What could they possibly be doing in there?
Oh no . . . oh no, no, no.
There’s no waythatis what they’re doing! Surely, he wouldn’t with me sitting here...but he is unreasonablyattractive and wealthy. Doesn’t an entitled-asshole personality automatically come with good looks and money?
This can’t be happening to me.
I have to know. I have to.
Against all logic and reason, I creep back up to the door to listen very carefully for any noises that could give away their actions behind it. My ear is pressed up to the cold surface, and I hold my breath to eliminate any outside noise.
It still just sounds like voices. No slapping, grunting, or moaning can be heard. I release a sigh, standing up a little straighter.
Then, I hear the distinct clicking of heels, coming straight from behind the wall.
I lunge back toward my desk, nearly stumbling as I fall into the chair right as the door to his office opens up.
The beautiful woman appears again, her hand gripping the frame.
The tiny little iceberg on her left ring finger blinks at me from five feet away. My breathing constricts at the sight. His gaze is lasered in on her as she speaks.
It can’t possibly be . . .
“You know something, Luke? Wedding planning has been hard enough withoutyoumaking it harder.”
CHAPTER 8
LUKE
Between the stressof Fallon’s visit and the spy planted right outside of my office, watching me, I haven’t been sleeping much at all.
My mood is sour on Wednesday morning.
“Miss Dawson,” I bark from the door of my office.
Her blonde head pops up, blue eyes landing on my face. “Yes, sir?”
I try not to like it when she calls me sir, but she did it that night at my penthouse, and I can’t control the reel of memories rushing through my head.
Short pink dress. Full pink lips. Bright blue eyes. Enthusiastic about every little move I made...
“Did you need something?” Her voice cuts into my head.
I realize I was staring off into space like a lunatic as I replayed the events of last weekend. I need to remind myself that this woman can’t be trusted and is very likely only here to extract intel and kill me. Even so, I’m going to make her work for it.
“Yes, I need you to make me an appointment with Angelo.”
“Okay . . . who’s Angelo?”
“My tailor. I need a new tux.”
She stares at me for a full five seconds before slowly nodding. Her expression is unreadable, big eyes sucking me into their ocean-deep pool.
Why did they have to send one who’s so damn pretty?
I’ve literally survived freezing temperatures while soaking wet, near starvation, mortal wounds with deep infections, and torture that could have ended in death.
Surely, I can survive working with a beautiful woman who I can’t stop picturing naked and writhing underneath me.
