Two days.
Forty-eight hours of absolute fucking torture.
I’m sitting at my desk pretending to read some bullshit report while my brain replays the same three seconds on loop. Her mouth on mine. The sound she made when I pulled her against me. The way she pushed me away like I was contaminated.
How is that even possible? When the day before I fucked her in her apartment? How could she be so cold to me?
The report blurs into focus again. Something about operating margins. I don’t give a shit about operating margins right now.
What I give a shit about is the woman sitting twelve feet away on the other side of my glass walls, typing on her laptop like nothing happened. Like she didn’t kiss me back with her whole goddamn body before shoving me off and practically running out of my office.
I’ve been cold to her in return since that night.
Ice cold.
Arctic fucking tundra cold.
It’s the only way.
Because if I’m not cold, if I let even one degree of warmth slip through, I’m going to do something I can’t take back. Something worse than following her across Manhattan like a deranged stalker. Something like telling her that I think about her constantly. That the taste of her mouth has ruined coffee for me. That I’ve replayed fucking her so many times my hand’s getting tired.
Christ.
I force my eyes back to the report. Read the same sentence four times. Give up.
Fuck this.
I might as well stay home from work for the next month.
Or longer.
Through the glass, I watch her stand and gather her laptop. She’s wearing that cream blouse today, the one that gaps slightly between the third and fourth buttons when she moves. I’ve been staring at that gap all morning like a goddamn pervert.
She’s heading toward my office.
My pulse kicks up despite every attempt to control it.
Pathetic.
I’m a grown man, a billionaire CEO.
Not some teenage kid spotting his crush in the cafeteria.
Bree opens my door without knocking.
That’s new.
Bold of her.
Why the fuck does that turn me on?
“Mr. Rossi, I need to discuss the calendar for next week.” She closes the door behind her.
The air in the room changes instantly. Charges up like a defibrillator preparing to shock. Her eyes meet mine and I see something there. Determination. Nerves. Something she wants to say.
Say it.
Whatever it is, just fucking say it.
