Chapter 51: Petty Revenge

She looked toward the open doorway. "Did he just—"

Yes.

He did.

He absolutely did.

Naomi slowly lowered her legs from the desk. The movement caused just enough friction to remind her exactly how turned on she still was. Her thighs pressed together automatically.

The pulse between them was very much alive and apparently determined to make this humiliation memorable.

Naomi groaned and dragged both hands over her face. She had been seconds away. Who thought about dinner after doing something like that to a woman? She slid off the desk carefully. Her knees were thankfully functional. She straightened her dress and looked at the mess of papers behind her.

At least the contract was getting professional attention now. She was going to kill him. He had forgotten one very important rule.

You did not mess with a woman who cooked for you.

The worst part was that if he walked back into the room right now and offered to finish what he started, she wasn’t entirely sure her pride would survive long enough to refuse.

Naomi took the elevator down to the kitchen. Usually, she preferred the stairs. The townhouse had enough floors to make every trip count as cardio, and she had long since decided that using the elevator for everything would eventually turn her into one of those rich people who considered walking across a room strenuous.

Tonight, however, she chose the elevator to avoid any unnecessary friction in her thighs. Dorian was already in the kitchen.

He stood behind the island looking completely relaxed. "So, I was thinking potatoes for tonight?" he said casually.

Naomi shot him a look that should have peeled paint off the walls. She stepped around the island without answering and began pulling things out of the cabinets with considerably more force than necessary.

He leaned against the island. This was going well. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out some leftover steak, then set it on the counter with aggression. "Are you mad at me?" He knew the answer.

Naomi turned slowly. "Me? Mad? Why would I be mad?"

Dorian pressed his lips together. This was going to be fun. She turned back to the counter and grabbed a bag of potatoes. "Oh, I don’t know...You seem a little... annoyed."

"Not at all." Naomi started washing the potatoes.

"That wasn’t nice, what I did, was it?"

Her hands stopped under the running water. She turned the tap off. "Oh, you mean leaving me hanging right when I was about to, you know? Why would I be mad about that? It’s no biggie. I could just as well do it myself. Or find another random stranger to do it. No biggie. Contracts first. Pleasure later. Or never. Whatever."

She kept going. "I suppose I should be thanking you. Imagine if you had actually finished what you started. God forbid. I might have enjoyed myself. We can’t have that."

"Naomi."

"And besides, I told you I have self-control."

Dorian watched her jump from one thought to another, each sentence arriving faster than the last.

For some reason, it made him want to start the whole damn process again. Dorian grabbed her arm.

He spun her until she faced him.

"What?"

"I’m sorry. I just..." He exhaled. "I didn’t want it to look like I was helping you just for sex."

"I wasn’t planning to have sex with you. Besides, you’re not the one helping me. Adrian is."

"I pay Adrian."

Naomi shrugged. "He still did the work."

"He works directly for me. No one else can ask him to do anything."

Naomi rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, whatever."

Then she added, "Still, it was a terrible idea anyway. We shouldn’t have."

He gritted his teeth.

Right.

How could he forget? They were friends. That ridiculous little agreement they had made on the rooftop.

They had crossed that line a long time ago, since Vegas. At this point, the line itself had been run over, reversed over and buried somewhere beneath several terrible decisions.

In fact the just friends line was a dot.

"You know what?" Naomi said, turning toward him. "Since you are so eager to help, why don’t you help slice the potatoes?" She held out the knife.

Dorian had the distinct feeling this was community service. Still, he took the knife. "Gladly."

Naomi gave him one last suspicious look before turning back to the steak. He sighed and started on the potatoes.

For several minutes, the kitchen settled into something close to peace. Naomi handled the steak and creamy spinach while Dorian worked through the potatoes, cutting them into reasonably even pieces.

The domesticity of it all was still strange. A few months ago, his Saturday nights had consisted of work, drinks with friends or whatever happened to require the least emotional involvement possible.

His life had taken an interesting turn. Soon enough, dinner was ready. Naomi plated the steak with roasted potatoes and creamy spinach, arranging everything.

She glanced toward him. "Would you grab some white wine? Goes perfect with this."

Dorian nodded. He slid off the kitchen stool and headed downstairs to the living room, where a smaller bar sat tucked into one side of the room. He chose a bottle of white wine from the cooler, checked the label and headed back upstairs.

By the time he returned, Naomi had already served both plates and set them across from each other at the island.

Dorian opened the bottle, poured the wine and sat down. The food smelled incredible. That was hardly surprising. He reached for his fork, cut into a piece of steak and was just about to take the first bite when he noticed Naomi watching him. Dorian stopped. His fork remained halfway to his mouth.

Naomi smiled. "Go on... eat it."

Dorian slowly lowered the fork. Something about her tone did not inspire confidence. He narrowed his eyes.

Naomi widened hers innocently. "What?"

Dorian looked at the plate. "You know what? Why don’t we switch plates?"