I’m mature, collected, and sensible. I don’t chase, I don’t wait, and I sure as hell don’t get ignored. I have a career, a schedule, and a life that doesn’t revolve around some guy—especially not Rafe Cameron.

And yet, here I am, checking my phone for the third time in an hour. No texts. No calls. Nothing.

At first, I tell myself I don’t care. I’m a busy woman. I wouldn’t let him come into my calendar any night, anyway. I have places to be, deals to close, lipsticks to reapply. But the longer the silence stretches, the more it starts to itch under my skin.

Because, really? To turn me down? That’s just unethical.

Rafe always wants me. That’s how this works. He texts, I decide whether I’m in the mood, and if I am, I show up looking like his next mistake. He does not ignore me.

I set my phone down, exhaling sharply. If he doesn’t want me, I just deem him gay. That’s the only logical explanation, because there’s no way in hell any straight man would turn me down.

Still, I can’t shake the irritation bubbling under my skin. The sheer audacity of him.

And then—finally—my phone buzzes.

where u at?

Oh, now he remembers me? Now he wants my time?

I should ignore him. Make him sweat. But instead, I smirk, tossing my keys into my bag.

If he needs my love, he knows where to find it. And if he doesn’t? I didn’t want his little bitch-ass anyway.