He checked his watch.
Five-thirty?
“What the hell?”he muttered.
A single light glowed at the end of the hall.He didn’t need to guess—he already knew.
Jemma.
Of course.
Memories tugged at him as he walked toward the open door.Late nights working together, side by side.Or not working.He grimaced, the heat of those memories flashing through his mind, unwanted and far too vivid.
Muttering a curse, he slowed at the door and peered inside.
There she was, right in the middle of the chaos—on her knees on the floor, surrounded by piles of files and fabric swatches.She was trying to bring order to the mess, even after he’d told her not to bother.
And damn it, she was actually making progress.Half the clutter was already gone.
“Your staff left a while ago,” he said.
She jumped, nearly dropping the stack of papers in her lap.Her head snapped up, lips parted in surprise.They were pink and slightly swollen—bitten from concentration.Her hair, once pinned neatly, now barely clung to a dying elastic.A pen was jammed into the tangle like a final act of desperation.
He remembered that hair—loose, wild, soft against his skin as she leaned over him, naked, flushed, her breath warm against his throat—
Saif cleared his throat sharply.Focus, man.
“What do you mean?”she asked, patting her head until she found the pen, scribbling something on a folder and sliding it onto a neatly forming stack.
“I mean you’re the only one still working,” he clarified.“Everyone else left.”
Her eyes flew to her phone and glanced at the time.
“Crap!”she gasped, scrambling to her feet.“I gotta go!”
The sudden movement hiked her skirt up around her thighs—soft and pale and… too thin.Damn it,she’d lost more weight.Too much.
“You need food,” he said, more sharply than intended.“Let’s go over your financial strategy over dinner.”
He turned to lead the way out—but froze when she answered.
“No time,” she called, already jamming files into a canvas tote bag.
Notthebag.
Not the sleek, elegant briefcase he’d given her—the one with soft leather and brushed gold zippers.The one that had screamedpower.
This one was cheap, bulging and stained, straps fraying at the edges.
He stared, stunned.
“You have to eat, Jemma.”
“Not tonight,” she said, rifling through her keyring.“I need to change this lock tomorrow.”Her voice was distracted, barely acknowledging him.
That irked.He stepped into her path as she turned.
“Where the hell is the briefcase I gave you?”
