Now, Please (3 page)

“I’ll have to plan on taking more time with you—you’ve ruined my schedule for this evening,” he said quietly.

“I wouldn’t say ruined. A man with no life will probably hang around the office for a while longer.”

“It sounded much more dramatic the way I said it.” He kissed my temple. “I have to kick you out now, though.”

“Okay.” I lifted my face slowly and gave him a lingering kiss on the cheek. “But it was good while it lasted.”

His brow was furrowed again as we got up and dressed. I could see him trying to shut down. Trying to turn off, as he was used to doing. Instead, he kept glancing at me, something working into his expression I couldn’t read. Something like uncertainty. Or was it wariness? I needed the Hunter Carlisle cheat sheet to understand the man.

He finished dressing, giving me one last glance with that same furrowed brow before turning away. He walked to his computer without another word. Without a kiss or a hug or even a handshake. He was done, and I was dismissed.

I breathed through the uncomfortable hurt that I could not control. I knew this would come. This was his deal. He’d done it before.

Why did it suck so bad every time?

Taking a deep breath to clear that ache lodged in my middle, I finished dressing and turned to leave, trying to ignore the hollowness I felt.

“Olivia,” Hunter said, his business voice, cold and calculating, dominating his tone.

I turned with raised eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

He paused for a moment, with that same look working back into his eyes. “Stay online, if you would, or keep your phone close. I may need something before we leave.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, forcing an easy-breezy tone.

As I left, I didn’t hear any clicks of his mouse or ticks of the keyboard. I glanced back as I reached the door. His head was mid-turn. He’d been watching me walk from the room.

O
n Wednesday
, the doorbell to my apartment rang as I was shoving clothes into my suitcase. I ran from my bedroom and slammed my index finger into the intercom button. “Hello?”

“Hey, Livy. It’s Bert. You ready to go?”

“Damn it!” I said under my breath. Into the intercom I said, “Yeah. Be right there.”

“I’ll come up and help.”

Of course he would. And then berate me for not being ready. Dang him for being so nice!

I pushed the button to open the outer door and left the apartment door open a crack before running back to my packing.

Yes, I should’ve been ready to go. And yes, I’d had yesterday off to do it. But I didn’t want to let Hunter down. I wanted to land this business guy, and to do that, I had to know something about him. So yesterday, when I should’ve been getting ready, I was doing the equivalent of cramming for a test.

Well…that and daydreaming about Hunter. The man kept popping into my head whenever I had a second of idle time. Or when I was in the middle of something. Or…really, all the time. I couldn’t get the guy out of my head. It was as pleasant as it was distracting.

I raced to my dresser and yanked open the top drawer. I grabbed undergarments willy-nilly. The silky nighties got balled with the cotton briefs and all got tossed into the suitcase.

“Livy?” Bert called from the entrance of my apartment.

“Yeah. Just…finishing up.” I grabbed an old shirt to sleep in if I’d be alone and then silkier crap in case I was sleeping with Hunter. I really had no idea what to expect.

“Livy!” Bert stood in my doorway. “You’re just packing
now
?”

“Just a few things I forgot.” I snatched a few pairs of shoes and then stuffed them into the suitcase. I straightened up, my mind whirling. Undies, shirts, jeans, slacks, dresses…
socks!

It had been a while since I wore runners—I needed socks. Fancy heels with jeans and a hoodie was not what I was going for.

“What were you doing yesterday?”

“I was working. I work too much, I know. Quit nagging!”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

Bert stepped forward as soon as the bag was zipped. “You’re starting to sound like my wife.”

“Well, now you know it’s justified.” I panted with fatigue.

Bert stepped out of the way so I could slide past him. “Crap!” I jogged into the bathroom and grabbed my toiletry bag.

“Makeup?” Bert asked.

“I got that. I have everything to look nice. I just forgot what I wear when I want to look dingy.”

“Normal, Livy. When you want to look normal. I wish
I
could wear my jeans.”

I smiled, leading Bert down to the street. “Hunter is leaving town. You’ll get a couple days off.”

“That’ll be nice.”

A traffic-clogged drive later, we met Hunter in front of his private jet. Large black letters spelling
Carlisle
were written on the side. He waited in fashionable jeans and a crisp white shirt that molded deliciously to his outstanding body. His hair was a messy sort of stylish, and a well-manicured five o’clock shadow adorned his handsome face.

I smirked when I walked up to him. “If you were trying to dress like a working man, you’ve failed miserably.”

He looked down at his clothes. “Why? I’m wearing jeans, just like you.”

“You are
owning
your extremely fashionable and ultra-clean jeans, not wearing them. You make those jeans actually
look
expensive, Hunter. That’s talent.”

A crease worked between his brows. He gestured toward the stairs leading up to the door of the jet. His stellar watch, which must have cost at least $15,000, sparkled in the light.

“The watch with the diamonds on the face was a nice touch, too.” I laughed. “Nothing says
working man
like a fancy watch.”

He didn’t reply as he followed me up.

The trip to Nevada was short and quiet. Hunter had his head bowed over his computer, as did I. I did not want to blow this trip for him, and he didn’t want to ruin this opportunity.

By the time we had finally reached our destination, a sprawling business complex about an hour outside of Las Vegas, we hadn’t said more than a few words to each other. If I hadn’t been so nervous about my role during this summit, that probably would’ve bothered me.

“Yes, Mr. Carlisle, thank you for joining us!” A man in his fifties smiled at Hunter from behind the check-in desk. Three large arrays of flowers shooting out of decorative vases dotted the countertop. Behind us in a greeting area, the size rivaling any Las Vegas hotel, sat a plethora of couches and chairs, and a couple of stations offering computer access. A TV spoke softly in the distant corner and a waft of soft music drifted from speakers in the ceiling.

“Okay…” The man laid out a piece of paper and immediately busied himself with plastic room keys. “Two rooms, is that correct?”

“Yes.” Hunter signed the forms and pushed them back across the counter before shifting his briefcase to his other hand. He stared at the man, his eyes hard.

That was his patient mask. No wonder people thought he was angry all the time.

“All righty, here we go.” The man laid two sets of keys on the counter in their little sleeves, open to the room number. “Second floor, rooms three-oh-five and three-fifteen.”

Hunter pushed the keys back toward the man. “No. The rooms need to be next to each other, adjoining if possible.”

“I am so sorry, sir—I see that in the notes here. Just a moment.” The man took to his computer with a knot in his brow. In just a moment, he nodded and clicked the mouse. “No problem. We’ll have to move you to rooms at the rear of the compound, but that can be arranged easily.”

“The rear of the compound?” Hunter asked.

The man looked up with a smile. “Yes, sir. Just to the back. You are a little further away from the heart of the hotel, but the rooms are bigger. Golf carts are at your disposal if you want to see the grounds.”

“Oooh, yay!” I blurted.

Hunter looked at me, confusion clouding his gaze. A moment later, his face cleared and the hint of a smile worked at his lips. He turned back to the desk. “Fine.”

I let my attention wander as someone came through the front door. I recognized the tall, handsome older man immediately, walking in like he owned the hotel and the world it was built on. Rodge Carlisle, Hunter’s father.

“Have a good stay!” The man at the counter beamed.

“Hunter,” I said quietly.

He looked at me before following my gaze. His body stiffened and his eyes took on a hard edge. He turned back to me. “Let’s go.”

Rodge saw me then, and gave that charming smile that opened doors and fooled the unbelievers. His eyes twinkled. He winked at me.

I gave him a scowl before turning away. I didn’t really have a reason to hate him—making a pass at me didn’t make most people a mortal enemy—but my allegiance was to Hunter, and if Hunter hated the man, then I was on board. Brenda didn’t like him either. Done and done. My you-suck face was in full effect!

I followed Hunter through the large foyer and into a hallway, trusting he knew where we were going. We left the building through a glass door and slowed as we reached the heart of a large garden, turning a harried pace into a stroll. The smell of flowers and foliage greeted me. The weak late-fall sun sprinkled down, but it was not enough to erase the desert chill.

“No pool for me—too cold.” I shivered and crossed my arms. I should’ve brought a thicker sweater.

Hunter glanced over as we ambled along a winding path. “Wrong time of year.”

“Yes, it would seem,” I said in a dry voice.

“Hot tub.”

“Then your father would probably hop in wearing purple Speedos or something. No thanks.”

I meant it as a joke, but Hunter’s shoulders tightened at the mere mention of his dad. He slowed to a stop, eyes rooted to a cactus. “Olivia, I think you should know that I’m not exactly rational where it comes to my father. Some scars run too deeply. So if…” His jaw clenched. He slipped one of his hands into his pants pocket. “If you flirt with him, or spend time with him, I’m not sure I’ll react…professionally.”

I laid my hand on Hunter’s arm. His head tilted toward me fractionally, but he didn’t turn to meet my gaze. “The man is old, he’s a total fake, and he gives me the heebie-jeebies. Trust me, I’m not going to swan-dive into a conversation with him if I can help it, let alone
flirt.
”

Hunter shifted a little. His arm brushed against mine as he continued to look at the prickly plant. Without thinking, I slipped my hand around his arm and leaned against him.

“What’d he do?” I asked softly.

I felt Hunter stiffen again before he pulled away and returned to a hurried pace.

“So, that question is off-limits, I take it,” I mumbled as I followed after him.

We reached a large square area where two neat lines of golf carts stood.

He walked toward the one on the end. “You can drive us. I want to think over the best way to make contact with Donnelley.”

Like a kid getting handed a piece of candy, I crawled into the cart with a huge smile. I stowed my laptop behind me and checked out the controls. There was a key, a gas pedal, a brake pedal, and a couple buttons—probably lights and a horn. I turned the key, placing my hand on the shifter next to the wheel when it shimmied to a start.

He climbed in and rested his briefcase on his lap.

“Ready?” I asked, pushing the gear to “D.”

“Take it away, Dale Earnhardt, Jr.”

Laughing, I stepped on the gas and we lurched to a start. “Touchy, this thing.”

“When was the last time you drove?” he asked, grabbing the handle on the dash.

“Um…five years ago, I think. I didn’t have a car in college.”

“Have you ever owned a car?” He pointed to the right. I couldn’t read what the sign posted on the corner of the grass said, but turned that way, anyway. Obviously he knew where he was going. And if not, it didn’t matter. It was only a golf cart, but it was fun.

“I sold it for some college money.”

“Excuse me if this is too personal, but your mother didn’t help you?”

“She didn’t help, no. She’s…a bit self-centered. She grew up with a mother exactly the same, with the same affinity for married men. Some people become the opposite of how they were raised, and some…don’t.

“She had two brothers—who I’ve never met. Being the youngest, with a mostly absent mother, she had to fend for herself a lot. They were cash poor and property rich, so when her mother died, she inherited a lot of property. Most she sold, then blew. So now she hoards what little she has left. She dates rich men and she keeps up with plastic surgery—paid for by the rich men.”

“And you don’t blame her.” Hunter wasn’t asking a question, he was making a statement.

I shrugged. “I do, in some ways. But she’s a product of her childhood. I’ve stopped trying to understand my mother, and blaming her won’t change who I am now.”

“And you?”

I followed his pointed finger to the path on the left. “I’m my father’s daughter. And he was a very loving, giving man. I was an accident. My mom didn’t want my dad—he wasn’t rich or anything. Handsome, but that’s about it. She was having fun, and the fun caught up with her.”

“And he passed a few years ago, correct?”

“Right after I got accepted to Stanford, yes. I’ve never seen him more proud.” Tears blurred my vision, as I remembered his beaming smile even though he was pretty sick with cancer at that point. “He always told me that I was his life’s treasure. That he hadn’t known what love was until I was put into his arms. I miss him.”

Hunter was silent for a while. Finally he said, “And what happened after he passed?”

“I was mostly on my own.”

“That must’ve been hard. Especially without funds.”

I shrugged again, pulling up in front of a sprawling building with a few golf carts parked haphazardly out front. I parked beside the closest and shut off the engine. “I had a few grants that I used for living expenses and worked a few hours in the library, so I made do. At the time I thought the overpriced education would open doors to fabulous and high-paying jobs…”

“Bad timing. A few years earlier, and it would have.”

“Yeah, that’s what Kimberly says every time she buys me lunch.” I climbed from the seat and grabbed my computer. “Although I did land a high-paying job, regardless of the field, so I have that going for me.”

“Except for the additional requirements asked of you in the name of some rich man’s whim…”

I glanced at Hunter as he opened the door for me. His expression was completely blank. It didn’t match the heavy tone he’d just used.

“I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to, Hunter,” I said as we entered the building.

We walked through the plush halls in silence. Decorative sconces lined the walls and a busy pattern confused my eyes underfoot.

We twisted and turned through the corridors until we reached rooms 1022 and 1023. Hunter opened 1023 and once again held the door, following me in after. The room opened up before me in an abundance of hotel elegance. A king-sized bed sat against the far wall, a huge desk squatted in the corner, a chair in the other corner, a couch near the door—the one room was the size of my bedroom in San Francisco and adjoining living room, both. Maybe even the eating area. It was huge!

“Jeez—why would you think I needed this much space?” I wandered in, walking to the right to look in the empty closet before peeking in the adjacent bathroom.

“Your bags should be here any moment.”

I emerged as Hunter was undoing the catch on an interior door on the side. Once opened, another white door barred the way—the one to his room. He faced me from beside the door. “Whenever you want privacy, go ahead and close this.”

“Yes, because it’s a door. It closes…”

He ignored my sarcasm, staring at me with an unreadable expression. “Olivia, I have to ask. How do you feel about Monday?”

Goosebumps spread across my body as I realized what he was talking about. My cheeks heated. “It felt good. I wanted it.”

His eyes delved into mine. “I realize you aren’t like the others. You didn’t accept these conditions for monetary or even professional gain. You’re in a dangerous place, Olivia. I’m not a man who feels. My intimacy is a distant thing, at best. I don’t love, and you have no future with me. I’m not good for you.”