Knowing it was absolutely the wrong thing to do, Blake did the only thing he could do in a moment like this. He laughed.

It wasn’t a soft chortle, either. It was full-blown, rib-bruising laughter that ripped through him. He wrapped his arms around his middle in an attempt to contain himself to no avail. It was just too damn funny to stop.

Through the tears that clouded his eyes, he noticed Drea’s expression—humiliation warred with frustration for top billing on her features. He didn’t want that. Not at all. But before he could gather himself enough to explain his reaction, she’d turned and stomped away.

“Andrea,” he called after her, except it came out more of a muffled mess of sound. He tried again. “Andrea, wait.”

He was met by silence.

Somewhat calmer, he checked to make sure the door wouldn’t lock behind him and ran in slippered feet after her. He knew she didn’t have a car; she couldn’t have gotten far. Thoughts of her riding the subway in that getup nearly had him laughing again. And he was concerned for her safety.

No, he wasn’t. No one would hit on her in that outfit. Laughing it was.

But then he rounded his garage, and found her gone, the taillights of a cab racing down the street the only sign that she’d been there. All traces of humor left him with a splat, like the air disappearing from a popped balloon.

What the hell just happened?

It was obvious her visit hadn’t been business-related. Then why had she run off so quickly? Sure, his laughter had been a bit overzealous, but come on. She looked outrageous. Was he supposed to have reacted differently?

With each step back toward his front door he felt more and more certain that he’d made a grave error. And that meant he’d have to apologize. Again.

Dammit.

Chapter Eleven

Of all the ways she’d expected him to greet her, laughter had not been one she’d even considered. She was so humiliated. Her eyeliner was a smeared blob by the time she’d arrived back at the apartment. Sweet Lacy, ever the caretaker, had poured her wine and crawled into bed with her.

It took a good half an hour before Andy was calm enough to get the story out. Though she’d had every right to say I told you so, Lacy instead comforted Andy with alternative reasons for Blake’s awful behavior. “Maybe he was simply surprised to see you.”

“And that qualifies laughter? Full-on laughter, Lace. I’m not talking about a simple chuckle. He was thoroughly amused.” Humiliated wasn’t a strong enough word for how it had made her feel. Disgraced was more like it. Mortified to no end.

Tears having destroyed the work of the flatiron, Lacy swept the curls off Andy’s face in comforting strokes. “Some people have a hard time expressing strong emotions, you know.”

Andy did know. Lacy was one of those people. Unless she was singing it in a song, you only got surface emotions from her.

“From what you’ve said about Blake, I’d bet he’s got that problem.”

Wiping fresh tears from her cheek with the sleeve of her pathetic white nightie—she was burning the thing in the morning—Andy protested. “Blake has a problem all right, but that’s not it. His problem is he’s a complete asshole.” Times ten. Times twenty, even.

Lacy reached over Andy’s head to the nightstand, grabbing a box of tissues. “Is he really, though? Maybe he’s just a stranger to feelings. He may have reacted in the wrong way because he isn’t used to dealing. If he was completely taken off guard as well as completely turned on, maybe that would be enough to elicit an unusual response, such as laughing. And you did look completely un-Andy tonight. If you’d have shown up here looking like that, I’d have been surprised myself.”

And Lacy would have laughed. But that was different, wasn’t it? It most certainly was.

“You’re reaching, sis.” Andy sat up and blew her nose loudly then turned to look at her sister. Lacy’s eyes showed such compassion and understanding that it made Andy’s heart ache. Smiling past the sob bubbling in her throat, she squeezed Lacy’s hand. “But thanks for that. I appreciate the try.”

Lacy returned the smile. “Would you like me to sleep with you in here tonight?”

“Yes, please.”

*   *   *

Andy chewed her lip as she rode the elevator up to Donovan’s floor. How she wished it were a Tuesday or Thursday. She could use her “shopping” day to curl up in bed and cry. But it was Friday, and on Friday she was required to be in the office. Under other circumstances, she was certain she could call in and say she had appointments with potential dates. Or even claim to be sick. If she’d done that today, Blake would know she was avoiding him, and he’d know why she was avoiding him.

And that would mean he’d win.

The last thing Andy would let Blake do at this point was win. Not after last night.

Morning, at least, had brought clarity as she remembered that she had rejected him first. She clung to that bit of knowledge, letting it propel her as she got ready and made her way to the office. At first it gave her a smug thrill of happiness. The closer she got to seeing him face-to-face, though, the more that happiness morphed into something else—anger. Wild rage. Because, how dare he? How dare the bastard make her feel so incredibly small? Sex had been his idea in the first place, not hers. And if he was at all unclear how pissed the situation made her, she was determined to let him know.

By the time the elevator opened on her floor, she was a new woman—determined and confident. With bitter and bold steps, she made her way to his office. She stomped past the secretary without a hello and was only somewhat surprised to see Blake waiting for her inside his door with a single red rose in hand.

For one fraction of a millisecond she considered accepting his truce.

Then she shoved the idea away. Hell no was he getting off that easy. She’d been hurt. Stripped raw. A stupid flower would not appease. Especially a lame-ass rose sort of flower. How unoriginal.

Without slowing her steps, she grabbed the rose from his hand and broke the stem in two, ignoring the sharp pain from the thorns. She tossed it in the trash can next to her work space, aware of Blake’s wide eyes following her as she did. Good, he could watch her all he wanted. Let him look at what he so harshly turned down.

It was after she deposited her purse in the bottom drawer that she noticed an entire vase with at least a dozen more roses sitting next to her phone. Those would have to go, too. She swept the whole thing into the trash. The sound of glass crashing and water sloshing echoed in the silence.

Andy could feel that Blake was stunned. Frankly, she was, too, but she wasn’t about to show it the way his gaping jaw did. His shock only fueled her more. What did he expect? That she’d smile and nod and pretend that nothing had happened?

Well, he wasn’t getting that. She wasn’t one of the docile chicks she set him up with. She was stupid to ever think she could be—even for one night. Never again. In fact, this weekend she’d begin applying for another job. Until she found one, she’d work her ass off to get Blake married off. But no more niceties between them. No more trying to understand him. No more attempts at friendship.

She’d just settled in and turned on her computer, prepared to dive into her work, when he finally spoke.

“Andrea, I’m sor—”

She thrust her palm in the air like a stop sign. “Don’t. Speak.”

“Just let me—”

Andy didn’t look at him as she delivered her edict. “I mean it, Blake. Do not speak to me. Ever again. Unless it’s related to work.”

“Drea, I have to—”

Slamming her hands on the desk, she swiveled to face him. “And my name is Andy. Or Andrea. When you speak to me, in relation to work only, you will use my name. My name! You don’t get to nickname me.”