My jaw tightens. “Careful, Cesaro.”
He dips his head in acknowledgment but doesn’t apologize. “You can order me to shut up, boss, but it doesn’t change the truth.”
When he leaves, the office feels colder.
I stare at the glass of whiskey on my desk but don’t touch it. If I do, the burn will go straight to my head, and once that happens, I won’t be able to stop the thoughts that follow.
Her.
The way her voice softened when she said my name—hesitant, trembling, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say it but needed to anyway. The way she looked at me last night, eyes wide and shining, like I was the only man left in the world worth looking at.
And that kiss.
That fucking excuse of a kiss. Barely a brush of lips. Barely anything at all.
It should’ve been enough to satisfy whatever insanity has taken root in me. It wasn’t. It only made it worse. Now I can’t stop imagining what it would be like to crush my mouth to hers properly, to tilt her chin up and kiss her until she forgets every other man she’s ever known.
Until she forgets the world entirely.
I drag a hand through my hair, forcing myself to look away from the whiskey.
Because if I drink it?—
I’ll stop thinking logically and I’ll sure as fuck stop holding back. And the next time I see her, I won’t settle for almost. I’ll show her what kissing me really feels like.
At ten I finally go home. The penthouse is quiet and for once, I’m grateful. The city glows faintly through the glass walls, its hum muted by distance.
I move upstairs, loosening my tie, unbuttoning my collar. I’m halfway down the hall when I hear it. It’s soft at first, then louder.
Crying.
Faint, broken sobs leaking through the door of her room.
Fuck.
I stop, staring at the closed door, every instinct warring with the other. I could walk away. Pretend I didn’t hear it. But the sound keeps coming and it’s enough to rip something open inside me.
I knock once. “Miss Miller?”
No answer.
I try the knob to find it locked.
“Miss Miller,” I say again, louder this time. Still nothing.
For a moment, I turn to leave. I even make it two steps before anger burns through my chest. One sharp shove of my shoulder, and the door gives. The wood splinters at the frame.
She’s on the bed, knees drawn up, face buried in her hands. The sight hits me like a punch.
“Jesus, Elizabeth.” The name slips out before I can stop it.
Her head jerks up, eyes red and full of grief. She looks like she doesn’t even see me at first. Then she blinks, confusion sharpening to recognition. “Why—why did you break the door?”
“Because you didn’t answer,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend.
“I—I didn’t think you’d care.”
That does something to me. I step forward before I can think better of it. “I care.”
