“Ah,” he asks huskily. “That brings up a good point I guess—how old are you, Arden?”

“Twenty-five.”

Tracing a finger up my arm, he leaves a trail of goose bumps in his wake. “I’m ten years older than you. Is that what this is about? Does that bother you?”

Shaking my head I answer truthfully. “No.”

“Then there must be another reason that you’re fighting this as hard as you are. Why are you lying about what you want?”

His straightforward questioning makes me defensive. “Is it really so hard for you to grasp that I’m just not attracted to you?”

With a tsk-tsk sound, he shakes his head. “Are you an actress?”

Swallowing past the desert in my mouth I answer simply. “No.”

“That’s right,” he says huskily, “You’re not. Which means that the chemistry between us is one hundred percent real. Your mouth likes to throw up roadblocks, but your body is a different story entirely. I’ll bet every last dime I have that right now you’re wet for me. Your body knows what it wants, Arden. You can lie to me, and say that isn’t true, but I can see it in your eyes. You want me as much as I want you. You’re fighting so hard to stay away from something that’s going to be so good. Forget who you think that I am or what you’ve heard about me, and focus on this—right here, right now. Will you take a chance on me? Let me prove that what you think you know about me is wrong.”

I want to say yes. Badly. In fact, it’s hovering right on the tip of my tongue, and I’m about to go for it. Suddenly, my memory throws up a reminder of the last time someone told me that they were going to prove me wrong. That time I wound up making the biggest mistake of my life. I can’t afford another go-round like that, mentally or physically.

Pushing my chair back, I stand. Looking down at him, I shake my head. “My answer is no, and it’s always going to be no. It’s the end of the day and I’ve got things to do so I’m going to go. Have a nice life!”

Without giving him a chance to say anything else, I grab my purse from under my desk and scurry away. Of course by scurry, I mean I’m half running. Nothing weird about that, right?

After I got home and took my shower last night, I stood naked in front of my mirror and looked myself over as I tried to understand how Exton Alexander could possibly be attracted to me. Throwing that bit at him about flirting with the fatty was nothing more than a defense mechanism to me after spending most of my young life being called Larden or fat ass.

I’m not fat, but I’m not a size zero model, either. I eat food—regularly—and I’ve got curves. My boobs alone are ridiculously bigger than those of Exton’s usual arm candy. In addition to being skinny as hell, most of the girls he’s seen with have boobs that are no bigger than a small C cup and they’re all tan and glowing. I’m a D cup having, size eight wearing, pale-skinned normal woman. The sun hates me so I never take on any color, my hair is long, and black, and I never color it or add highlights. Exton’s women are literally high maintenance beauties—in comparison, I am essentially the exact opposite.

After I finished assessing myself, I spent last night tossing and turning like a mad woman. I was equal parts furious with and proud of myself for saying no. This morning I realized that I’m a grown ass woman and I don’t need to hide from men in my apartment forever. I’ve never been attracted to anyone in the way that I am to Exton—what was really going to be the harm in me saying yes to a date? At worst we’d have wound up having a decent date followed by sex and it would’ve been as awkward and un-enjoyable as the other two times I’ve had sex. At best it would’ve been a good date followed by some decent sex and I’d at least have had the memory of the one time I cut loose and did something fun.

Or not.

It doesn’t matter now though—I shot him down so I know I won’t be seeing or hearing from him again.

I was tense this morning because I was sure that Sabrina was going to say something about it, but she never did. It seemed like he didn’t tell her what happened yesterday, at least not yet, which was a blessing because I really didn’t feel like talking about it.

In the middle of tidying up my desk so that I can leave for the day—to go home and berate myself some more—the private line straight to my desk rings. Seeing that it’s Sabrina, I smile as I pick up the phone. “Hey Rina, what’s up?”

She lets out what sounds like a frustrated sigh as I wait for her to answer. “So I left early to go check on the restaurant Dante’s been working on in West LA . . .”

There’s a long pause, so I prod her to continue. “Yeah?”

“I left my purse there and everyone is gone for the day. If I give you the door code will you pretty please with a cherry on top go pick it up and bring it to work with you tomorrow to give to Dante? I hate to ask but it’s got all of my stuff in it. Dante’s not answering his cell and I’m here with the kids. Vivi isn’t feeling well—”

I cut her off without hesitating. “It’s no problem. I’m just about to leave now. What’s wrong with Vivi? Is she okay?” Vivienne is Sabrina and Dante’s youngest and she’s the most adorable four-year old I’ve ever met. They adopted her when she was three and within two months, it was like she’d been with them since birth. I’m crazy about her to be honest, and I’ve considered adopting a child myself one day because I can see how amazing it is for everyone involved.

Before Sabrina can respond to my question, I hear Vivi’s sing song voice. “Mommy, daddy says that Uncle—”

“Crap, I have to go. Thanks for doing this, Arden, I’ll message you the code right now! See you Monday. Bye!”

Without another word, Sabrina hangs up. It’s unusual for her to be so short, but I guess Vivi feeling sick must have her frazzled. The poor child must have a stomach bug or something because her voice sounds just fine.

Traffic into WeHo isn’t bad, so I’m at the site within twenty minutes. This is one of Dante’s pet projects, so it’s on his daily manifest a lot, but I’ve never seen it in person so I take a minute to get my bearings before approaching the door. From the outside it looks to be finished, but God only knows what I’m walking into on the inside. Hopefully it isn’t too bad because I’m wearing three-inch heels and I have nothing to change into.

Stepping up to the rear door, I startle when it opens before I can enter the code. Looking up, I let out a strangled sound of shock when I find myself face to face with Exton. Again.

He looks so good in his charcoal gray pants, black shirt and gray tie that my mouth goes dry as I quickly give thanks that I didn’t have sneakers to change into. In my black dress and three-inch heels I don’t feel out of place, which is a relief. The problem right now is that I smell a rat.

“What’re you doing here?” I ask.

Smiling, he gestures for me to come in. “I’m one of the owners,” he says casually as he guides me into the restaurant.

The first thing I notice is that there is the most amazing smell wafting through the air. Dammit, I forgot to eat lunch and whatever the smell is, it’s making my mouth water. Wait a second—if this is a construction site, how is it that I can smell food?

Coming to a halt beside Exton, I take the room in with wide-eyed shock. For all intents and purposes, it’s finished. The majority of the tables and chairs aren’t in place, but in the center of the room one round table is completely set up, right down to two full place settings.

Turning to my right, I glare at Exton. “This isn’t a construction site at all. Is Sabrina’s purse even here?”

God help me, the look he gives me looks a lot like a plea for understanding, and it makes me want to agree to anything he’s about to say before he even has a chance to get it out.