Page 5 of Tender Offer (Chance at Love #3)

Preston

P ain dances across my nose from the door she slammed in my face. I inhale and straighten my suit jacket.

This is a first.

People usually trip over themselves to kiss my ass.

The attempts to earn my attention get old, but they come with the territory.

There’s always someone waiting to pitch a business proposal that is neither original nor feasible.

My name alone opens doors…except this one, apparently.

I anticipated Heather’s reaction but didn’t move quick enough.

Madison , not Heather.

Time sped up the steps it took to reach her door and slowed when it opened. Her presence froze me in place, imploring me to reacquaint myself with the soft lines of her body, a body I exhausted for hours at a time.

The indent of the full waist I held.

Round hips and shapely thighs.

Toned legs that still hold definition.

The fresh scent of magnolia that once drifted through the open French doors of the balcony still coats her skin. The blissful hazel eyes that once held a world of excitement are now cold. Distant.

Guilt wedges itself deep. Being this close to Madison lulls me back to a euphoria—when life was simple and status didn’t matter.

I’ve missed Heather, but I won’t lose Madison.

“Puff,” I sigh. The nickname is now foreign, much like the actual name of the woman I’ve loved, a name I only learned yesterday.

Madison’s love of puff pastries threatened shortages in every bakery within walking distance of my penthouse. Her sweet tooth is next level. The name “Puff” stuck after teasing her about the eclair she stuffed into her school bag and the mille-feuille we’d eat for dessert on the weekends.

I knock again. “Come to the door. We need to talk.”

Silence drowns the sound of my heartbeat. A thousand and one scenarios raced through my mind on the way to her room. What I would do. What she would say. It took a pep talk just to make it down the hall and work up the courage to knock.

Business hardened my exterior over the years, gave me the necessary calluses to lead with logic, not emotion. I don’t get nervous, but I haven’t got a fucking clue how to start a conversation that’s fifteen years late.

“Puff. I’m not leaving until you open up.” Call it possessiveness or stupidity. I can’t will myself to leave her doorstep.

Sweat dots my hand as I form another fist to knock again. I’ve closed multimillion dollar deals with less hassle.

The door swings open to a face that looks ready to rip it off its hinges. Below my eye level is a woman who’s contemplating how to get away with murder. For a long moment, she stares up at me with narrowed brows and a dangerous scowl.

My pulse charges at the ache to touch her. Flames ignite from the edges of her glare. The pull to close the short distance between us demands action.

I open my mouth to speak, but it’s quickly closed by a slap I didn’t see coming, one that connects with my jaw.

Damn. Does she box?

“I deserve that.” She almost lifted me out of my shoes. “Ma—” The door slams in my face again.

I’m a prideful man but am not above begging.

The door swings open again, and I hop out of the way. Madison’s once-bare feet are now in black riding boots. A knee-length peacoat covers endless curves in a storm that passes me with her luggage in tow.

“Puff.”

“Don’t call me that! You lost the right to.”

I lengthen my stride to follow her down the empty corridor and into the lift before the doors close.

Madison shifts to the back of the car to make space for a couple with two children.

One is in a pushchair that faces the metal doors holding Madison’s distorted reflection.

The other is a toddler in corduroy, wiggling in a man’s arms and staring straight at me.

Slobber coats the tiny fist attached to her mouth. Her chubby face scrunches in a fury I diffuse with a wink that earns me a toothless grin.

If only I had the same effect on the woman who refuses to acknowledge my presence.

I step out of the lift once it reaches the foyer and nod my goodbye to the family. Madison brushes past me with a high chin, her magnolia scent taunting my nostrils.

The Ravine isn’t a property I frequent, but it has simple luxuries that make for the perfect holiday in the valley.

Windows extend up to exposed beams on the ceiling, revealing a mountain backdrop.

Each of our resorts has its own unique flavor.

This one reflects a taste of the outdoors with the warmth of luxury in a palette of taupe, gray, and cream.

Being unplugged and thousands of miles away from London elicits a peace I haven’t felt since I met the woman who’s weaving through guests shuffling across wide plank flooring.

Madison reaches Reagan, a front desk attendee, who accepts her room key with a smile that dissolves when she sees me.

My headshake is subtle enough for her to continue checkout.

Only a few people here know I own the Donnelley Brand. I’d like to keep it that way.

“How was everything?” Reagan asks Madison.

“Beautiful. I enjoyed the amenities,” she responds.

Satisfaction purses my mouth at Madison’s praise for my resort. I pride myself on curating a memorable experience for my guests.

Reagan types away on the computer. “We’re glad to hear that, Ms. Monroe.

” Her eyes shift to mine, then drop back to the screen.

“We have you on the one o’clock shuttle back to Denver.

Feel free to dine in one of our restaurants or partake in a spa service until then.

You’ll receive a text twenty minutes before the sprinter arrives. ”

“Is there anything leaving sooner? I’d rather not stick around if possible.” Madison directs her comment to me over her shoulder.

The urgency in her voice draws Reagan’s brows together. Her brown eyes trace over Madison’s features, no doubt assessing why someone who enjoyed their stay would want to leave early.

I school my expression and tuck my hands into my pockets. My distance from Madison won’t arouse suspicion that I’m the source of her discontent. I’m off to the side, but I’m still close enough to remind her I’m not going anywhere.

No one knew about my plan to show up at her door with the breakfast she ordered—or that I followed her downstairs to stop her from walking out of my life for a second time.

It’s a battle to keep my shit together around her. It has been since that day in the museum, when she drew me into her orbit.

“One moment, please.” Reagan searches for a solution she won’t find. Singles’ retreat activities ended last night. Guests are checking out today, putting our small fleet of sprinters to use.

“I’m sorry. All other shuttles are full,” Reagan says. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No. Thank you,” Madison mumbles, angling herself away from me. I gave her space to sort out her itinerary, but I have no intention of leaving. Not until we talk.

An idea forms. Luck might just be on my side today.

With a nod goodbye, Madison heads off to the seating area across from three fireplaces.

It’s a cozy spot with bookcases but nothing else to entertain her for the next five hours.

She resigns herself to an oversized chair near the mantel.

The sooner she breaks free from the resort and my presence, the less she’ll look like I ran over her cat and hit reverse.

But like I said, I’m not leaving her side until we talk.

“Reagan, are there any vehicles available to take off the premises?” I ask, my eyes never leaving Madison.

“There’s a town car near maintenance,” she says. “I’ll have one of the staff bring it out front.”

“Not necessary. I’ll retrieve it myself, thank you. Please inform Ms. Monroe that you secured a personal escort to the airport, courtesy of the hotel.”

“Yes, Mr. Donnelley.” Reagan hesitates. “Should I call someone to take her?”

My smile widens. “I’ll handle it. And let’s keep this between us, okay?”