Unwilling

by LK Collins

  No one disagrees, so I press the play button on the laptop that is set up and step aside. Right as the video starts, I hear the door to the room open. Glancing back I can’t believe my eyes. Standing there in another suit, looking delicious and as mouthwateringly sexy as ever, is Westin.

  He winks, making my heart flutter, then turns his attention to the presentation. I blink a few times remembering our conversation in front of the hotel last night. The way he begged me to go out with him and I just walked off, like a royal bitch. I swear, sometimes I totally overreact.

  I let the presentation run its course and then begin going into my pitch about the building's design. As I speak, all the men staring at me the way they are, especially Westin, suddenly make me nervous. This is something that never happens when I’m presenting, not anymore at least. This is where I’m at home, where I’m comfortable and in control. And as I remind myself of that, I let go of any fears or doubts so I can give the best speech of my life.

  “As you can see, the design of the building is tiered to allow for parking underground. This way we can maximize the land we’re working with and keep the confidentiality of those visiting.” The company made it clear to me from the beginning that confidentiality was a high priority. “The structure itself will be ten stories, all built from recycled materials, and completely solar powered, making this a green build. Each story will be double the height, allowing for a truly open feeling unlike any other buildings in New York.” I take a breath as the screen changes, making sure I don’t make eye contact with Westin. “Outside, we’ll have an extensive water feature, two gardens, and—”

  But he doesn’t let me continue, the asshole cuts me off. “I’m the head engineer. Could you tell me why you find it necessary to cut half the building height to double the stories? And with the subway system here, how are you going to build the parking underground?”

  “Mr.?” I question him like I don’t remember his last name, but I do. I remember every single thing about Westin Smith, even if he does drive me crazy.

  “Smith,” he answers.

  “Mr. Smith,” I answer back. “These details were all in the proposal that TIC sent to us, didn’t you read it?” All of the men just sit back as he and I go back and forth. I swear Westin sees this as some sort of game. Westin licks his lips, looking me up and down, eye-fucking me. My insides shift and turn in a way I’m unfamiliar with, but that is what I’ve learned about Westin—he’s consuming. The way his presence takes over the room, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.

  “Oh, I read it, and I know there is no way the City Building Inspector is going to give you a permit to do this type of work.” I smile, having already done my homework. I’ve been working on these plans for six months, and to be sure everything would work, I did my thorough research.

  “Well, it's a good thing for me, I’ve already got the preliminary approval from the City for the permit. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my presentation.”

  He crosses his arms and leans back against the back wall of the room, still watching me intently. But this time, I don’t let him get to me, not after how long I’ve waited for this moment. Late or not, there is nothing that can ruin this for me.

  7

  Westin

  For the first time in my life, I’ve met my match. Still standing in the exact spot I have been for what feels like the better part of an hour, Sasha has me stumped. I tried to get to her, to rattle her, but she’s so strong and determined, and fuckin’ knows her shit. She is the best architect I’ve ever met. It’s obvious TIC handpicked her, just like they did me.

  My phone rings, pulling me out of my Sasha daydream. I hit ignore on Dex’s phone call; he’s the reason I was late to the meeting in the first place. Well . . . I was here but had to step out to calm his ass down. Apparently, my cousin woke up in pain and rather than dialing 911, the dumb fucker called me—repeatedly until I answered.

  As the meeting comes to an end I step outside and call Dex, “She okay?” I ask the instant he answers.

  “Yeah,” he says, “the doctors said her pelvis is tilting to prepare for labor and it’s causing nerve pain."

  “Damn, is the baby all right?”

  “Yeah, healthy and good.”

  “That’s great. What about her pain?”

  “They said she has to push through it. She’s gonna start physical therapy tomorrow, so hopefully, that’ll help a little as well.”

  As Dex and I talk, the meeting begins to disperse. The others who are part of the project start to filter out of the room, and I know I need to get off the phone so I can catch Sasha. “Good, thanks for keeping me updated.”

  “For sure.”

  “I hate to run, but I gotta go. I’ll text you in a bit?”

  We hang up, and right as I put my phone into my coat pocket, out walks Sasha. She looks as gorgeous as ever, even with her wrinkled clothes and messy hair. My eyes scan up and down her body.

  The second she spots me, I keep my stare and can tell she’s trying to avoid me. She starts up a conversation with some old fart, whom I’m sure she doesn’t even know his name. I stand there and watch her doing a very terrible job at evading me and can’t help but smirk.

  My driver pulls up and parks in front of the building. I glance at him over my shoulder and know she will ride back with me. Somehow she keeps the conversation going and I finally walk over, interrupting her little chat with gramps, “You wanna ride?” I ask her.

  “No, thanks. I’ll catch a cab.”

  “Really? We’re going to the same place.”

  “I know,” she responds casually crossing her arms over her perky tits.

  The old man walks off, and I tell her, “Weren’t you the one just talking about being green with this build? Wouldn’t riding back to the hotel together be the right thing to do? I mean, for the environment and all.”

  She rolls her eyes and says to me, “After the way you just called me out in there, I’d rather walk than catch a ride with you.”

  I glance down at her shoes. “There’s no way you’d make it a block in those heels. Come on.” But she doesn’t budge, so I politely ask, “Will you please ride back with me, Sasha?”

  She huffs and gives me a good eye roll acting like a precocious child.

  “Fine!” Her nipples are so hard, just like they’ve been the entire morning. For some reason, she didn’t deem it necessary to wear a bra to present in front of a bunch of men. This had my cock throbbing, and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one either. Even now, my eyes fight to stay on hers. It’s part of the reason why I called her out like I did. I needed to do something other than visualizing her naked while I stuffed her full of my cock. I smile, happy that she’s agreed to ride with me. No matter how unwilling she seems, I’m still holding out hope that she’ll give in to me.

  “Come on, get in,” I tell her as I open the rear door, “you need to get back to the hotel and iron that shirt before anyone else sees you dressed like that.”

  “You’re such an asshole, you know that?”

  “I know,” I tell her waiting for her to get in the car, but she won't. She’s a mere few inches from me, her scent consuming me. The closeness and her holding her ground, staring at me like she is, has me balling my fists to keep control. “Get in,” I growl and step even closer. Without another word, she listens to me, for the first time ever and sits in the back seat. Once she is situated inside, her long legs, long hair, and those motherfucking nipples, all have my body coursing with adrenaline. I’m tempted to hit the roof and send my driver off with her, but fuck, who am I kidding? I close the door and walk around, not sure how I’m going to get through this car ride.

  As I take a seat next to her, I pull out my cell phone and decide I’ll just ignore her. She already hates me. Plus that line I keep drawn between business and pleasure just popped back in my head.

  8

  Sasha

  I don’t know why Westin completely flipped a one-eighty on me
today. I mean, I get that I was stern and playing hard to get, but I never expected him to just flat out ignore me. But he’s a guy, and I know guys do all sorts of stupid shit that can’t be explained.

  Sitting here, so utterly dumbfounded, I decide to call my brother, hoping he can give me some advice on where Westin’s head is. He is a guy after all.

  “Hey, Sis,” Tommy answers in his usual energetic tone.

  “Hey, how are you, Tommy?” I ask him, clearing my parched throat.

  “I’m good, just got back to the dock from an epic day of fishing.”

  “Yeah, what did you get?” Tommy runs a chartered fishing boat out of the Gulf of Mexico.

  “Three monster sharks.”

  “Nice. Listen, I need your advice if you don’t mind.”

  “Really?” he blurts out.

  “Yeah, why do you say it like that?”

  “You just never ask me for advice, that’s all. What, is Rach busy?”

  “No, I called you first. I’m . . . I’m working on a project with this guy and—”

  “Stop right there, a guy?”

  “Yes,” I chuckle, not sure why my brother and sister have both responded like they have when I’ve brought up a guy. Surely, it can’t be that much of a shock to them. I’ve dated, just not that many guys. “May I continue?”

  “Of course,” he says, and for the first time, I notice the southern twang in his voice. This reminds me of when Westin accused me of having an accent. So I lead into the story of the flight here and how I saw him at the hotel with some girl who he ran out on and begged me to go out with him. I end it with our interaction this morning, and how after demanding that I ride back with him, he didn’t speak one single word to me. He was a total mute.

  “Let me ask you this. What’s this guy have that has you so interested in him in the first place? I mean, I’m sure you’ve met other men while traveling or worked with them, and none of them have stuck out like this one.”

  “That’s just it,” I tell him, taking a sip of the cheap wine I snagged a bottle of earlier today. “I’ve met other guys and haven’t given them the time of day, just like I tried to do with this guy. But he’s relentless. I mean, he literally won’t give up. And for no good reason, he called me out in the middle of my presentation this morning, made me feel like I didn’t know what I was talking about, then ignored me on the ride back.”

  “Did you ask him why?”

  “No, not exactly.”

  “Then ask him.”

  “I don’t have his number.”

  “I’m sure you can call his room.”

  “So that’s your advice?”

  “Hey, I’m no love doctor. If you wanted fluffy advice, you should’ve called Rach.”

  “Thanks, Tommy. I really do appreciate the honesty.” I feel bad for bothering my brother. I’m not sure what I was expecting him to say, anyway.

  I hang up with him and get off the bed to refill my wine, but it’s the last of the bottle, and I’m not done for the night.

  Sitting back and enjoying the last of my drink, I look up at the stark, white ceiling, zoning in on the smoke detector and its tiny green flashing light. I try and clear my mind, to let all these crazy thoughts go; I can’t. And even though it does sound crazy, Westin and I are going to be working closely together on this project, so maybe I should track him down. We need to talk and lay all our cards on the table, then end this . . . whatever it is, between us.

  Sitting up, I stretch and stare at the hotel phone, knowing what I need to do. I dial the front desk, and the woman answers on the second ring. I clear my throat, feeling guilty like I’m doing something wrong.

  “Uhhh . . . Westin Smith’s room, please?”

  “Spell the first name,” she requests, and I do. “Please hold.”

  Then the phone begins to ring, and my palms get all sweaty. Immediately, I regret calling him. What am I going to say to him? Like a total loser, I panic and hang up, slamming the phone down on the receiver after three rings. I pick up my wine glass and guzzle the last drink.

  God, I’m pathetic.

  It doesn’t help that I started drinking at three in the afternoon, so my mind is really all over the place.

  Slipping on my shoes, I head out on a mission for more wine—and that’s it. Taking the elevator down, I make a silent promise to myself to not even look at the bar to see if he is there with another woman. But if he isn’t, maybe he is fucking someone in his room, and that’s why he didn’t answer my call. Granted it only rang a few times.

  Fuck me, I’m losing it.

  I don’t even like the guy, so nothing that has to do with him should matter to me. But for some God unknown reason, it does.

  As I walk into the lobby, it’s too hard not to look for him. My eyes are on the bar the second it’s in my sight. I don’t know how I can go against my better judgment like this. But thankfully, he’s not there. The instant I realize the coast is clear, I barge outside and down the block toward the liquor store.

  Wine.

  I remind myself. That is what I’m going to get, nothing else. No searching or looking for Westin like a lunatic. The evening air is fresh, and as I wait at a light to cross the street, I swear I spot him. But I’m sure it’s not him, I’m just tipsy and seeing things. He has a driver, so he wouldn’t be out walking, anyway. Regardless of my bouncy thoughts, my eyes stay on his back, and my body seems to follow on its own.

  I keep a safe distance as I investigate, and I quickly realize it is Westin. I can tell by his walk, his suit, his hair, his . . . everything. But I still don’t know what he’s doing. Maybe he is going to meet someone? Then how stupid would I look if he saw me following him? I know I should turn back now, but I can’t.

  Christ, what is wrong with me?

  Westin crosses the next block, jogging before the light changes to the other side, and I get stuck waiting. My eyes stay on him the entire time, watching him enter a local bookstore. I find it strange that’s where he’s headed and wonder if maybe he is an avid reader. I really don’t know anything about him. With how the guy is always on his phone, I couldn’t imagine him reading an actual paperback book.

  The light changes allowing me to cross the street, and as I get closer, I search for him through the big storefront windows. There is a guy smoking to my right who looks like a bookstore employee. He’s not paying any attention to me as I ogle through the windows like a whacko.

  Then I spot Westin, and he is already heading toward the front door with a bag in hand. I panic, knowing I have nowhere I can go.

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  “Can I bum a cigarette?” I ask the man rapidly.

  He passes me one, and I lean in so he can light it.

  God, please don’t let him see me.

  I try to keep it cool, with my back to the door, but my throat burns and before I know it, fire is radiating through me forcing me to let out a loud hacking cough.

  “Sasha?” Westin says my name in a way that makes me weak in the knees. Shit, no matter how hard I fight it, I do like him. But I’m too afraid to turn around, knowing I’m caught and how stupid this is going to look. Plus, all I can really do is cough like I’ve just escaped a burning house.

  Westin is relentless as usual and turns my body himself, so I’m now facing him. I can barely breathe, my chest is heaving and his one hand still on my shoulder has me loving his strong and forceful grip. The connection between us is a combustion of electricity—the kind dreams are made of.

  “Hey?” I hack a few more times, looking up and down his enchanting body. He’s holding onto a small bag from the bookstore, and I’m . . . speechless.

  “You smoke?”

  “Trying to quit,” I tell him and finally drop the cigarette, squashing it on the sidewalk. I glance over my shoulder, and the man I borrowed it from has already vanished; I’m sure he wants nothing to do with us. Westin stares at me, and there is a long silence that seeps between us.

  “You should stop; smoki
ng is so bad for you.”

  “Like you care.”

  “I do,” he says firmly.

  And for the first time since I met him, there is a look of vulnerability in his eyes. The world around us seems to slow, and as we stare at each other, I remember what my brother told me.

  “Can we go somewhere and talk?” I ask.

  “Sure.”

  9

  Westin

  “Are you hungry?” I ask Sasha.

  “I could eat.”

  Her words have my mind spinning. But I stay in control and remain respectful as we walk away from the bookstore. Neither of us says much, and I can’t help but wonder what she was really doing there.

  My phone chimes with a text and I glance down to see a message from my cousin, but I don’t open it. I know if something were wrong, Dex would call.

  “What’d you buy?” she asks me, breaking the silence and I look down at the bag I’m holding.

  “Oh this, it’s for my cousin, well for her husband. He’s the business partner you heard me on the phone with at the airport.” I give her a smile, and she returns it. “They’re expecting their first baby soon, and she asked me to pick it up for her. It’s some new father book she’s gonna give him as a present.”

  “Oh, that’s really nice,” she says softly.

  “Is this okay?” I ask as we stop in front of a small eatery.

  “Do they have alcohol?” she asks, the sides of her mouth curling up into a devilish grin.

  “I’m sure they do.”

  “Then it works for me.”

  That’s my kind of girl.

  I open the door, and we are quickly seated in an intimate booth. The music in the restaurant is low, and as I stare across the table at Sasha, I have so many things I want to say to her, but that line of business and pleasure keeps popping up in my head, now throwing everything I want into limbo. It’s the same as our car ride back from the meeting today, and I find myself wanting to ignore her to keep myself under control. She brings out a side of me that shouldn’t be seen in public, a side that even I’m unfamiliar with.