Jake’s jaw tightens again.
“We’ll handle it,” he says.
We.
I don’t know why that word makes my chest ache.
Because five seconds later he corrects it without meaning to.
“I’ll handle it.”
There it is.
I’m already being removed from the equation.
I look back at the ring.
It suddenly feels heavier.
“Okay,” I say.
He studies me for a moment.
Like he’s assessing my reaction.
“Good,” he says finally.
Good.
I force a small smile.
Because that’s what I do. I make things easier for other people and I smooth over rough edges.
I don’t make scenes. I don’t make demands. I don’t make trouble.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket.
“Give me your number.”
The words sound like an order.
Not a request.
I arch a brow.
“You know,” I say lightly, “I think you need to work on your flirting. Maybe ask next time.”
He gives me a look as if I'm the most annoying person he’s ever met.
“This isn’t flirting.”
“Oh, I noticed.”
His jaw tightens.
“Not for anything social,” he clarifies. “So my lawyer can contact you. And so we have a way to communicate about… stuff.”
“About… stuff,” I repeat, nodding solemnly.
