Dirty Playboy - Alex Wolf Page 0,28

is thrown off its axis, and I prefer calm, regimented living. These kinds of situations are fun to read about in books, or watch in movies, the suspense keeps you glued to the pages or screen, the turmoil, wondering if the couple will make it through this rough spot, but as for real life—big fat nope.

I like predictability and my life is anything but predictable right now.

The last few days, I haven’t seen Rick. You wouldn’t think that’d be unusual, given the nature of his work. He’s always out in the field, spying on people, whatever he does for Decker and the brothers. At least, that’s what I imagine him doing; eating fast food in his car with a pair of binoculars.

But even if he only stops by the office for five minutes, he always finds his way to my desk.

Always.

Or I always end up “randomly” bumping into him somehow. For months, it was borderline obsession, and now, I miss him.

I miss him so much, and I literally have no idea why. I can’t explain it. It’s so surreal. Now, I’m kicking myself for all those brushed off opportunities I had to really get to know him, and I threw them all away pretending to be busy or telling him I didn’t have time for him. Now, I’d give anything for just one more of those moments.

Plus, I shouldn’t feel that way at all. I should be mad at him. He totally rejected me.

Did he really? Maybe he was respecting you.

I don’t think so. He wanted to kiss me, and I was right there, and he threw it all away, but I still want him for some reason. I still wish he was around, and he’s not here.

To make matters worse, I’m supposed to go meet with Wells Covington in twenty minutes. The day after he called me, I went straight to Decker and told him about the phone call. As expected, he blew it off as if it was no big deal and told me to just meet with him, and also not to admit to looking into him about anything. He said Wells is paranoid, and I should just ease his concerns.

It’s ridiculous. How did he even know I was looking into him anyway? All I did was some internet searches on documents. I didn’t even make any phone calls. Not to mention, this is a partner’s job, not part of my job description. But, raised in Texas, I was always taught if someone pays you, you get the work done. As long as it doesn’t compromise who you are, you do the work, and you do it to the best of your abilities. It’s ingrained in my brain; who I am.

I walk into Starbucks five minutes early, and to my surprise, Wells Covington is already there. I figured a busy man like him would show up at least ten minutes late. That’s how they usually operate. They never like waiting on the “help.” I immediately feel bad for judging him too, because I don’t even know him.

“Ms. Patrick.” He stands up before I can sit down.

This man confuses me so much. From what I’ve heard from Abigail, he’s a real jerk and does not treat women well. One day she leaned over and showed me everything she was working on, pictures of him going into sex clubs and things like that. I never pay much attention. Wealthy people, at their core, are the same as other people, they have their likes and dislikes, and they lead different lives than mine. It’s their choice. It’s a free country.

Wells is an enigma, though. Anytime I’ve ever spoken to him about business, he’s a perfect gentleman and seems so level-headed, super intelligent.

I start before he can say anything else. “I’m a little confused about this meeting. Most clients, especially clients of your size, only speak with partners. And I apologize about the other night on the phone, you just caught me at a weird time.”

That’s putting it mildly, considering I just got rejected by the hot guy I want, but didn’t want for months on end. I’m such a mess.

Wells leans back, eyeing me for a long time, almost like he knows something I don’t. Almost like he knows everything that happened, and he called at that time on purpose. I know that’s ridiculous. It’s how it feels, though. It’s probably some trick he does, some psychological technique.

“It’s not an issue. But let’s not pretend we both don’t know what’s