I look… like a woman who might break a billionaire.
And that is deeply alarming.
“I can’t wear this,” I whisper.
“You can,” Ava says. “And you WILL.”
“This says I’m confident.”
“You ARE,” Sienna says.
“It says I’m sexy.”
“You ARE,” Trey says.
“It says I’m ready.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Ava says gently, “you were ready the moment he followed you down that hallway.”
I bury my face in my hands.
“I’m going to spontaneously combust.”
“Good,” Trey says. “Combustion is a serve.”
JAXON
I arrive early.
Earlier than necessary.
Earlier than professional.
Earlier because I want everything in my space set exactly the way I want it when she steps inside.
My office is already immaculate, but today, it needs a different kind of intention.
I dim the lights. Not dramatically. Just enough to soften the edges.
I remove the extra chairs, they won’t be needed.
I choose two.
Not across from each other.
Side by side.
Close enough that I can lean in without crossing a line.
Not touching. But near.
Near enough to feel the tension. Near enough that she’ll think about the last meeting. Near enough to remind her of the promise I made:
Next time I touch you, it won’t be accidental.
I straighten the folders on the table, though they’re already straight.
I set out two glasses of water.
