CHAPTER 17

ELVIS

I felt like a teenager trying to find the right words.

Her eyes were doing things to me, that particular shade of hazel, making it genuinely difficult to hold eye contact for more than a few seconds at a time.

I kept finding things on the table to look at: my glass, watch, and the grain of the wood.

Here I was, bargaining with my own employee about going to the cinema. The absurdity of it all dawned on me.

Last night had been difficult.

I'd rolled from one side of the bed to the other for hours, unable to sleep.

My mind kept going back to her, walking away in those heels, in the rain, hair soaked and flat against her neck, not once looking back.

I'd stood there watching until she disappeared and felt guilty, a word I hadn't felt in a long time.

The urge to go after her had been strong enough to surprise me.

I should have said nothing at the party. Whatever that feeling was when I watched her laughing with Harry, all cheesy and easy, I should have kept it contained. Locked it down the way I locked everything else down.

Instead, I had said what I said.

I was becoming weak. I, Elvis Laurent, was standing in a restaurant rehearsing an apology like a schoolboy, and now I was sitting here agreeing to the cinema.

"What kind of films do you enjoy?" The question left my mouth before I'd decided to ask it.

She clapped once, delighted, and shaped her four fingers into a small heart. "Romance."

A pause, and then the corner of her mouth lifted. "I know it never looks like the films in real life. But if I can't have it for real, I might as well be happily delusional about it." She winked.

The restaurant was cool. Air conditioning, marble surfaces, the quiet hum of other people's conversations, but I feel sweaty inside.

I cannot explain what this woman does to the atmosphere around me. Every time, without fail, I become someone slightly different in her presence.

If we were going, it would have to be a private screening. That much was non-negotiable. I picked up my phone, stepped just far enough to speak without being heard, made the call, and hung up.

"Let's go."

"Thank you, sir."

She had already crossed the space between us and squeezed my body into a hug. Her breasts pressed so firmly against my chest that I became aware of my little Thomas kicking down there.

Heck! I am not a pervert. I have never been one. Why the hell am I reacting this way?

I stood very still.

"Let's go, sir." She stepped back, already moving, reaching for my hand, her fingers closing around mine as we walked out of the restaurant.

I let her.

"You're driving today?" She glanced up at me as we reached the car. "What happened to Mr Peter?"

"Family emergency." I pressed the key and the door unlocked. "Outside of myself, I only trust Peter behind the wheel."

That was a lie.

Peter was at home. His family was perfectly fine. The lie came out clean and easy, which said something about how far gone I already was, that I was now constructing stories to justify wanting twenty minutes alone in a car with my assistant.

"Oh." She accepted this without question and got in.

I watched her face when she settled into the seat, the way it opened up when she saw the interior, a small clap, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a smile. It was contagious in a way I couldn't help but smile.

The ride to the cinema wasn’t a quiet one. Hazel kept singing along to the music playing from the car’s stereo. She is a great singer, using her hand as a microphone and moving her body.

She turned in the seat and extended her fist toward my face.

“What are you doing?” I asked with my eyes focused on the road, though I could see her from the corner of my right eye.

“Don’t be a fun killer. You will sing the man’s verse, and I will sing the ladies’ part. Imagine this as karaoke on a different level. Your turn.”

Her squeezed hand was still below my lips, waiting for me to sing. This is insane.

"Eyiahhh, you got me feeling on the moon."

I don't know what made me do it. But I sang the line, and she came in immediately with hers.

Which was funnier: her cheering me up, or me actually singing? It took me back to the good old days of being a lover boy.

I used to be the life of the party. I met Emily at one of those loud gatherings and fell deeply for her. It was love at first sight, and I instantly knew she was the one for me.

We were so much in love, the perfect couple every other couple wished to be like. All of that was a performance; her betrayal still cut deep.

"Sir?"

Her voice pulled me out of that dark place.

"You went somewhere just now."

"I'm fine." I eased into the cinema car park and cut the engine. "We're here."

The private screening room was ready, popcorn and drinks were ready, and the screen was already warming up for the studio opening. She walked in ahead of me and turned slowly, taking it in.

"A private screening." She looked at me over her shoulder. "Very intimate."

"I value my space."

She let it go and settled in, pulling the popcorn into her lap, already completely at home. The lights dimmed, and the film began.

I watched the screen for approximately four minutes.

After that, watching her was more interesting.

Her face did things during films, small, involuntary reactions she was clearly unaware of. When the male lead said something tender to the woman he loved, her expression became softer.

I looked back at the screen in time to catch the two leads kissing. The moan from the screen made me sit up straighter.

My eyes moved away from the screen to her face, specifically her lips, fighting the demons whispering in my head to kiss her.

The dim light from the cinema was igniting whatever horny feelings I was experiencing right now.

She is your employee. She is younger than your youngest child. Breathe, sit correctly.

I repeated this to myself in various arrangements.

"Do you believe in love, sir?"