Page 8 of Ex- Factor

It had been two weeks since I’d seen Silas.

Not that I was counting. But I was. It was my fault.

He’d been calling and texting, but I hadn’t really been replying. I’d been busy. Mr. Welling, my boss, had taken on two high-profile cases that demanded my full attention.

And I was also kind of avoiding him.

The days we’d spent together had me thinking we needed to take a few steps back. I said we could be friends, but we were heading in the wrong direction if that was all I planned on being. It was all I could deal with right now.

I knocked on my boss’s door, balancing a stack of files against my hip before pushing it open.

He looked up.

He was older, but he still carried himself like he’d probably been the shit in the ‘90s. Tall, salt-and-pepper hair always perfectly combed. Expensive suits and shoes. A Bentley in the parking lot. He talked slow and soft, but there was power behind his words. I liked working for him.

I got to the point. “You still have jury selection at nine,” I said, flipping through the printout I’d made.

The pages were warm from the printer, the ink still smelling faintly chemical—just how he liked it.

“Judge O’Dell moved pretrial to Thursday.

And your client in the Lennox case—” I paused, wrinkling my nose at the memory.

“He needs to show up early. And sober. Don’t let him come in here smelling like a vape pen again. The bailiffs were talking about it.”

Welling chuckled from behind his big oak desk, swirling a glass of something amber. Ice clinked. “You always make me look more competent than I am.”

I gave him a tight smile and turned to leave just as the office door swung open.

“Hey, Dad.”

Jace, his son, walked in, nearly knocking me over.

I’d only seen him twice before—once at the firm’s holiday party, another time when he’d stopped by to borrow his dad’s car. He had that beach-boy look—tall, with wavy dark hair that looked purposely tousled, and slight almond eyes because his mother was a pretty-ass Chinese woman.

Today, he was dressed in rich-boy casual: a linen button-up open at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and sneakers that probably cost more than my rent.

He was a flirt. Attractive. Nice slim body—but he was cut.

Welling greeted him, then excused me with a small nod. I stepped past Jace, but he turned and followed me into the hallway.

“Hey, Eshe.”

I paused, adjusting the files in my arms. I turned to look at him, putting on my best fake smile. I didn’t really want to be bothered today.

“You got plans after work?” he asked casually, like it didn’t matter whether I said yes or no. “I was thinking we could grab a bite. There’s this Thai spot downtown I’ve been wanting to try.”

I hesitated. Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours—not that I was counting.

For some reason, my mind went right to Silas. That decided my answer for me.

“Sure,” I said. “Dinner sounds good.”

I’d already played this game with Donte—moving too fast—and look what it got me. I needed to chill. I needed a distraction. But tell me why I felt guilty. Like I was about to cheat on my boyfriend?

I smoothed my hand down the lime silk dress that hugged my curves.

I’d roller-set my hair, and it had curled into these big ‘80s-style waves that made me look kind of sexy. Jace had picked a restaurant that played jazz and served small plates. The silverware was heavy, so I knew whatever we ordered was going to be expensive. I wasn’t even about to act cute and offer to pay—he had it.

We were waiting on our food, and he was talking. About himself.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming the stem of his wineglass. “So there I was, halfway down the Alps, when I realize—merde—I forgot my poles.” He flashed a grin, waiting for me to respond. I had nothing.

I nodded on cue and curved my lips.

Merde, he repeated, slower, making sure I appreciated his linguistic prowess.

I was so bored I could scream. Instead, a dry, forced chuckle escaped me. I let my eyes drift away from his face, scanning the room for a distraction, any distraction.

The air shifted.

A shadow crossed our table. I looked up.

My heart did this stupid lurching thing, then started hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape.

Silas.

He wore a black crewneck, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, dark jeans that fit him just right. He had a fresh haircut. Don’t ask me how I knew—it wasn’t like he got a line-up or something. He looked good.

The restaurant was full, and I could see other women looking too. That annoyed me for some reason.

He just stared at me for a second, then turned his attention to the other man.

“Jace,” he said. His voice was smooth, easy, like he wasn’t bothered—but his eyes looked bothered. “Didn’t know you were back in town.”

Jace stood to greet him, grinning. “Yeah, been back a few weeks. Dad’s got me running errands and kissing ass.”

Silas glanced back at me. “Eshe.”

“Hey,” I said, suddenly hyper-aware of the neckline of my dress, the way it rode up my thighs. It looked like I was on a real date. I didn’t want him thinking that. My fingers tightened around my fork.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” I said for lack of something better to say.

“I bet you didn’t,” he said, voice low.

Jace sat back down like he didn’t notice the tension. “You two know each other?”

Silas didn’t answer. He gave me one last look—something unreadable, something that made my stomach twist—then walked off.

I turned to watch him. He ended up at a table with two men that looked like they were there for business. He didn’t look in my direction, even though he was sitting in my direction.

The air felt heavier after he left.

I turned back around.

“You okay?” Jace asked, biting into a spring roll.

“Yeah.”

“You sure?” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “You’re not dating him or anything, are you?”

I shook my head.

He nodded. “Good. I mean, you know he’s bad news, right?”

I raised an eyebrow.

He kept going. “Silas. He got cut off by his parents and turned it into a personality. Dropped out of college, started dating women twice his age to live off of them. Him and that friend of his—Cassius? They were selling drugs. That’s why Cassius is so rich.

They’re the delinquent type.” He smirked, like it was funny.

I didn’t say anything. Just took a slow sip of my water, the ice clinking against the glass—because I knew Cassius wasn’t a drug dealer.

I didn’t like people who talked behind folks' backs and smiled in their faces. Jace was officially somebody I wasn’t fucking with.

Jace shrugged. “Just saying. Don’t get involved with that type of crowd. You’re better than that.”

I almost rolled my eyes.

When the check came, he offered to take me home.

I smiled. “No offense, but I don’t know you like that. You could be crazy.”

He laughed like it was a joke.

I wasn’t really joking. I was deadass serious.

I had to take an Uber home because he’d driven me, which meant I’d need one to work too. A $60 orange chicken entrée with an obnoxious rich boy wasn’t worth it.

I made my way to the elevator and rode it up to my place.

As soon as I stepped off, I spotted Silas.

He was standing at my door. He’d changed into gym shorts. His hoodie was pulled low, and there was a duffel bag at his feet.

I sighed, digging in my purse for my keys. “What are you doing here?”

He raised his head slowly. “You been dodging me.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

I didn’t deny it.

He stepped closer. “You go out on dates now? I thought you weren’t ready.”

“Don’t do that.” I shook my head.

“Do what?” His eyes flashed. “Don’t be pissed off because you’ve been ignoring me and then I find you sitting across from pretty boy.”

There wasn’t much heat behind his words; he was just whining.

I chuckled. “You’re the pretty boy in this situation.”

He had the nerve to crack a smile then. “I’m glad you noticed.”

“I did. And you should note that we’re not together, Silas. And questioning me like we are is crazy work.”

His jaw flexed. “No. We’re not. But still—why were you out with him?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“I don’t want one,” he snapped. Then softer, “I just want to know if you’re not going to do it anymore.”

I blinked.

He continued, “Because if you are,” he said, stepping close enough that I could smell his cologne—same one he left on my pillow, the one I had purposely not washed—“I’ll walk away.”

“Okay. Bye,” I said, sounding serious but just wanting to see if he’d actually walk away. I was playing with my own emotions again, because I knew my feelings would be hurt if he did.

He frowned, then reached down and slipped my keys out of my hand. “Lady, stop talking nonsense, move so I can go inside. It’s Friday. I’m staying the weekend.”

Then he opened my door like he lived there. Walked in and left me standing outside of my own shit.