Ten

Lander's frown inexplicably makes him hotter than he already is, but the shift in his expression tells me he's never been rejected before. I try not to let it affect me, although it's easier said than done. Normally, I don't shy away from being the first woman to humble a man—I relish it, even. This guy is just so ridiculously pretty though. Upsetting him feels unnatural—on-par with seeing a shiny golden unicorn trot into a meadow and reacting like, meh.

"Why not?" he questions, a note of hurt in his voice. Ugh, why can't he go back to using his cold, lawyer voice? That guy was a dick. Gorgeous, but a dick. I would have no qualms about crushing that guy's spirit.

"Because I don't want to," I answer, forcing my resolve. Really, really forcing it.

His eyebrow rises, masking the disappointment on his face. "Again, why not?"

"Because I barely know you, for one. For another, this—" I motion between us, "—is never going to work."

"You sure? Because less than twenty-four hours ago, things worked great. My parts fit in your parts perfectly, and based on your screams, I thinkyou enjoyed yourself."

My jaw drops. "I did not scream."

Now, both of Lander's perfect, dark eyebrows shoot up, skepticism taking over, and oh shit I did scream, didn't I?

"Fine. I may have had fun, but it changes nothing. I'm not going to fuck you again."

"Well, it sounds like we're back to plan A, which—if you recall—is a date. We don't have to fuck yet. We can just get dinner."

The way my stomach flips over at the mention of dinner is unexpected. I try to take a step backwards but collide softly with my front door. "Dinner?"

He nods while closing the space I just vacated. "You canceled your stream, so I know you're free." He holds up his phone as proof—because he's a customer and receives my updates. "I want to take my new girlfriend to dinner."

This is getting out of hand. I exhale, channeling all the willpower in me—I fucking need it. "While I appreciate you helping me get rid of Sebastian, I'm absolutely not going on a date with you."

"Why not?" he asks with a sigh, clearly finding this conversation tedious. I don't blame him. The man went from never being rejected in his life to being rejected multiple times, without pause, over a twenty-four-hour period. Rough shit.

"I don't date men like you," I answer, leaving it at that.

Lander pulls his head back and cinches his eyebrows. "Men like me? I could list my phenomenal qualities, but we'd be here all day. Let's get this over with. Go ahead and tell me why you don't date men like me, and I'll provide you with solid evidence as to why you're going to break all your rules for me. Then we can eat."

Did he seriously say he'd provide me with "evidence?" Cocky. He's so cocky—and such a lawyer.

I'm dismayed at how hot it's all making me.

I brush the hair from my face, exhaling and detaching the lust steadily passing over me. "Right there—what you just said—is why I don't date men like you."

"Self-assured guys?"

"Lawyers."

Lander blinks several times in rapid succession. I think I finally broke him. "Wait, what?" he blurts out, obviously not expecting my response in the slightest.

"I don't date lawyers," I emphasize. "Hard stop. I have a rule."

"You mean lawyers and doctors and consultants. Guys who make too much money and think they're the center of the universe. The whole category—not just lawyers, right?"

"Nope. Lawyers," I repeat, enunciating the word.

He's blinking again. "Just lawyers?"

Nod.

"Why not? Did a lawyer, like, murder your family or something?"

"It's not important," I reply, even though this rule is one of the most all-consuming parts of my life. "All you need to know is that we have no future. None. There's no point in making our lives complicated by bringing sex into the equation."

Lander takes a step away, giving himself a wider aperture to study me. His blue eyes travel my face, the frown still nestled securely in his brow. After a pregnant pause, he cocks his head. "A few minutes ago, you were ready to rip my head off because you thought I was judging your career. You're rejecting me for mine. Don't you think that's hypocritical?"

"It is," I agree. "But just because I'm a hypocrite doesn't mean I'm going to break my rule."

"Fine," he decides. "Give me three minutes and I'll quit my job. Then we can go out. Do you like Ethiopian? I know a good spot in Adams Morgan."

"Lander," I hiss, holding up my hands. We're going in circles, and as reluctant as I am to admit it, I'm not a robot. Resisting him and sticking to my convictions is using up all the determination I have, and I imagine this would be infinitely simpler if he would get out of my condo and take his pretty face with him.

"One more shot?"

"Lander—"

"I'm taking it. Obviously, charm is getting me nowhere, so I'm going to change tacks and be straight with you: I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever met, you fuck like a goddess, and even though I'm a big fan of Aurora Amada, I might be a bigger fan of Valeria Fuentes. You obviously do whatever the hell you want, and you own it. I want to get to know you. I need to get to know you. Will you let me?"

He's lethal. He's an absolute sharpshooter and being around him is a risk I can't afford to take. His words have my stomach fluttering, and there's an undeniable tingle in me that can only be placated by reaching out and grabbing him and kissing the life out of him.

Still, I know better.

"Lander, my answer is no."

"All because I'm a lawyer?"

"Being a lawyer is part of it, but the fact of the matter is, I'm not interested." It's the biggest lie I've ever told.

"Doubt it," he answers, smirking a little bit.

"I'm not interested," I reiterate. "You're not my type. I'm sorry, but it's true."

"That's a hot take considering you confessed to eavesdropping while I fucked other women. If I remember correctly, you did that because you…what was it you said? Oh right: You wanted me." His grin is devilish. He holds out his hands. "Sounds like I'm your type, baby."

"I'm not your baby. Maybe you were my type, but trends fade. I've moved on."

His jaw clenches, squaring his features. He swallows. "Clearly, we're saying things we don't mean. Maybe we should hold off before someone gets hurt." His affect is now aloof, like it is during his work calls. "I'll give you space."

And just like that, I've won. He's going to leave and pretend it never happened, and we're both going to learn to live with it.

It feels so bittersweet.

…No, wait. It's just bitter. There's nothing sweet about this.

Lander picks up the briefcase he left by my front door and offers me a cordial nod. He slides past me and grabs the doorknob. "But hey," he says, turning. "Before I go, can I say one more thing?"

I'm mentally chastising myself for being so annoyingly smitten when he doesn't leave right away. I shouldn't. I should make him go, but apparently I'm a masochist. I nod.

His eye contact borders on overwhelming before he bows and murmurs, "I fantasized about fucking you for an entire year, Valeria, and I always imagined it would be like your streams. Delicate and sweet. You dressed up in pink ribbons. Your hair in two braids. Classic Aurora Amada—the stuff everyone sees." He pauses, and my chest draws an involuntary inhale. "I only got to have you for fifteen minutes, but fuck, woman, I know you keep the best shit to yourself."

When he pulls back, my heart is pounding. Pounding. My body is yearning, desperate to throw out my rule and take him up on what he's offering.

"I do the same thing," he continues, his heated gaze boring into me. "With all those women you heard—all those women I made scream and moan and act in ways they never imagined they would—I wasn't even trying. I was thinking of you, Valeria. Imagining it was you. Wanting it to be you. And all my best shit? I've been saving it for you." Lander winks, straddling the dangerous line between serious and sexy that I never knew existed. "Sorry to hear you're not interested. If you change your mind, come over anytime. I'd love to show my neighbor some hospitality."

With that, Lander turns and walks right out of my condo, closing the door behind him.

…Scratch that. I definitely didn't win.