And then I waited.
And waited.
And freaking waited.
Nine rolled into ten which rolled into eleven. At one in the morning, I was officially pissed.
True, I had no right to be. Who cared if their boss was late? It didn't mean I couldn't go up and get into bed. But, for me, it did. I wanted to see him. I wanted to give him my food I worked hard on and then let him show me how much he appreciated it. Preferably with multiple orgasms.
I actually walked around to make sure he hadn't come in while I was rocking out, but found the entire house vacant. Then, deciding I wasn't going to be that girl, I plated the extra tarts and moved outside to look for a guard to give them to so I didn't end up binge eating them all myself to try to drown the swirling feeling inside. I yelped to a stop when I opened the door and almost plowed into Matt.
"Honey," he said, turning, brow raised.
"Hey, Matt. Um, I, ah... made a lot of these. Want to share some with me?" I asked, almost choking on the words they sounded so needy.
To my complete and utter surprise, he shrugged, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and moved to sit down on the front step. "Sure."
"Oh... great!" I said, false-cheery, as I moved to sit down beside him, putting the plate between us.
"Are those homemade Pop-Tarts?" he asked, lips curving upward.
"Yeah, I... it was something different," I hedged. He shrugged and reached for one of my special Nutella ones, considering it for a moment before biting into it, closing his eyes on a quiet groan. "Good?" I asked, unable to stop myself from smiling with pride.
"Honey, might be sweeter than you, if that's possible."
I ducked my head to hide the slight blush at that, mad at myself for enjoying it so much, for needing the validation. "Glad you like them."
"Lonely," he said suddenly after a minute.
"I'm sorry?" I asked, looking over at him.
"You're lonely," he specified. "Up in that house with no family and no friends. That's why your plating treats and bringing them out to me." He wasn't exactly wrong. I was absolutely lonely. But it was more because I was romanticizing the encounter with Byron, doing exactly what he warned me not to do.
"I guess," I allowed.
"I'm on, you ever need someone to feed, talk to, or just sit next to, I'm right here. Might not be the most talkative company, but I'm company. Okay?"
"Oka..." I started, but was cut off by the sound of the gates sliding open and Byron's car purring up right in front of us. The car barely stopped before he was out of it, slammed the door, and around the hood. Everything about him seemed agitated, borderline angry. It was in the set to his shoulders, the tightness to his mouth, the ticking in his jaw.
"Those mine?" he barked, gesturing toward the plate.
I felt Matt's eyes on me and looked over at him because, quite frankly, I couldn't quite meet Byron's eyes. "Somebody's in trouble," he said, voice low, eyes dancing a little at the idea of mischief and I saw that, maybe, I had picked the wrong guy on the estate to get involved with. While Matt would never be able to read me as well as Byron, he was safer. He was the smarter choice. He was the least likely to rip me apart before he was done with me.
"Prudence," Byron clipped, using the hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar voice.
"They're extras," I supplied, forcing myself to lift my head and meet his eye.
"Are they now?"
"I just said they were," I said, my tone snippy.
"Well, this is sufficiently awkward," Matt cut in, standing and re-buttoning his jacket.
"Probably good to get back to work," Byron said, disapproval plain in his voice.
Matt seemed completely unaffected though, and gave me a small smile. "Thanks for the sweets, honey," he said, chucking me under the chin and moving away, giving Byron a shameless chin-jerk as he went.
I watched his back for a long minute until it was out of sight, wanting any excuse I had to not look at Byron whose body was radiating anger. "He wants to fuck you," he declared as soon as my eyes met his.
"So?" I asked.
"So you're coming out here all sad-eyes with a plate full of desserts and leading him on."
"I don't have sad eyes," I said, reaching for the plate and standing.
"Oh, fuck off..." he said, giving me a humorless smile.
And, well, I wasn't really in the mood to face off with him right then. I turned and flew into the house, going straight to the kitchen to put the plate down, planning to head back upstairs and lock myself into my room until I got myself under control.
Planning to.
Meaning I didn't get the chance.