Minka looks at me as if I’ve just agreed to a one-way trip to hell, which may not be very far from the truth. “What are you doing?” she whispers.
“I have to do this,” I say, willing her to feel the intensity of my need. “I walked out of there too quickly. This is my chance to put him in his place. I know he’s not Edward, but he might as well be. I… I think it will make me feel better.”
She eyes me with obvious skepticism. “Are you sure, girl? ’Cause I don’t mind going down there and giving him a piece of my mind for you.”
I nod. “Positive. I need to do this myself.”
She sighs heavily. “All right. But I’m an elevator ride away if you need me. Just text and these hands,” she says, pushing up the sleeves of her hoodie, “are at your disposal.”
“I love you,” I say, planting a kiss on her smooth cheek before I head outside into the brightly lit, carpeted corridor.
As I take the steel-walled elevator down to the ground floor, my mind scrambles for the words I’ll say when I get down there. But the butterflies in my belly make it difficult to concentrate. Why does this man make me feel like a teenage girl with a crush? I never felt this out of control around Edward. In fact, quite the opposite.
The only time I lost control was when I walked out on him during the most important service of his life. And I would argue that I was fully aware of what I was doing.
Now, I have no clue. I’m stepping out onto a tight-rope without a net.
The elevator doors slide open, and I step out into the lobby. I spot him immediately, sitting on a modern gray sofa by the faux fireplace across from the reception desk. He stands as he sees me.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say the expression on his face looks like genuine remorse. But I’m not falling for that.
I point at the apartment entrance leading outside and he follows, reaching the door first so he can open it for me.
“Your chivalry is wasted,” I say, trying not to breathe the intoxicating scent of his skin.
He’s wearing a gray Arsenal Football Club T-shirt with faded jeans, and I distinctly remember Edward being a Chelsea fan. Maybe Edward and Ethan aren’t as similar as I thought?
Yeah, right.
“Chivalry is never wasted,” Ethan says as I turn around to face him. “Especially not on someone such as yourself.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t want your chivalry,” I say, trying not to think of the parts of him I do want. “I believe you came here to apologize. Go ahead. Your two minutes are running out.”
He flashes me a tight smile, then that expression of remorse is back. “I behaved badly today.” He ignores the way I huff in response to this admission. “I know there’s no excuse for the way I embarrassed—”
“Humiliated!” I shout. “You humiliated me in front of a bunch of people who probably already thought I’d lost the plot. And if they hadn’t, they certainly do now.”
He’s silent for a moment, then he takes a deep breath. “You’re absolutely right. I should not have spoken to you like that in front of your coworkers. I was—and I know this is no excuse—but I was a bit shellshocked by the implication you weren’t interested enough to do your research on me. Interested enough in the position, I mean.”
He appears genuinely pained by this admission. He obviously hasn’t spoken with Edward about this or he would probably know the real reason why I didn’t google him. Maybe Edward and Ethan aren’t that close.
“You’re here to tell me I hurt your precious ego, so you took it out on me?” I say, nowhere near ready to let him off for his appalling behavior.
He looks very uncomfortable now. “Look, I know it’s a bad look, but I promise I’m not usually like that. I just—” He cuts himself off and glances around uneasily before he continues. “I promise I’m not saying this to justify my behavior, but if you’d looked me up properly, you’d know I pride myself on being even-tempered and equitable with all my employees. I don’t even feel comfortable calling them employees when they’re really my equals… Like you.”
I recall the words I spoke to Minka earlier about how I was so busy trying to prove I was Edward’s equal.
Ethan holds up a finger to stop me as I open my mouth to speak. “Hold that thought. I brought you something.” He hurries off in the direction of a black Lexus parked on the street, grabbing a white plastic bag out of the front seat and hurrying back to me. “Can you hold this?” he asks, holding the bag open by its handles.
I grab the handles, and he proceeds to pull out a white, cardboard box containing something that smells divine. “What is this?”
He opens the box and winces as he seems to remember something. “Bollocks. I forgot the silverware,” he says, looking back and forth between my face and the white box a couple times before he finally shrugs. “I suppose that’s what fingers are for.”
As he digs his hand inside the box, I can’t help but think of all the other things his fingers might be good for.
His hand emerges from the box and, pinched between his thumb and forefinger, is a piece of chicken covered in a green sauce. “Taste this.”
It’s not a question, but it’s also not a demand, and somehow this makes me more receptive. With a sigh, I open my mouth slowly, watching him as his gaze is fixated on my lips, a longing in his eyes I recognize very well. It’s the same expression I saw on Edward’s face the day we met at Javits Center.
Ethan places the morsel of food on my tongue and I have to resist the urge to close my lips
