Page 56 of Strictly Business
“How’d you get my address?”
“How’d you get mine?”
“Touché,” I chuckle and give Paul the okay. “I’ll take it from here. Thanks, Paul.”
He offers a small salute before heading to the door to open it for Mrs. Daniels.
Turning to go back upstairs, Michaela doesn’t follow, sitting in the same position. “You coming, or are we going to do this down here in front of everyone?”
Michaela’s eyes inspect every inch of the condo when she walks inside. I wouldn’t expect any less from someone who has spent their career working under one of the best designers in the business. But I can’t take credit for anything done here; I'm only renting the place. Whoever did decorate it, had decent taste, but they still wouldn’t be my choice of designer. Michaela moves to the middle of the living room, her arms still crossed, her lips pulled into a straight line, and her brow creased in thought. Her eyes stayed glued to the view from floor-to-ceiling windows — overlooking Tribeca with an unobstructed display of One World Trade. Even underneath the brown checkered overcoat, I can see the way her blue jeans hug her curves and it draws my attention straight to her ass. Stop it, Finn. Pull yourself together. This is not why she’s here. "Pretty cool, huh?" I ask from the kitchen ripping open the bag of food.
“What do you want, Sheffield?” Her words are so blunt, I have to do a double-take. Michaela finally turns from the window. She steps up to the other side of the island, her arms still crossed looking more irritated with every passing moment.
“I should be asking you that question, you’re the one who showed up at my place, remember?”
“We haven’t spoken since Monday when you put me in the cab and told me to be a ‘good girl.’ Seemed final to me, but now you call asking where I am, asking if I’m home, like some stalker.” Her blue eyes soften when they meet mine again. Her voice is softer when she speaks again, “I’ve had enough of the game, Finn. What do you want?”
“It’s not a game, Shortcake.” I step around the island, but she takes a step back.
“Not a game?” She scoffs. “You sleep with me one minute, and the next, you treat me like I don’t even matter. Quite sure that’s the definition of a game.”
“You don’t get to put this all on me, Michaela. You’re the one that said—”
“God, this was a mistake.”
“No.” I grab her arm when she tries to walk away, and her eyes flare, hot as a blue flame. “You don’t get to walk away because you don’t want to hear what I have to say. You started this. You showed up here, so now you’re going to listen.” I point at the couch, “Sit.”
“I’m not a child, Finn.”
“Then stop acting like it.”
She considers fighting back but huffs and sits on the white cushion without another word. Her legs cross and she places folded hands on top of her knees. I sit on the chaise leaving a space between us.
“You wanted this, Michaela, remember? You wanted to go back to the way things have always been. Pretend like what happened didn’t happen.”
“You didn’t exactly fight me on it.”
“I won’t pressure you into something you don’t want. You want to forget it ever happened? Fine. That’s what we’ll do. I won’t—”
“But, I don’t want to go back to hating each other.”
“I don’t hate you, Michaela.”
“Sure,” she scoffs.
“Trust me when I tell you that hate is the furthest thing I feel for you.” That’s the God’s honest truth. I could never hate her. “Are you annoying as hell? Yes. Do you get under my skin? Every damn day that I’m around you. But, I don’t hate you.”
“Oh no,” she laughs, “are you about to tell me that you’ve secretly loved me all these years?”
“You wish, Shortcake.” I pat her knee and squeeze gently. “Lord knows, I couldn’t stand you when you were younger. You were annoying as hell and…”
“Hey!”
“…never got the hint to leave us alone.”
“You weren’t exactly the life of the party.”
“I know plenty of people who would say otherwise, including your brother.”