Chandler: A Standalone Contemporary Romance by Laurelin Paige Page A

time the awards banquet is over, it’s after eleven and I don’t want to take the time to find a bouquet in the middle of the night. Anything I located would be shit leftover that didn’t sell during the day, anyway. Genevieve deserves more than that.
    She deserves more than me standing at her door empty-handed, too, but if my gut is correct, all she really wants is for me to show up. And I have.
    The Do Not Disturb sign is up, but I decide it doesn’t refer to me and knock quietly. A minute later, I hear her moving on the other side of the door, looking through the peephole, I assume.
    “What are you doing here?” she says, irritation lining her tone, though I’d guess that half of it is put on.
    Or at least I hope that it’s put on.
    “You left,” I say, not wanting to have this conversation in the hall.
    “Don’t you know it’s rude to show up at a woman’s room uninvited?”
    I smile tightly at the scowling couple that passes by. Another two minutes out here, and I’m going to get reported for harassment. “Genevieve, please. Let me in. We need to talk about what’s going on between us.”
    “Whatever is going on between us needs to stop. You should go.”
    I’m conflicted. Her words say one thing, but I also hear her subtext. It matches much of what’s going on inside me—confusion, excitement. Maybe a little bit of fear.
    Okay, more than a little bit.
    And maybe I’m making it all up, and she doesn’t really feel the same way I do. I lean my head against her door. “Do you really want me to go?”
    She’s quiet, but I sense her there, on the other side of this barrier, and I want her more than ever. “Tell you what.” I pray I don’t sound like I’m begging, even though I kind of am. “You let me in and explain what happened tonight, and then I’ll go. I think I’m entitled to that much, don’t you?”
    There’s another beat of silence.
    Then the deadbolt clicks and the door swings open. There she is, her hair down and damp from a shower, her face freshly scrubbed, wearing nothing but pajama shorts and a tight tank that perfectly outlines her tits.
    She’s so beautiful, it makes my stomach hurt. Or higher than my stomach, somewhere in the middle of my chest, a pinching feeling that makes me feel both a little sick and a little amazing.
    “Come on in then,” she says, sweeping her arm out in invitation. As I step past her, she adds, “But keep you bits in your trousers, please.”
    Jesus, she sounds like my brother.
    I move into the room, giving her space. “I will keep my pants zipped, as long as you promise never to refer to it as a ‘bit’ again. Monster would be preferable. Lord could work. Great Big Dick of Amazingness would earn lots of points with me.”
    She folds her arms across her chest and smirks. “Do I need points from you?”
    It’s a tad embarrassing how transparent my interest is. But I own up to it. “No, you really don’t.” I unbutton my jacket and turn toward her, my hands in my pockets. “It seems like I need points from you.”
    Her shoulders relax slightly. “Don’t be charming.”
    “Or what?”
    “Or we’ll end up with your bits back out of your trousers. Excuse me,” she says, correcting herself. “Your Great Big Dick of Amazingness .”
    I can’t express how happy it makes me to hear that phrase come out of her sexy little mouth.
    It’s a relief, too, that she’s obviously still interested in my Great Big Dick of Amazingness. I sprawl out on my side on her bed, all suave-like. “And that’s a problem because?”
    She throws her hands in the air and starts to pace the room. “Because I don’t have time for you! You’re an obstacle on the path to my dream career. A distraction. Tonight, I should have been on my A-game. I should have spoken up and given my ideas instead of letting my father and Hagan take all the limelight. You know that subscription service idea? It was mine originally. Hagan ran with it after I mentioned it in