smiled. “So you admit it was prowess.”
Her eyes flicked to his. “Let’s just say, last night was good. Very good.”
Seth thought of himself as an evolved man, but he apparently wasn’t that far beyond caveman, because the urge to puff out his chest at that moment was almost too strong to ignore.
Instead he took a sip of his coffee and held her gaze. “Yes. It was.”
Brooke bit her lip as she cupped the large mug in two hands. “So, I feel like maybe we should have talked about . . . the after. And also, I didn’t mean to sleep over. It was just—I thought—”
His hand found her knee. “Hey.”
She took a deep breath.
“There was no way in hell I was letting you out of bed last night, much less out of my apartment,” he said quietly.
Brooke took a deep breath and looked like she was about to protest, but they were interrupted by a knock at the door. Her eyes widened slightly in panic. “Someone’s here?”
He reached out and flicked the edge of her braid before standing. “Room service. Stay.”
A few moments later, he’d generously tipped the delivery woman after refusing to allow her to set up the table. Instead he wheeled the crowded cart into the bedroom himself.
Brooke blinked. “Um, how many people are you planning on feeding?”
“I wasn’t sure what you liked to eat for breakfast,” he said as he began to pull the silver tops off the various plates. “I got everything from a cheese omelet to pancakes to eggs Benedict.”
Brooke bit her lip and eyed the room-service cart. “I’m normally a bowl-of-cereal kind of girl.”
“It’s just breakfast, Brooke.”
She was already climbing out of bed. “Exactly. Breakfast. We said it was about one night. Last night. We agreed. Morning shenanigans didn’t play into it.”
“How do a couple of fucking pancakes and omelets equal shenanigans?”
“Don’t play dumb,” she said as she looked around for her clothes. “This can’t be anything. I work for you. Sort of.”
“Brooke. Stop,” he said, reaching for her. “Just because I’m offering you something to eat doesn’t mean I’m going to start ring shopping.”
She jerked away from his outstretched hand. “It starts with breakfast, but then what?”
He only stared at her.
“I don’t want this,” she said, gesturing at the breakfast cart. “Last night was great, but I don’t want anything more.”
Seth felt like he’d been poleaxed in the abdomen.
I don’t want anything more.
Brooke couldn’t have known, of course, that her softly uttered statement was an exact echo of what Nadia had said to him that night as she’d stared down at his pathetic self on bended knee.
I’ve liked spending time with you, Seth. But I don’t want anything more.
Him. She hadn’t wanted him.
And Brooke didn’t want him, either. And objectively, rationally, he knew that was okay. But some long-silenced part of him was roaring in pain of a not-quite-forgotten memory.
“Got it,” he snapped after the silence had stretched too long. “So next time, I just leave a fifty on the dresser, right?”
“Don’t be a jerk,” she said as she began pulling on her clothes.
“Yeah, I’m the asshole here,” he said. “You’re the one losing your shit over a few eggs.”
She brushed past him. “I can’t do this.”
He grabbed her arm, pulling her back around. “Nobody’s asking you to do anything. You’re the one who came over here last night, remember? For someone who’s so rah, rah happily ever afters, seems to me there’s only one kind of happy ending you’re after.”
Her lips parted at his crassness, and she looked like she wanted to slap him. He almost wished she would.
“You know what I just realized?” she said, her voice low and vibrating with anger. “You’re a lot like your hotels. Polished, attractive, efficient, and cold. Cold and soulless.”
He said nothing. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before. Nothing that wasn’t true.
“Have a good day, Mr. Tyler. I can see myself out.”
Seth didn’t move. Not until he heard his front door close.
And then his arm lashed out, swiping several of the room-service plates off the cart and sending them crashing to the floor.
As he stared blindly down at the mess, he realized that only twice in his life had he really truly lost his temper to the point of lashing out. Once the other night with the fucking takeout in his office, and again just now with the damn room service.
Both could be owed to a certain Brooke Baldwin.
So much for not getting complicated.
Chapter Twenty-One
I HANDLED IT BADLY. Do you think I handled it