Wall Street Titan (Wall Street Titan #1) - Anna Zaires Page 0,45

to my place. Here will do just as well.

The backs of her legs touch the mattress, and she suddenly goes rigid. Gripping my wrists, she twists away from my kiss. “Wait!”

I freeze in place, using every ounce of my willpower to remain still as she slithers out of my hold and backs away, not stopping until she’s as far away from the bed—and me—as she can get.

“Listen, Marcus,” she says shakily, pushing the curls off her face with a trembling hand. “I’m not… This isn’t…” She gulps in a breath. “We’re obviously attracted to each other, but this isn’t going to work out.”

And as I stare at her in disbelief, she picks up her cat from the floor and says quietly, “Leave, please. I want you to go.”

23

Emma

“You did what?” Kendall’s voice jumps an octave as she stares at me, her half-eaten croissant clutched in her hand.

“I told him to leave,” I repeat, rubbing my temples as the headache from hell worsens.

I barely slept after Marcus left last night—my second sleepless night this week—and though I’ve had enough caffeine to wake a horse this morning, my skull feels like it’s being squeezed in a vise. Given that, I probably shouldn’t have gone to Kendall’s apartment for breakfast, but I needed someone other than my cats to talk to.

“Okay, back up.” Kendall drops the croissant onto her napkin and swivels her bar stool to face me fully. “Let’s go through this again. He broke down your door to save you after you tripped over your cat, and you guys made out while you were almost naked. He then ate gyros with you while his repairmen fixed it. After that, you kissed again, and he invited you to his place. And you told him it’s not going to work out and he should leave?”

“Technically, he kissed me after inviting me to his place, but yes, that’s the gist of it.”

“Emma! What the hell?”

I blink. “What? He’s still planning to date Emmeline, and you’re the one who told me to be careful. ‘Men are dogs,’ remember?”

“You dummy! That was before we knew he’s a billionaire.”

“Kendall—”

“No, listen to me.” She leans on the countertop, her elbow nearly squishing the croissant. “This isn’t some random Wall Street asshole—it’s Marcus freaking Carelli. And he’s interested in you enough to break down your door and eat takeout gyros in your shitty little studio.”

“Right. Because he wants to get into my pants.” I massage my brow ridge as if that would cause the pressure behind it to subside. I definitely shouldn’t have come here, I see that now. If I’d caught a nap this afternoon, I’d be better equipped to deal with Kendall and her insane views on dating. As is—

“So what?” Kendall jumps off her stool and glares at me, hands propped on her hips. “You want to get into his pants, don’t you?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“No buts! He’s rich, he’s hot, he wants you, and you want him. And”—she leans in until her nose is almost touching my own—“he was totally upfront with you about this Emmeline thing. They’re not married or even dating yet, so who cares that he may date her one day?”

Ugh. I squeeze my eyes shut and wish I were home with my cats. I don’t know what I expected when I showed up at Kendall’s apartment with the croissants and coffee from the street cart downstairs, but getting yelled at for not sleeping with Marcus wasn’t on the list.

It’s bad enough I spent all night second-guessing my decision and feeling like crap each time I recalled the expression on Marcus’s face when I told him to leave. For a second, he’d looked almost hurt, but then his gaze had hardened, his face turning into a stony mask. Without a word, he turned and walked away, and it was all I could do to remain in place instead of running after him.

Instead of begging him to come back and finish what we started.

“Emma, listen to me,” Kendall continues, and I reluctantly open my eyes as she climbs back onto her bar stool. “Marcus clearly likes you. So what if you don’t fit his requirements for a wife? That doesn’t mean you can’t have fun with him. You’ve been having sex dreams about the man, for chrissakes. And just think about it: Marcus Carelli. Do you know what kind of doors would be open to you if you were on his arm? The places he could take you, the people you could meet?” When