Page 15 of The Tycoon

“What?” I ask.

Arching a brow, he moves to take my hand.

I pull it away before he has a chance.

Pushing out a sigh, he reluctantly sits back in his white bistro chair.

“I said that I do all of those things, too,” he repeats.

Swallowing hard, the heat in my cheeks burns white hot.I blink at him, a disbelieving huff leaving my shaky lips. The cafe around me begins to spin, I have an overwhelming need to create some type of distance. I’m not prepared to deal with whateverthisis right now.

“I, uh, I gotta pee,” I murmur.

Standing from my seat, I grab my purse from the back of the bistro chair and step away before Sam can reply. Carefully maneuvering around the other tables, I make a beeline for the restrooms at the back of the restaurant. Opening the door, I shuffle my steps into the first stall.

Slamming the metal door closed behind me, my fingers fumble as I secure the lock. Taking in large gulps of air, I try my hardest to calm my heart as it smacks against my ribcage.

“Holy fuck. Holy fuck.” I whisper, my gaze darting around the small stall.

Sam has been my best friend since I met him almost two years ago at a hole in the wall bar not long after I moved here. He’s like a brother to me, I’ve never seen him any other way. Never in my wildest dreams did I think he had feelings for me. This new information throws me for a loop.

Closing my eyes, I shake my head as my body calms down. Every heartbeat brings a little more clarity, but it doesn’t help the panic that’s still lodged in my stomach. I don’t want to leave the restroom, I’m not quite ready to face Sam. I think I might just stay here for another minute. Or ten.

Actually, when do they close?

My phone alerts me of a text, the sound jolts me from my thoughts. I’m almost afraid to look at who it is, though I have a pretty good idea. Pushing out a sigh, I reach into my purse and grab my phone. To my surprise, and relief, the nameSutton Douglasgraces the text bubble. Unlocking my phone, I immediately dive into my messages. Butterflies replace the anxiety in my belly, until I actually read his message.

Staring at the screen, confusion passes over my flushed face. I repeat the question out loud, not understanding what he means. Holding my phone with both hands, I type my reply.

Barely ten seconds later, my phone pings again.

Swearing an expletive under my breath, I realize my error. When I woke up this morning, I had a quick textexchange with him where to make plans for this evening. But before that, he asked me what I was doing after he had my car returned to me. I mentioned that I was going out to brunch with my roommate, but I don’t think I ever told him that Sam was a man.

Gliding my fingers over my phone’s keyboard, I type my reply. I already know this isn’t going to go well.

I know it’s my fault for not telling him, but his dry responses are leaving me with a bad taste in my mouth. Probably because of what is happening with Sam. Oh, and the mimosas might also have something to do with my annoyance.Letting my irritation get the better of me, I answer him rather flippantly.

He replies quicker than I’ve ever seen in my life.

Swallowing hard, I read his text four more times to make sure my brain is comprehending it correctly. I don’t know why, but I feel guilty for upsetting him. I don’t want him to be mad at me, it makes me feel terrible. Taking in a breath, I force myself to reply the way I know he wants me to.

Confusion crashes into me, causingmy face to twist.He was staring at my ass as I walked away?Holy shit, is Sutton here?

I laugh a little too loud at his question.If only.

Nodding my head at my phone’s screen, another laugh leaves my lips. I hear a deliberate cough come from the next stall but don’t pay much attention. This conversation with Sutton just keeps getting better. Of course he’s right, but I’ll be damned if I give him my confirmation.Not here, and certainly not like this.

.

Rolling my eyes, I shake my head at his reply. As if it is just that easy. It might be for him, but for the rest of us poor peons, we have to make do with what we have. If that means I must share an apartment with my best friend, who apparently harbors feelings for me, well, that’s what I have to do.

Staring at my phone, I freeze in place. His text leaves mecompletely dumbfounded, I have no idea how I should respond. Is he serious? Is he being glib? Ugh, I really need to be sober for this.

How the hell do I respond to that? I’m at a total loss. But I suppose it doesn’t matter; I don’t even get a chance tobefore his next text comes through.

“Holy shit,” I whisper.

Reading his text again and again, my woozy mind runs a mile a minute.He protects what’s his.That means I’m his, right? I wasn’t crazy! He felt everything that I did last night. This realization makes me smile. My fingers try to move over the keyboard, but another text comes through before I make headway.