Page 27 of Bad for Business (Pembroke Hills #2)

TWENTY-SEVEN

RYKER

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Cal. He’s mid-conversation, going on about how talented his new private chef is, but I can’t pretend I’m even listening for another second.

Cal gives a dismissive wave of his hand, not seeming to care that I wasn’t paying attention. He continues to rattle on about his new chef as I follow the path Camille just went.

My steps are hurried as I follow her. I catch up just in time to watch her open the door to the bathroom. She disappears behind the door before I can get her attention.

I stop next to the wall. It might be creepy of me to do so, but I’m going to wait for her to come out. She’s avoided me all morning, then she had the nerve to show up today. She’s going to have to face me. If she didn’t want to talk, then she shouldn’t have shown up today.

The moment I left her room last night, I missed her.

I felt guilty for running out of there so quickly.

I wanted to stay, but she hadn’t asked me to.

I didn’t want her to know that all it took was her dry-humping me and coming around my fingers to make me come.

That felt like I was giving her a lot of power, something I wasn’t willing to give her.

I wasn’t positive she wouldn’t use it against me.

I immediately hopped in the shower and washed the proof of what had happened. I didn’t want to smell like her, and I had to get the proof of how desperately I wanted her washed from my body.

I tossed and turned all night in bed, wondering if I made the right decision.

I felt guilty for leaving her room like that.

What if I’d asked to stay? What if I just told her how badly I want her and how much she consumes my mind?

Would that make her stop pretending to not like me? Would she open up more?

Those questions plagued my mind all night. By the time I woke up, I was determined to try and make it right. I got her breakfast and the coffee I’ve heard her order countless times, hoping maybe that would erase my mistake of running out on her last night.

It didn’t.

And I don’t know if I can even blame her.

I check the watch on my wrist, wondering how long I’ve been lost in my thoughts. It feels like she’s been in there forever.

Maybe I should check on her?

Since I’ve been standing here, no one’s gone in. I think she’s in there alone, but I don’t know if I should go in or not.

I sigh, leaning against the wall and deciding to wait another minute.

I use the time to think about what I’m going to even say to her.

The first thing I should probably do is apologize for running out on her.

Or maybe I shouldn’t? Do we talk about what happened last night at all? We probably should.

I let a few more minutes go by before I decide I have to check on her. What if something’s wrong?

I push the door open and step inside. “Camille?” I say her name cautiously, wondering if I’m going to find anyone else in here or if it’s really just her.

“Go away,” her voice calls back to me.

I don’t. I take another step in until I find her holding onto the edge of the counter, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

The moment she realizes I’m all the way in the bathroom, her gaze finds mine. “Ryker, what are you doing? You can’t be in here.”

“I waited outside for you, but you weren’t coming out, so I came in.”

She blinks a few times. “Go away,” she repeats. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“It’s been a minute. What are you doing in here?”

She sighs, ripping her gaze from mine and going back to staring at herself in the mirror. “I’m…” Her words fall off as she thinks about an answer.

I wait, giving her the time she needs to respond. At least, I try to give her the time she needs, but when she still doesn’t answer me, I break the silence. “We should talk about last night.”

Camille shakes her head. I watch her closely, wishing she’d look at me instead of the mirror. She doesn’t. “Last night? Why?”

I frown, hating the way my stomach drops at her tone. It’s indifferent.

I rub my lips together as I try to think of what to say back to her. “Um,” I begin, suddenly unable to come up with words. “What do you mean? We?—”

“Nothing happened. There’s nothing we need to talk about.”

My entire body gets tight at her words.

She’s doing it again.

Pretending nothing happened between us.

I should’ve expected it. I don’t even know if I blame her after the way I ran out last night. But it doesn’t make it suck any less.

My molars grind together so hard it hurts. I don’t stop clenching my jaw, needing to keep it shut for at least a few more seconds so I can gather my thoughts before saying something I regret.

Actually, fuck it. I don’t care if I say something I regret.

“Really?” I ask, not bothering to hide the upset tone of my voice. “Nothing happened? It didn’t feel like nothing when you were coming all over my fingers.”

Even through the reflection, I can see how her eyes go wide and her nostrils flare. “Ryker,” she scolds.

“What? I’m not saying anything that didn’t happen.”

She closes her eyes for a moment. “Nothing happened. Nothing can happen between us. I’m your publicist, and you’re my client.”

“And you were my publicist last night when you fucked my fingers so greedily you were practically screaming my name. It didn’t seem to matter then. Why’s it matter now?”

Her entire body stiffens at my words as they take her by surprise.

They shock me too. I’m not normally so confrontational. I sure as hell don’t typically lose my cool the way I am now, but I can’t help it. Blood rushes through my ears as I try to get a hold of the anger coursing through my veins.

“Nothing happened,” Camille repeats.

I’ve never hated a phrase more in my life. I never want to hear her say it again.

“Is it because I left after?” I ask, hating the vulnerability that breaks through my tone.

I much preferred being angry. That’s also a foreign emotion to me, but right now, I’d rather be upset with her than be vulnerable.

“I don’t know why I ran out like that,” I lie.

I know damn well why I did, but she doesn’t need to. “But I shouldn’t have.”

“You did the right thing,” she responds, her voice cold. In fact, her entire demeanor right now is cold. We’re right back to where we started a few weeks ago, and I’m coming to terms that I don’t think there’s anything I can do to change it.

I let out a sarcastic laugh. I hate that during this entire conversation, she hasn’t once even looked me in the eye.

“Yeah,” I finally get out, realizing that maybe all the times I’ve been annoyed with her have been completely justified.

I wasn’t ever going to change her opinion of me, no matter what happens between us.

I’m enough for her to hook up with, but not for her to want to acknowledge the next day.

I don’t know why I believed it could be different. “You’re right. I did the right thing.”

A numbness settles over me as I come to terms with the fact that all these times I’ve acted like I didn’t like her, it was the complete opposite. I do like her. I’m attracted to her. She consumes my mind in a way no one has before.

But in an effort to protect myself, I played the game with her. If she wanted to fight, I’d fight and pretend I hated her. The whole time, the only thing I hate is that I can’t hate her.

“Made any progress today?” she asks, finally getting the nerve to meet my gaze.

I swallow, realizing that now I don’t want her to look at me. It hurts. I need just a little more time to build my walls to protect myself from being hurt by her again.

It isn’t lost on me that the first time she finally looks at me is when we go back to talking about work. She’s making it clear that our relationship is work. Nothing else. At least now I know where we stand. I don’t have to wonder anymore.

The professional thing to do would be to answer her.

But right now, I don’t want to be professional. I just want out of this bathroom and away from her look of complete indifference.

Saying nothing else to her, I turn around and leave her alone in the bathroom. That’s what she wanted in the first place.

“Ryker!” she angrily yells after me.

I ignore her, roughly pushing open the door to the bathroom and quickly walking back to the grill. I don’t even go back to the table. The first thing I do is head straight to the bar.

“What can I get you?” Davis, one of my favorite bartenders, asks.

“Something strong as hell,” I respond, tapping my knuckles against the counter.

“You got it.” I like that he doesn’t say anything else. Davis is great at what he does. He’s good at reading people. And I’m sure the tightness of my jaw and the thin press of my lips tell him everything he needs to know.

I’m not one for small talk right now.

I risk a look at the entrance, wondering if Camille has come back in. I don’t see her, but I know probably any minute, she’ll be marching back in here and pretending that nothing happened. All I can do is hope that I’m able to get a drink in my hand before she shows back up.

It’s going to be a long rest of the day.

Hell, it’s going to be a long rest of the summer.