“My table,” I snap again. I don’t know why I do, maybe it’s something in the way he said “our table” when it’s my table, in my club. It’s completely irrational, and it just makes me even more annoyed.
He sucks in his cheeks, trying not to let the corner of his lips turn into a full-fledged smirk.
Asshole. “Well, do you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what your phone looks like!”
“Clarissa?” He cocks an eyebrow, amused instead of annoyed at my behavior as he should me.
“What?”
“There’s no need to yell at me.”
I scoff and turn away from him, partly because I need to grab the lost and found box from my drawer, partly because the way his Baxter blue eyes are staring at me is making me forget my own name. “I wasn’t yelling. I just have a terrible headache.”
As I sit down at my desk, I look up to see the smirk instantly dissolve from his face and in its place, his teeth gritted in anger, eyes narrowed. Was it something I said?”
He walks over to the table, leaning over, eyes scanning over my face. “I’m taking you to the hospital, and I’m calling the police.”
Fear pushed every other emotion out of my body. “No.”
“Clarissa, he was going to-That little fuck was going to hurt you. He”-he glances at the side of my face-“already had.”
I shake my head, jumping to my feet. Necessity dictates that I try to fight the urge to steady myself by grabbing the edge of the desk. The last thing I need right now is to show Matthias even more weakness. Suddenly, it’s like the table isn’t between us, and he leans right across it, his eyes peering right through mine and into a soft spot in my brain.
“He hurt you. Don’t pretend that didn’t happen.”
“I have to!” I yell; the force makes me dizzy, and I fall back into the chair.
“Clarissa, be careful,” he warns.
“I said I’m fine.”
I bend at the waist to open the bottom drawer to reach for the box of forgotten phones, wallets, and keys. When I sit back up, he’s right there beside me, his hand reaching out, touching my shoulder.
“Ahhhh!!” I yell. “What the fuck? Why did you scare me!”
He scowls. “I thought you were falling.”
“I was grabbing your phone. Isn’t that what you came here for?” I slam the box of phones onto the table, and the top three phones fall onto the desk. Even without looking, I know his is there.
How?
I can smell it.
It smells like the person standing right next to me.
Strong, masculine, powerful. Sexy.
Fuck.
Patrick’s slap must’ve really dislodged something in my brain.
Matthias’s body emanates a warmth that’s unnerving. And I should push him away. Instead, I set one phone aside and then busy myself with locking the rest of the phones away in my desk.
When I look back up, he’s still there, chest heaving.
“What?” I snap. The way he unnerves me makes me rude.
He cocks an eyebrow. “I thought you said you didn’t know what my phone looked like?”
Seriously? “I didn’t. I just figured it was the top one in the pile.” I tilt my head. “I mean, I don’t think I remember anyone being so scatterbrained as to leave their phone here last night.” I pin my eyes on his. “Right?”
I expect a comeback.
A scathing, sarcastic, infuriatingly witty, comeback.
That I’m prepared for.
What I wasn’t prepared for was for him to kneel down next to me, his hand brushing my thigh as he brings it down onto his own knee. “I guess someone scattered my brain last night.” The air thickens between us and he dares me to look away.
He wasn’t suggesting it was me, was he?
He just said it to unnerve me. And it fucking worked.
And I almost fell for him. It. Almost fell for it.
“Mine.”
One single word as a response to Patrick that has changed everything I have ever felt about him. He still hasn’t mentioned it. And I hope he never does, because if he does, I’m not sure what I’m going to say. Between the declaration that we were engaged and the almost kiss, the faster there’s distance between me and Matthias, the better. I push to my feet and the desk chair clatters against the wall behind me.
“You got your phone. You can leave now.”
He stands up and takes a step back. It makes me long for the moments when he was pushed up against me. At least then I didn’t have to deal with the full force of his face.
I’ll give him this, the bastard was handsome.
Cheekbones that would make Adonis weep, a jaw that you could use as a square ruler. Eyes that make you feel like nothing other than you is worth gazing upon.
“Let’s go to the hospital to get you checked out.”
I shake my head. “I can’t, I have to get the club ready to open.”
“Get someone else to do it.”
I scoff. Typical. “Contrary to your misguided belief, I’m the one who has to be here. It’s my club.”
“But we need to get that checked out.” He points at my head. It’s only then that I notice the side of my temple burning. A cut. “What time do you finish work?” he insists.
“Four a. m.,” I lie.
“You got off work at two a. m. last night,” he says matter-of-factly.
Ugh. Then why did he ask? “Fine. Two.”
“I’ll be here before then. You’ll be okay until then?”
I throw him my biggest and brightest smile. “I’m perfect.”
He holds my gaze for a second longer and then turns toward the door.
His hand presses down on the door handle before I open my mouth to say one last thing that surprises even me.