The cool interior of the restaurant made her shiver, and as she caught sight of Mr. Ayers in the dining room, her gaze was immediately snatched by the man sitting across from him. There was a set to his broad shoulders she found strikingly familiar, and his black hair—hair as black as night and as soft under her fingers as silk, brushed against the pristine white color of his shirt, in direct contrast to the deep navy suit coat the stretched across the muscles of his back.
She knew that man. Her body recognized him. Her breath caught in her throat, making her choke on her own saliva.
David Brenner. Was there. With her boss.
Holy shit! You knew there was a possibility you would see him again! Especially since he’s besties with your boss! She did, but she’d refused to acknowledge it, because…well…she was a goddamn idiot.
Did Mr. Ayers know about that night at the Incantata? She nearly choked again—that thought was ludicrous; David—for all his high profile living—was actually a private man. After her night with him (which she hadn’t told anyone about, by the way) she did her due diligence, stalking him online. Certainly, there were pictures of him with a model or actress on his arm, but those sites rarely spoke of his relationships. Save one. Rinna Masterson. High-society bombshell, lover of all things sparkly, and David’s ex-fiancée. She was also the woman being raked across the coals for her attempt to take some of his billions for herself. The New York Times broke the news of his recent defamation suit, the one Mr. Ayers had taken on. The one David Brenner had been in the office that day, two weeks ago, to speak with Mr. Ayers about. The day when they’d collided by the elevators.
He stood up from the table and her shivers disappeared, replaced by a thrumming, stomach curling tension.
Just as he caught her gaze, she forced a coolness into her expression. Oh, yeah, she was about to lose her mind, but she refused to let him see that, to see how much he affected her.
She was aware that Mr. Ayers introduced them, and she remember putting her hand out for David to shake, but after that, all she could focus on was getting the hell out of there. Her cheeks were about ready to combust, and she knew her eyes would eventually give away the turmoil rising within her.
Confusion. Anxiety. Lust. Regret. She was running the emotional gamut, which wasn’t helping the ickiness she was still feeling.
David’s gaze never left her, though he did spend a few moments running said gaze over her body. Heat followed him, small fires immolating her skin where he’d inspected her. Was he wondering why he’d ever found her attractive enough to have sex with?
Well, she was wondering the same damn thing.
Struck by the pitifulness of her own thoughts, she finished what she’d gone there to do and made a hasty retreat. It had nothing to do with David being there, or him being there with her boss and the possible implications of job loss, and everything to do with the appointment she didn’t want to be late to.
Sliding back into the taxi, she directed the driver to Dr. Mellon’s office, which was in a steel and glass building boasting a comfortable lobby, two elevator bays, and a reception desk manned by a woman with a top knot so tight, Diana wondered if she could even blink.
Rushing inside, she checked in and took a seat. She still had fifteen minutes before her scheduled appointment, and that was fifteen minutes of empty time during which she could think about David Brenner.
She was a fool to believe she’d never see him again. That after their encounter they would go their separate ways, their worlds never crossing again. What a dumbass thing to think. The man was a client of her boss, and not just a client. He was also old college friends with Richard Ayers, which meant that chances of her running into David in the office or at Ayers’s functions were higher than she’d first anticipated.
Why didn’t you think any of this through? Because she’d been drunk on vodka and desire, that’s why.
Groaning, she leaned her head back against the surprisingly comfortable waiting room chair, closing her eyes. Immediately, she pictured David as he’d been at La Petite. He’d recognized her, she could tell that much from the flash in his eyes, but that was as far as it went. He was polite, going along with Mr. Ayers’s introductions, but that was where it ended.
But…what about that other flash in his eyes? The one that, for the briefest moment, blazed with heat? A heat answered by the one in her belly, fanning out into her limbs. She’d forced back a full body tremble, but she knew he could see her hands shaking.
Forty minutes later: “Diana Bluth,” the physician’s assistant called from the white door leading back into the exam rooms.
Startled, Diana shot to her feet, annoyed that she’d allowed herself to fall into the trap of thoughts of David, and nodded to the brightly smiling woman with deep red hair.
“This way, Miss Bluth,” she said, turning to indicate Diana walk through the door first. “Second door on the left, please.”
Diana went as she was bid, and undressed as she was told do to. Then she was weighed, asked a shitload of personal medical history questions, and then left on the cold, crinkly-papered exam table to wait for the doctor.
About forty-five minutes later (hopefully, Mr. Ayers would be lenient on the long break from work), she was dressed and headed back through the lobby. The cotton ball and medical tape on her arm was itchy; they’d
