“Why did we get so many cookies, then? And also, who doesn’t eat sugar?” Her voice goes high pitched, sounding genuinely concerned about my lack of sugar.
I shrug. “You wanted them.”
“Because I thought we were sharing!”
“I never once said I would eat one.”
Her brow furrows as she considers my words.
“You’re crazy. But now that I think about it, now your bland dinners and lack of snacks make a lot more sense,” she finally says, and despite myself, I laugh.
Bringing the focus back to her, I say, “You did good tonight, Miss Morgan, you deserve a cookie.”
He lips purse, seemingly thinking over how she wants to respond. “It was…interesting.”
I bark out another laugh. “That’s one word to describe my family.”
For a moment, I think I see what looks like pity shining in her eyes. No one has ever pitied me. Envy is the emotion most have toward me and my siblings. We have what everyone else in the world wants. Money.
Just as quickly, the look disappears as she takes another bite. “Sooo good,” she moans.
When we get in the car afterwards, she makes Wallace try one, to which he also proclaims they’re the best cookies in New York City, and I listen to both of them gush about their other favorite sweet treats for the entire ride home.
When we get to the penthouse, I consider pulling her against my body and tasting the sugar that still lingers on her lips. I let my mind run wild with the idea. But ultimately, I tell hergoodnight and briskly retreat to my bedroom, waiting until I’m in the safe spray of the shower to finally palm my dick.
I make myself come thinking about her pouty lips, the way they’d look with my cock between them. Halfway through my fantasy, I have myself convinced it would be okay to have just a taste.
But by the time I come, reality washes over me.
No matter how much I want Grace Morgan, I shouldn’t. She’s too innocent. Too good. And if I want this year to go as planned, I shouldn’t get entangled with my fake fiancée, no matter how much I want to.
15
ASHER
"Your father wants us in his office." The posh British accent that comes from my door belongs to Charles Devereux.
I lift my head to face my old friend. Charles and I met back in college at Columbia. Our friendship started with drinking at parties and evolved to working side by side. He's now Sanctum's chief counsel, and one of the few people at this company I actually trust.
"You know why?" I brush off my pants and shrug my suit jacket back on.
"You're going to want to hear it from him." His expression is sobered, and that concerns me. Charles deals with a lot of fucked-up stuff that happens in this company. Most of it doesn't bother him in the slightest. So anything that puts that serious look on his face is of immediate concern.
I follow him down the hall of executives toward the corner office, where my father waits.
"So I hear you’re engaged?" he asks as we walk.
I find myself smiling through my unease. "Her name’s Grace."
“Splendid. And when do I get to meet her? I’d quite like to get to know the young lady who’s finally taken you off the market.”
I laugh. "Yeah? Want to see what it's like to have a girlfriend, Charlie?"
He grins. "I'll have you know, the ladies quite like me."
"Then why have I never seen you with one?" I razz him. Charles laughs.
"Because for you to meet them, I'd have to introduce them to this shitshow of a family." He whispers the last part for only me to hear as we near my father’s office.
