Chapter Four
1399 Words
Chapter Four
“What do you want?” Adalia regained her composure as quickly as possible. It wasn’t easy with him staring back at her. He had such a soulful gaze, and it pierced right through to her core.
Trent ruffled his blond hair and tilted his head forward to gaze at her from under his brow. He held a brown dossier in his right hand and rested the other on the doorjamb. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“No,” she said, immediately. “I’m not interested in your propositions, Trent.”
“You should be. This could change your life for the better, for good.” He tucked the brown folder under his arm. Trent wasn’t a patient guy, and her denial probably ate at him to the core, but so what? That was his problem and not hers.
She hadn’t asked for any of this.
“Who’s this?” Sylvester appeared in the hall behind her and she swallowed again. Her dad wouldn’t like this one bit. Not after he’d seen her so broken over Trent in the first place.
He moved in beside her and glared at the rich white guy. “Adalia, who is this?”
“Dad, this is Trent Dawson. He’s an important business man,” she replied, avoiding the issue. The street behind him was still empty, at least. DeShawn would cause nothing but trouble if he arrived now.
“Trent, Trent,” Sylvester repeated, then clicked his fingers and pointed. “You’re the billionaire, correct?”
“Yes, sir, that’s correct.” Trent extended his hand for a shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Montclair.”
Sylvester didn’t take the proffered greeting. Instead, he pursed his lips and looked at Adalia. “This is even more disappointing.”
“Pardon?” Trent frowned and neither of them looked at him.
“Dad, I need some privacy. Would you mind giving it to me?”
“This is my house. If you want privacy, take this outside.” He motioned to the street, and she drew her shoulders up. She didn’t want to have this argument in front of Trent, but her father’s attitude stank of late.
Everything he said made her feel worse for staying with him.
“Fine,” she replied then walked out onto the porch. Trent’s frown stayed in place, but he followed her. The front door slammed shut, removing the sliver of light from the hall. Sylvester didn’t switch on the porch light for them, so Adalia went to the stairs and sat down.
“Are you okay?” Trent settled in next to her, but didn’t slip his arm around her shoulder. Trent had boundaries and he knew how to respect hers because of that.
“I’m fine. I mean, I will be fine. It’s not a big deal. Besides, what do you care?” Adalia crossed her legs and gazed out at the street. The street lights were out in places, and the kids had been called into their apartment buildings hours ago.
There was silence except for the distant howl of sirens. This wasn’t the best area of town, but she’d grown up here. She knew these streets like the back of her hand, and Trent just didn’t belong.
“You look beautiful,” he said, and she tensed up. That need for him resurfaced, but she pushed at it until it sank back into nothingness. She had to remain in control of her emotions around him, or it would be the end of her willpower.
“Thanks,” she replied, then shifted further away from him. He grazed her thigh with the dossier and she flinched.
“Are you going somewhere?”
Adalia kept her silence.
“Adalia?”
“What is it?”
“Are you going out?” There was jealousy in the question and she hesitated a moment longer. “Who are you going with?”
“I’ve got a date, and it’s none of your business who with. My life has got nothing to do with you. I’ve told you that before, and I’ll tell you again until you get the damn point.” She slapped her thighs to brush off the imaginary dirt and rose. She gripped the banister to steady herself.
She was afloat in her mind, detached from it actually, and watching the events unfold. That was what anxiety did to her and she hated it. She didn’t feel real, but rather a faded image of her own reality.
“Fine, that’s fine. Adalia, I didn’t come to discuss your personal life.” Trent set his jaw, then brought out that file and laid it across his knees. “I came to discuss something more important than that.”
“I’m not interested in catering for any events.”
“I heard you.” He said it simply, but it set her nerves jangling. What was in that file? What did he have planned for her? She couldn’t deal with surprises.
“I really ought to go back inside and check on my dad. He’s not feeling well at the moment.” She turned but he rose and caught her arm. That touch sent sparks dancing across her skin.
Adalia tried to pull away but he held her tight. “Let go of me.”
“I can’t,” he whispered, and her insides melted into a puddle.
“Why not? Why is it so difficult to accept that I don’t need you or your help?”
Trent breathed slowly, chest rising and falling close enough for her to reach out and caress. “Because I need your help.”
Adalia’s eyes widened. “The famous Mr. Dawson, buckling under his own ego? This is something new.”
“Don’t be facetious,” he replied, finally relinquishing his grip and taking a few steps back.
“I can’t help it. You’re normally independent and in control. I can’t help but think this is some ploy to get into my pants again.”
“You think an awful lot of yourself, Montclair.” Trent rearranged that blond hair again, and she twitched toward him then stopped herself. She had to resist that urge for him or it would overrun her logic.
“Just tell me what you want so I can go inside. I’ll hear you out, but I’m not making any promises.”
“All right, that’s fine.” He handed her the folder and she took it, though it felt like she’d grabbed a viper.
She didn’t open the file. “What’s in it?”
“A contract.”
“Not interested,” she said, thrusting the dossier back at him, but he didn’t take it.
“Hear me out before you make a decision, Adalia. Christ, you’re so temperamental.”
She pursed her lips and folded her arms across her breasts. “Continue.”
“I bought a new space, not the same place as your old one, and I’ve got everything in it to start a bakery.”
“Right,” she said, “and you think I’m going to work for you?”
“I’d like that, yeah. I didn’t plan this around you. I just think the bakery idea is great and could make a lot of money if you, uh, I did it the right way.” He nodded with self-assurance and she crumbled a little. She wanted to believe that he wasn’t doing this just for her as some sick way of getting her into his bed again.
“Why don’t you ask Van Heerden to bake for you, huh?”
“What is it with you and that? You know she’s as bright as a fused light bulb and she certainly can’t bake worth a damn.”
Adalia’s jealousy reared its ugly head. “And you know this from experience, I assume? A lot of home cooked meals gone wrong? A lot of dates.”
“No,” he replied, patient though his jaw was clenched so tight his muscle twitched in his cheek.
“I’m not interested in this. I’m not interested in working for you or being around you, and I feel I’ve made it amply clear.”
“Adalia,” he said, then paused and looked up at the waxing moon that peered out from behind the clouds. The stars were shrouded in patches, and those that twinkled were dimmed by puffs of clouds.
“I’ve got to go. I’ll see you around.” She strolled back to the front door, and he rushed up behind her. He grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her on the spot and pressed her up against the door.
A cool sweat broke out on the back of her neck in response to the pressure of his touch.
She was trapped in desire again, and she couldn’t fight her way out. He was hard for her... she could feel it through his tailored pants and the fabric of her dress.
“Trent, you can’t do this to me... you can’t put me in this kind of situation.” It was almost a plea and she bit her lip, then tasted blood and stopped.
He lowered his nose to her throat and sighed. “I understand.” He stepped back and disappointment shattered her arousal.
“I need you. Just realize that. I need you to make this business idea work.”
“All right.”
Footsteps sounded on the drive.
- Writer
