I push the kiss deeper until I find her tongue, until I can taste her in every cell of my body, until I can ease the nerves and silence the thoughts in my head.
Amara goes limp in my arms and I hold her up, needing it to last a little bit longer. Just enough to fully remove what just happened from my frontal lobe.
I pull back in a jerk and Amara nearly stumbles. She reaches out and grabs one of the bookshelves to steady herself.
“What was that for?” she asks, her voice an octave or so higher than normal.
“To prove a point.”
She swallows hard, still swaying on her feet a little.
“And what point is that?” she asks.
“That I am not going to marry Jenica Chadovich.”
45
AMARA
Waking up with sunshine across my face and my bones feeling rested always means one thing.
“Shit!”
I slept through my alarm.
I wouldn’t say it happens often. When I first started working for Ransome, it literally never happened. Half the time, I woke up early, anxious about the day and wanting to make sure I didn’t miss a beat.
That, of course, was before there were so many beats. So many details. And an underworld to my job.
I leap out of bed and throw on the first thing I find, a black dress with a frilly waistline, and a pair of heels. In less than three minutes, I manage to make my face look presentable, grab my bags, and fly out the door.
As I drive I haphazardly text Annette.
AMARA: I’m on my way. Did Ransome get his coffee yet?
ANNETTE: He sent me for it. I think I got it wrong though because when I handed it to him he looked disgusted.
She didn’t put it in a black mug. Knowing her, the drink order was wrong too. I stop at the coffee house and get both our drinks to go. Mine, I get iced so I can chug it on the way inside the building. When I reach his office, I knock twice before entering a moment later.
Ransome is at his desk, looking over some paperwork.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him as I pour his coffee into a mug and set it in front of him. “Alarm didn't go off and I didn’t sleep well and?—”
“Is that your excuse?” he cuts me off, slowly looking up at me. His eyes meet mine for only half a second before trailing down my body. “Also, is that the dress you wore yesterday?”
“I…” I stutter, looking down. Fuck. It is. And he would notice a sloppy detail like that. “I’m just…”
“Just what?” he asks. Then he gets up and I watch as he rounds the desk and closes the door and walks back over to me.
Fuck. Nothing about that could be good.
“What is your excuse for being late, Miss Parker?”
My heart is beating so loud I am sure he can hear it. I’m surprised the coffee in his cup isn’t rattling, Jurassic Park style.
Then my lips press together and my chin starts to shake.
“It’s just… a lot,” I admit.
