“You’re unbelievable,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.
I gritted my teeth, knowing I’d work that into what I had planned for her tonight. Eye rolling called for correction, discipline and I could hardly wait.
“Sit,” I repeated, gesturing to the couch.
She hesitated, then stepped around the coffee table and dropped onto the couch, shoulders slumping the moment she did. Not defeated. Just tired.
I offered her the food and cup of tea as I sat in the arm chair nearby. “Eat.”
She stared at it for a long second before finally unwrapping it. “You’re not my boss in my house.”
“No,” I agreed. “I’m worse.”
That got her attention.
She looked up slowly, eyes narrowing. “How exactly is that worse?”
“Because here,” I said, leaning a hand on the table, just close enough that she felt the shift in air between us, “you don’t get to pretend this isn’t personal.”
She stared at me for another second, then looked away again, clenching her jaw. She curled slightly, like her body had alreadydecided it was done arguing even if her mouth hadn’t caught up yet.
I set the food on the coffee table, then changing my mind, picked it up again before she could reach for it.
She shot me a look. “Seriously?”
“You can feed yourself,” I said evenly. “Or I can feed you. Your choice.”
Her lips parted, then pressed together. For a moment I thought she’d tell me to go to hell just on principle. Instead, she muttered, “You’re impossible,” and leaned back against the cushions.
I held the food out. She hesitated, then took a bite.
Good. I shot her a smile and handed her the croissant. “Can I look through your notes?”
She hesitated for a second but the food won out and she reached over and turned the laptop my way.
I shifted closer and didn’t comment when my knee brushed the edge of hers. She noticed but she didn’t move away as she took the sandwich from my hands before taking another bite.
I opened another folder. Then another. Not because I expected to find anything new, but because instinct told me to keep going.
When I glanced sideways, her head rested on the arm of the couch, her eyes closed now, her beautiful lashes resting against her cheeks. I wanted to reach for her, to tuck her hair back from her face. I didn’t. I pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and covered her instead, then turned back to the laptop.
That’s when I saw it.
Not hidden. Not encrypted. Just… there, open in the background.
An outgoing email. Scheduled.
I didn’t open it at first, recognizing the recipient’s email. I simply stared at the subject line long enough that if she’dwoken up, even the great Sebastian Reid wouldn’t have had an explanation.
A thank you.
I clicked.
It was careful. Measured. Mira to her core.
She thanked him for his time. For his patience. For the training. Said she would always be grateful for what he’d taught her, for the structure, the discipline, the trust.
Then the twist.
