“You’ve got this. You always do.”
“Because I have you to come home to.” He kisses my forehead. “That makes everything else bearable.”
I slide off the counter, and we move through our morning routine with practiced ease. Six months of living together have taught us each other’s rhythms. He showers first while I make breakfast. I curl my hair while he answers emails. We move around each other like dancers who’ve memorized the choreography.
By the time I’m dressed for work, a burgundy sheath dress that hugs my curves in a way that makes Nitro’s eyes darkenappreciatively, Queenie has emerged from her suite looking refreshed and ready for the day.
“You look beautiful, dear,” she says, settling at the kitchen table with the crossword puzzle she does every morning.
“Thank you.” I grab my coffee mug, now refilled with my third cup. “Do you need anything before I head out?”
“I’m perfectly fine. Millie’s stopping by this afternoon. We’re going to bake cookies for Victoria’s baby shower.”
My heart warms at the mention of Millie. The sweet young woman has become a fixture in our lives, and watching her friendship with Queenie blossom has been one of the unexpected joys of the last six months.
“Save me some chocolate chip,” I call over my shoulder as I grab my laptop bag.
“No promises!”
Nitro walks me to my car, a sleek Honda Civic I bought myself with my first big bonus from Blackwell. He’d offered to buy me something flashier, but I’d refused. This car represents my independence, my success, something I earned on my own merit. And the Honda reminds me of how Nitro and I first met—sentimental attachment and all that.
“Drive safe,” he murmurs, pulling me against him for one last kiss. “Text me when you get there.”
“You’re worse than Beck,” I tease, but I love it. Love that he worries, that he cares, that even after everything we’ve been through, he still wants to make sure I’m safe.
“Beck and I have an understanding. We’re both in the business of keeping you happy and safe.”
“Lucky me.”
“Lucky us,” he corrects, then steps back to let me leave.
I watch him in my rearview mirror as I pull out of the driveway, standing there in his jeans and T-shirt, looking every inch the biker VP he is. No expensive suit to hide behind, nocorporate mask. Just Nitro. Just Damon. Just the man I love in all his complicated, beautiful entirety.
The drive to Blackwell Entertainment Group gives me time to think about how much has changed in six months. The headquarters building rises against the Vegas skyline, all glass, steel, and modern architecture. Six months ago, walking into this building made me anxious. Now it feels like home.
My office is on the seventh floor, with a view of the Strip that never gets old. The nameplate on my door reads‘Marley Wren, Creative Director,’and every time I see it, I feel a surge of pride.
“Morning, boss lady,” Hailey from accounting calls as I pass her desk.
“Morning, Hailey. How was your weekend?”
“Amazing! Got engaged!” She flashes her hand, revealing a modest yet beautiful ring.
“Oh my God, congratulations,” I gush, genuinely thrilled for her. “Details! I need all the details.”
She launches into the story while I pour myself yet another coffee from the break room. This is what I love about working here. The people are real, kind, and supportive, not like Derek’s firm, where everyone was competing, backstabbing, and miserable.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Nitro the Nice Uber Guy:Made it safe?
I smile, loving that still after all this time, I haven’t changed his name in my cell, and I type out my response.
Me:Yes, old man. I’m at my desk. Alive and well.
Nitro the Nice Uber Guy:Good. Love you, Small Town.
Me:Love you too, City Boy.
