Page 159 of Soul Mates: Hercules Valentine and I

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You’re making it that easy?”

“Yes, Paisley. Your friends are our friends, as long as their last name isn’t Valentine.”

After hearing about Hercules’s second engagement, I felt for certain that it was over between us, which would effectively and forever end any affiliation I would have with the Valentines.

“Whatever,” I say then tell my brother I love him before leaving.

But now, here Hercules stands, blocking my path. My eyes are closed as I consider an answer to his question, but his presence feels overwhelming. All I want to do is fall into him, dripping sweat and all. Finally, I open my eyes and see that he’s been waiting patiently for my answer.

No.

His expression shows something more severe than patience. His lips are clamped together. The skin beneath his eyes is dark, as if he hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in ages. Hercules is full of worry.

But still, Max is happy with me now. If I work for VTI, he won’t be. However, that’s not why I would refuse Hercules’s offer. I’m on the verge of asking him how it went with Killian, but after my last conversation with Max, I’m afraid even Killian wouldn’t get very far with him. Essentially, if VTI is still interested in collaborating with GIT, then I’m the Hail Mary they have left.But still…

I stop gnawing on my bottom lip, fighting the urge to shout,Yes, I’ll come back. I miss my job and my team. I’ll do it.“What does Mason think about me coming back?” I ask instead.

“He’s onboard.” Hercules’s tone sounds spiked with desperation.

More runners zip past us, nearly hitting me. They remain a careful distance from Hercules, though. He has that don’t-screw-with-me energy he’s always had. He steps up to stand closer to me and scowls at the next guy who wants to passive-aggressively communicate that he wants me to either run or get off the path.

The familiar scent of his delicious cologne and fresh-laundered suit stimulates my senses. I want to close my eyes and take a deep, long whiff of him then hold it in for as long as I can while I cherish every moment of his scent. But I can’t. I can’t even show him that he’s having an effect on me. I don’t want him to know that I miss him so much that at this very moment, my heart feels pain.

“Can I get back to you?” I finally ask.

“When?” He hasn’t stopped frowning yet.

“Could you give me at least twenty-four hours.”

I wait as his gaze roams my face. “How are you?” His voice comes out in a thickened whisper.

“I’m good.” I swallow to moisten my dry throat.

“I heard you bought an apartment in Lake’s old building.”

I snort a small chuckle as I catch the condescending way he says “old.” “Not fancy enough for you?”

Finally, he smiles. “It’s not fancy enough for you.”

His subtle compliment tickles my insides. “My place is really nice, actually.” My words pirouette off my tongue. “I mean, it doesn’t rival yours. But I have the whole roof to myself. It’s really nice. Lake, Eden, and I have made it our own. It has two lounging areas. We barbecue and…” Even though he’s following my every word, I feel myself getting reeled back into being close to him again. And there are many reasons why that’s not such a good idea, but one in particular comes to mind. “Sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “Enough about me. I heard you’re getting married. Congratulations.” I don’t mean that. I actually want to call him out on asking someone to marry him before the paint has dried on our brief but passionate love affair.

His frown is back with a vengeance, including his clamped lips. We staring at each other. It’s his turn to say something, but I don’t think he has anything to say.

“Okay.” I sigh. “Twenty-four hours. I’ll let you know.” My mind is already made up, though. Hercules Valentine can go to hell.

He still looks as if he’s being force-fed lemon juice. “You still have my number?”

I’ll never forget it.“I do.”

Oh gosh, how awkward. More runners zip past us. A woman remarks that we should take our conversation elsewhere. If Eden were here, she would flip her the bird. I feel like the onus is on me to wrap up the uncomfortable conversation between us since I’m the one who brought his fiancée into a business discussion.

“Sorry,” I finally say.

“Sorry for what?” he grouses.

“Bringing up your fiancée. I’m dating too,” I say without thinking.

“You’re dating?” He looks and sounds offended.