was a bitter pill to swallow, and I felt tears sting my nose. All my life, I had tried to please him and make him proud of me. All my life I'd been groomed to be the kind of woman who would stand on the arm of a man like Malik and smile, all while hiding secrets of deals I never wanted to know about. Monday night I had seen a small glimpse into that world as an adult and it proved to me exactly what I'd known for years.

I wasn't like them.

I didn't want to be like them.

"I do not agree with him," Clarissa whispered, resting her hand on my shoulder. I reached up and covered her hand with mine, giving her a gentle squeeze. Her touch and quiet words calmed me slightly. "But do not forget that he, too, is under much stress right now. He cares, someday you will see."

I swallowed tears that wanted to form, refusing to show emotion.

"Are we done with the blueberry filling?" I asked, changing the subject.

Clarissa gave me that play, squeezing my shoulder once more before turning toward the stove. While we finished the pies, we discussed the weather, fas.h.i.+on, and the gardens out back that were blooming beautifully. I listened while she instructed me on how to make her homemade marinara sauce, only laughing when she still refused to share her "secret magic herbs" that were, no joke, in a spice jar with that exact label printed on it and nothing else.

We were just removing the finished pies from the oven and cleaning the kitchen tables when the doorbell rang, announcing that my father's a.s.sociates had arrived. I took a quick scan of my body and saw I was essentially ghostly pale thanks to my inability to stay clean while baking-or cooking-and cringed. I debated hiding from whomever may be arriving when I heard footsteps headed in our direction. Then they stopped.

"Gabriella?" the familiar, masculine voice asked.

I blushed ten shades of pink before I turned to face Malik.

"h.e.l.lo," I lifted my hand in a limp wave. If the flour could have swallowed me whole, I would have been thrilled. I watched as his eyes dipped and scanned my body. His lips twitched, fighting a smile, but it broke through when he met my timid and embarra.s.sed gaze.

"You're a wreck," he stated simply. It lacked the reproof my father's voice would have had, and I smiled despite myself.

"I'm not very good at staying clean." I blushed further at the innuendo.

Behind me, I heard Clarissa's soft chuckle, and I looked away from him. I could hear him approach, though, and I stiffened when his hand rested on my hip.

Perhaps I should have made a sign announcing my desire for personal s.p.a.ce. He clearly had no issue stepping over appropriate boundaries. "It's good to see you, Gabriella," he murmured and then brushed his lips against my cheekbone. "I've thought about you."

I swallowed thickly, unable to respond. Mostly because there was no polite response, none that would also be truthful, I could offer him.

Licking my lips, I turned toward him, forcing him to drop his hand from my hip. "I didn't expect you here today."

"It was a last minute decision. Something has come up that your father thinks I should be made aware of." He glanced at his watch and back to me. "I should get to his office, I just wanted to see you first. But I'll still see you next Sat.u.r.day, correct?"

"Mmhmm," I muttered when his hand reached out and brushed against mine on the counter. He didn't hold it, just ran his fingertips down the back of my hand before he stepped back.

The man was magnetic and attractive. He also knew how to turn a woman on, which was obvious by the pulsing I experienced in places I would rather have not in front of him. It couldn't be helped, though. Yet beyond that, I felt nothing for him but physical appreciation.

"Sat.u.r.day," he said, nodding in my direction as he approached the doorway.

"Sat.u.r.day," I repeated, and watched him disappear around the corner.

"Well, now that is a man who knows how to please a woman," Clarissa said, her voice full of mirth.

I couldn't deny her words, I simply didn't want to be the one he wanted to please. "I'm not interested. Not really."

"I know, my dear. But perhaps before you let him know that, you can get some of what he's good at first."

"Clarissa!" I cried, laughing at the same time. She was a scandalous old woman and I absolutely loved her for it.

"What?" She shrugged. "It is the twenty-first century. Women in my day couldn't say that, much less enjoy the thought of it, but if you want your freedom so badly...go for it."

I didn't entertain the thought longer, even though I couldn't stop laughing at the crazy woman. Shaking my head, I wiped my hands clean on a towel. "That would only send mixed signals and who knows, if I were to enjoy...as you might say," she flashed me a wink and I laughed again, "my father would pull out some archaic rule that says then we must marry, or something similar."

"True. The reward might not be bigger than the risk."

I flashed her a look and whispered, "But I bet it's big."

Her eyes widened at my joke, and then she smacked my hip with a towel. "Go on with you. Get out of here before I don't know what to do with you anymore besides lock you in your room."

I backed up, putting up my hands palms out. "I'm gone, I'm gone."

"And go have fun. You're young." She shouted the last words just as I walked out of the kitchen and headed toward the front door. I shook my head again, thankful that even with the interruption from my dad and Malik that I got to spend the day with Clarissa. I hadn't laughed so hard in a long time, and I couldn't deny that her parting shot was absolutely true. I was still young. I should be out having fun.

And there was only one person who I wanted to have fun with.

My lips twisted as I realized how pathetic that was. Then I pushed that thought to the back because, despite the fact that I really wanted to hear from Tyson, I still had the business card from my dad. While I might not have wanted to use my family connection to get a job, I'd be a fool for dismissing an opportunity like this one. So at least something good had come out of my trip home.

I was just pulling out of my parents' driveway onto the main road when my phone began ringing from its place in the cup holder.

Without looking, I grabbed it, unlocked it, and answered.

"h.e.l.lo?"

I pulled over to the shoulder and grinned as soon as Tyson replied with, "On a scale of one to ten, how p.i.s.sed are you that I haven't called yet?"

Zero. With that lead-in, I had no reason to be upset. I answered, "You can make it up to me by taking me to dinner tonight. That is, if you're back in town."

"I am." He sighed through the phone. "Do you know Latham Hills? I'll be working late, but I can meet you there. I've got a buddy who owns the Fireside Grill and I have been meaning to check it out."

Latham Hills, exactly where I had an appointment for later in the week to go see an apartment. I grinned into the phone. "Sounds perfect. What time?"

"Seven?"

I nodded and my grin widened. "Perfect. See you then, Blackbird."

He chuckled at my use of his nickname. I felt that chuckle slide through me and down to my thighs. "Later, Bluejay."

He disconnected. I tossed the phone back into my cup holder. And then I pulled back onto the road and drove to my hotel with a smile so wide on my face that my cheeks started hurting. But I didn't care.

I didn't stop smiling.

- On the northern edge of Detroit, Latham Hills was once-decades ago-where the wealthiest of the wealthy created their homes in ma.s.sive mansions and on abundances of acreage. When I was a child, my mother and father fought for months about moving to the Hills, as so many of her socialite friends had done, but my father refused to give up his ancestral home in Detroit. While I understood where he was coming from, I also understood the pull the area had on my mother. With its lush green lawns and room to roam, Latham Hills was probably the closest my mother ever thought she'd get to living back on a farm in Colorado.

The few main streets the area had were paved in cobblestone. Peace and a sense of safety radiated off the pedestrians as they strolled along tree-lined sidewalks. Couples held hands, smiling lightly and freely, and younger parents pushed their children in jogging strollers, making it seem like enjoying the outdoors was a way of life.

It felt so different in the city, just fifteen minutes away, where the area hadn't yet fully recovered from the recent economic collapse and so many people were still struggling. Young people were leaving in droves, and crime was on the rise. By the looks of what I saw in Latham Hills, they had made their way north to boutiques, local restaurants, coffee shops, and consignment stores, making the area more chic and trendy now.

I didn't see a single franchise while I drove through the small downtown area, looking for a parking spot. I had fallen in love before I even saw the red awning with The Fireside Grill printed plainly and boldly in black text, decorated with two small flames.

After parking, I scanned the area and took in the freshness and vitality of everything I saw. Inhaling deeply, I savored the freshest air I'd breathed since leaving Colorado. It seemed as if Latham Hills had a bubble around its borders that protected it from the harshness of the city.

The short walk back to Fireside Grill was wonderful; it was the best I'd felt in over a week.