Is that regret in his voice? Well, can’t let myself read too much into it.
Not when he’s the one who drew those boundaries in the first place.
Not when he looked at me post-orgasm and said ‘we can’t do this again’ like I was a mistake he needed to correct.
“I figured after the contract ends,” I continue. “I’d head back to Manhattan and we’d both move on with our lives. Clean break.”
“That’s what you want?” His voice is rough now. “A clean break?”
What I want?
God, what a loaded question.
What I want is for him to tell me that he was an idiot that night. That pushing me away was the stupidest thing he’s ever done. That professional ethics be damned, he wants me and he’s willing to figure out how to make it work.
But I’m not about to hand him my heart just so he can reject it again with another speech about ethics violations and power dynamics.
“I want...” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “I want to know if that night in your study was you genuinely worried about professional boundaries, or if it was you looking for an excuse to put distance between us.”
He goes very still. “You think I wanted distance?”
“You literally told me we couldn’t do it again five minutes after finishing inside me,” I point out. “So yeah. That’s kind of the vibe I got.”
“Fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Amara, that wasn’t—I was trying to do the right thing. You’re my employee. Your work—”
“Ends in two days,” I interrupt. “So if it was really just about professional boundaries, then it won’t be a problem anymore. Will it?”
He meets my eyes, and I see hope there, mixed with fear.
“No,” he says quietly. “It won’t be a problem anymore.”
“Then I’ll think about it,” I tell him, even though my heart is already making decisions my brain hasn’t approved yet.
He almost smiles. “Fair enough.”
“But Corin?” I pause at the doorway. “Next time you want to push me away, just say so. Don’t hide behind professional ethics and make me guess whether you actually want me or not.”
And then I leave before he can see how much this conversation has undone me.
Always have to get the last word in, don’t you, Amara.
Outside the windows, the sun is low in the sky. Late afternoon stretching toward evening. I walk through the main clinic in a daze, barely registering Marisol’s cheerful goodbye.
In the parking area, I see a figure leaning against the building. One of Corin’s security team. Thorne, maybe? Or Keon? I can never tell them apart when they’re just standing there halfway across the lot like that.
He nods slightly as I pass. I nod back.
I open the door to my rental car.
Two days.
12
Amara
I’m sitting on the terrace at eleven thirty at night, staring at my phone like it’s a hostile witness.
Which is dramatic, even for me.
