“I’m never wrong.”
I laughed so hard that I snorted. “Never?”
“No. Never.” He didn’t even have to think about my question. “I know what I’m doing in my professional life. I’m a master at it. I give it everything I have.” When I released him, his hands cupped the back of his head. “My personal life consists of working out every morning. Family. Fun, when time allows for it. There’s nothing for me to be wrong about.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“You’re saying no one ever tries to argue with you? Or prove you wrong—like I just successfully did, by the way.”
“Oh, they fucking try. Mostly my family. We work together, and most of the time, they don’t listen to me, and that’s when I lose my shit. Aside from them, no one dares to argue with me. I bark my orders, and those orders are fulfilled. If they’re not fulfilled”—he shrugged—“that person is done.”
My brows were so high that I felt like I no longer had a forehead. “What do you mean by …done?”
“Terminated. I’m not a murderer, Sky.”
“Okay, okay.” I nodded with relief. “Still, you’re not an easy man, are you?”
“As you can see, I make no effort to hide that about me.”
I pushed my side into the back cushion, getting more comfortable. “So, you’re never wrong. You’re unwilling to argue because you’re never wrong. No one dares to mess with you because, one, you’re never wrong, and, two, you’re a massive man with muscles for days, and they’re probably terrified of you, and, three, they’ll get fired if they do.” My eyes dipped, not that I needed to get reacquainted—I’d spent plenty of time memorizing his body—but visually trailing the outline of his chest certainly didn’t hurt. “Do the people who work for you find you insufferable?”
His face went stoic, and then, suddenly, he laughed. But this time, it was a deep, guttural laugh, and he even held his chest.
The sound was so addictive; I started giggling.
“I’m sure they do,” he finally replied. “But ask me if I give a fuck.”
My fingers went under his chin, and I scratched that spot like I would a dog. “It felt good to laugh, didn’t it?”
His hand went to my thigh. He didn’t set it there. He gripped me and pulled me closer. “That’s another reason I want you here. To make me laugh. To make me remember why I even want to laugh.”
“Now, that right there is a beautiful compliment.”
He held my cheek, his lips moving close to mine. “What I’m hearing is a yes.”
I nodded.
“I need to make one thing clear, Sky. My life”—he let out a breath that I sensed had come from the middle of his chest, a place that often burned from stress, like mine—“is complicated as fuck. I’m stretched far too thin. And I’m left with very little time for anything other than work. I want you to understand that, so when it’s time for you to leave, you know what this was, and you don’t have any expectations.”
“Just laying it all out there, aren’t you?”
“You want me to be honest.” He held me tighter. “I sense that from you.”
“I do.”
“Then here’s a little more honesty. It’s not you.” His thumb stroked my lips. “You’re something truly fucking wonderful. I’m just in this”—he ground his teeth—“impossibly miserable situation that gets heavier and more crammed by the day. I wouldn’t drag you into my world when I know I couldn’t give you what you deserved.”
I exhaled through my nose, my eyes briefly closing. “Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop saying everything I’m feeling and personally going through. We’re very, very different people, Whiskey. I think we’re opposites on almost all the things. But your life and my life—they’re similar.” I scanned his eyes. “I’m in the thick of it, and it’s about to get thicker. I couldn’t do this either—even if I wanted to.”
“Then it sounds like we understand each other …”
I leaned into his hand. “We do.”
SEVEN
