It's the best ass I've ever laid eyes on, and that beige skirt is hugging it criminally.
I follow her into what must be her office: sleek, tidy, with the subtle scent of coffee and fresh flowers.
A girl with a black bob looks up from her computer, stares at us for an instant, and—at Sloane's first murderous glance—jumps up and disappears.
Translation:get the hell out.
Sloane whirls around to face me. Her arms are crossed, her body coiled like a spring ready to snap.
Her eyes are narrowed, her jaw tight.
“Whaat?” she finally hisses, answering me. “And if you think that, why haven't you reported me yet?”
I bite my tongue, then my voice comes out firmer than I expected.
“I’m not a rat.”
I hold her gaze, and damn… those long, perfect lashes cast a shadow on her cheeks.
It's a tiny thing, but it hits me like a punch.
The clear glasses—large, resting slightly low on her nose—give her that look of a sexy, dangerous CEO who makes you forget how to breathe.
She scoffs, a brief, irritated sound. “Ugh, tell that to someone else. You only did it because I’m your coach’s daughter.”
The sentence hits me like a slap.
And yeah, I know. I’m stupid.
I’ve always had a natural talent for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.
I could have simply told her I didn’t know.
That I had no idea who she was.
That my breath caught when I saw her walk into that room, because nothing I had imagined about Julian Heart—and his world—had prepared me for her.
Instead, I reply with a stupid, “Think what you want.” I roll my eyes and put on the most bored expression I can manage.
Her mouth twists into a dismissive sniff. “Oh, yeah? I think you need to disappear.”
“Yeah, you've made it clear you don't want anything to do with me,” I retort, irritated.
Anger is easier than honesty. Always.
Her profile tightens as she tucks her hair behind her ear.
The skin of her neck is smooth, pale, dotted with tiny moles that disappear under the cream silk shirt.
I stare at them for a second too long. And immediately regret it.
“But you know what?” I add, with a twisted smile. “Youwere the one who accepted the assignment. So, since you can’t say no to your dear old dad, now we’re stuck with this charade, Angel.”
She flinches, as if she’d been slapped. But she instantly pulls herself together, regains that damned confident boss demeanor, and gestures toward her desk.
She sits down, and I take the seat opposite her.
The corner of her beautiful lips lifts, she crosses her leg, and through the glass top, I can clearly see how her skirt shortens.
