Me: I’m fine. I’m happy. Please stop.
When Bella starts typing again, I slam my phone face-down on the desk before I can see whatever she’s about to say that will make me cry or punch something. My grip is so tight my knuckles ache. Perfect timing for the office door to click open.
Blade steps inside like sin on legs, carrying two coffees and a brown paper bag from the diner across the street. The smell alone is enough to make my heart do gymnastics.
He takes one look at me and his brows pull together, concern hitting instantly. “Who pissed you off?”
There’s no hesitation. No doubt. Blade reads people the way he reads engines. He sees the problem before anyone else hears the knocking.
I paste on a smile and take the coffee he offers. “Nothing. Just my sisters being sisters.”
His jaw ticks. Just once. A tiny flash of protective temper that makes heat crawl up my spine. “You want me to handle it?”
I shake my head fast. “No. I’ve got it.”
He studies me for a beat longer, then leans in and presses a soft kiss to my cheek like he’s claiming the right to fix whatever they broke.
“You let me know if that changes,” he murmurs, fingertips brushing my hip before he steps back. Possessive. Protective. Reckless. And definitely too old for me.
I take a sip of my coffee to hide the smile tugging at my lips. Screw what anyone says. I’m not letting fear steal this from me.
Blade sets the bag on my desk and starts unpacking it like this is his office and I’m his personal responsibility. A breakfast sandwich. A side of hash browns. A tiny container of strawberry jam.
“I’m not hungry,” I lie, because my stomach is currently staging a rebellion.
Blade ignores me with the skill of a man who’s practiced. He unwraps the sandwich, tears it cleanly in half, then holds the first piece to my lips. “I made sure they didn’t put onions on it,” he says, like that’s information he has every right to know.
I blink up at him. “You know I don’t like onions?”
He raises a brow. “I pay attention to everything you like.”
Well. That’s illegal. I reluctantly take a bite because my dignity is weak and breakfast sandwiches are my downfall. It tastes amazing. Like buttery heaven with a side of swooning.
Blade watches me chew like he’s making sure I finish every bite. “Good?”
I nod, swallowing. “Yeah.”
“Eat the rest,” he says, handing me the other half before I can argue.
“I could feed myself,” I grumble.
“You weren’t.” He shrugs one shoulder. “So I am.” He leans one hip against my desk, crossing his arms. He looks relaxed. He looks like he belongs here. Like I belong next to him. “So,” he says, voice low. “You gonna tell me what those sisters of yours said?”
I shove a hash brown in my mouth so I don’t have to answer.
Blade smirks. “They don’t like me, do they?”
Suddenly breathing becomes a challenge. “Blade,” I whisper.
“Yes sweetheart?”
“I really like you.”
His eyes lock on mine like I just gave him the world. His voice drops even lower. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
He reaches out and wipes a crumb from my lip with his thumb, slow and intimate in a way that makes my pulse annoyingly loud.
Then he taps the desk. “Finish eating. Boss’s orders.”
