Page 46 of Hard Deal
Had they slept together? Was this how he got after he moved on? Polite but cold. Distant.
Bile rushed up the back of Imogen’s throat. Was she staring down the barrel of their breakup? This would be her, soon. Stumbling across him with another woman, being asked if she “needed anything” like there was nothing between them. Like there had been nothing.
“I know you,” Grace said suddenly, her eyes squinting. “You’re Gerald Allbrook’s assistant, right?”
Mother frogging shazbot. Of all the places to get caught. Of course she had to be dressed in a towel, too, so there was no denying what was going on.
“Grace Henry.” The woman bit down on her lip. “My firm pitched an advertising campaign to Gerald a few months back.”
Imogen didn’t have the faintest recollection of the woman, but Gerald had hundreds of people in and out of his office each week. Admitting that wasn’t going to smooth over this nightmarish situation, however. “Of course.” She nodded.
“Anyway, well...” The woman pressed her hand to her chest and turned on her heel, ducking her head as she walked past Caleb. But Imogen hadn’t missed the tears shimmering in her eyes.
Caleb ushered Imogen back into his apartment. But his expression had changed—the happy glow from earlier had been stripped away, replaced by something akin to wariness. “Grace is my neighbour, nothing more,” he said as he set the coffees down on the table.
He pulled out two plates and set the bag on top. The scent of freshly baked croissants wafted into the air, but instead of making her mouth water, they turned her stomach.
Imogen folded her arms across her chest, suddenly wishing she’d gotten dressed instead of putting on a towel. “I didn’t ask.”
He raised a brow. “I know, but since you look like you want to murder me with a pickaxe in my sleep, I’m telling you.”
“You don’t have to be sleeping,” she muttered.
“Sit.” He pulled a chair out for her and gestured to the breakfast. “You can grill me over pastries.”
“I don’t want to grill you, Caleb.” She shook her head. “That would imply there’s been some kind of agreement between us...and there hasn’t. I don’t have any right to demand an explanation.”
“This is a woman trap, isn’t it? Like where you say you’re ‘fine’ but you’re testing me to see if I’ll give you the ‘right’ response.” He reached for his coffee. “It’s not my first rodeo, Imogen.”
“Yes, I’m well aware you’ve had many rodeos to hone your skills.” The words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them, but Caleb simply nodded. Well, now she’d done it. If he wasn’t certain she was a raging ball of jealously before then he would be now.
It was stupid, really. She didn’t have any claim on him and she certainly didn’t want to end up like poor Grace, who was clearly still smitten with him and was probably nursing a rather nasty bruise on her ego right now.
“If you want to ask something, then do it,” he said. He sipped his coffee, trying to act as cool as a cucumber, but the muscles around his jaw were tight, his lips pulled into a flat line. “I would hope after what we’ve done that you could at least talk to me about what’s upsetting you.”
“Did you sleep with her?” It was shameful that she wanted so badly to know. She shouldn’t care...but she did.
“No.” He sighed. “I kissed her once after we had a few too many drinks, but that was it. A kiss, nothing more.”
“Was that after me?” All the old feelings came rushing back—the confusing mélange of hope that she was wrong, with fear that she was right. The tight fist of anger and despair closing around her heart and squeezing hard.
“After that night at the club, you mean?” His blue eyes grew darker, stormier. The muscles in his neck corded, like he was holding his whole body tight as a wire. “No. It was before that. Months ago.”
“So why was she here looking like she expected you to be alone?” Her voice wobbled and she wanted to pound her fist into something. Was she so pathetic that she couldn’t even keep herself together long enough to get through this conversation?
“I don’t know.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Do you expect me to account for other people’s actions?”
“No, but you should account for your own. If you weren’t interested in her...”
“What? I should’ve shut her down harder, is that what you’re saying? Because that would make me an asshole.” He slammed his coffee cup down on the table and some of the brown liquid splashed out of the drinking spout and pooled on the plastic lid. “But then if I let her down gently I’m leading her on? I can’t fucking win.”
“I’m not saying that—”
“Yes, you are. You’re acting like it’s my fault that she turned up here when I told her that I’m not interested in pursuing a relationship with her.” His nostrils flared. “I kissed her and it was a mistake. I apologised and tried to let her down as best I could. But I knew she was coming into the office the following week to present to Dad and I didn’t want to shoot her down so hard that she lost her nerve. I tried to do the right thing.”
It sounded so plausible. She wanted to believe it. She wanted to trust that he was the kind of guy who didn’t sleep around or lead people on. But what about the woman from the office, the one they were discussing last night?
“What about Neila?”