Her response shows up a few minutes later.
Taylor: Looking for anything in particular?
Not office romance.
Me: How to Become a Nun for Dummies.
She responds with a hysterically laughing emoji.
Taylor: That will be an interesting review.
I haven’t thought of reviewing anything recently. Office romance has been my go-to for so long that I don’t even know what other romance tropes I’m interested in.
Nothing.
I’ll look for horror or fantasy, anything but sappy love stories.
Tucking my phone away, I walk into the bakery and order a chocolate croissant, then cross the road to the bookstore I shared with Taylor.
Steering clear of romance for a while is a good idea, otherwise I’ll start thinking of a certain acronym and the grumpy boss I wanted to say it.
My skin flushes hot and my core clenches remembering the slide of his dick on my tongue, then in my pussy—thick and bare, his cum dripping down my thigh.
I press a hand to my stomach.Maybe I should start reading the breeding kink trope.
“Excuse me. I was hoping you could help me with something.”
A sudden spike of adrenaline hits me, making my heart hammer against my ribs so hard that I can feel it in my throat.
It’s not him.
It can’t be.
I turn and lock eyes with the guy who makes me want to give up all my book boyfriends for the real thing: Parker Carlson, my grumpy ex-boss.
“What are you doing here?”
“Researching.” A hint of a smile plays on his lips. “I’m searching for a book with a specific scene. One where the protagonist fucks up and desperately tries to make it right. Do you know what that scene is called?”
My breath comes out in short, shallow gasps as I watch him. He’s really here. “You mean a grand gesture?”
His smile grows. “Would merging with another law firm and working from their UK office for a year so he could meet his girlfriend in various locations around Europe be considered a grand gesture?”
I stare at him, lips parted in surprise.Did he do that?“Yes.”
“Then I don’t need a book.”
He cups my cheeks, backs me into the bookshelf, and kisses me.
EPILOGUE
Paige
I stride through the polished corridors of the UK office of Carlson, Peterson Attorneys at Law. The decor is sleek, professional, and just as boring as the US branch, with its monochromatic color scheme and generic artwork—until I enter Parker’s office.
My eyes are immediately drawn to a sight that still makes my heart melt almost twelve months later: a jar filled with all the sticky notes I’d tormented him with, proudly displayed on his desk.
Behind the desk is the man who will spend this entire weekend doing dirty things to my body at night and during the day and take me to every bookshop we can find in Paris.
