Jaxon’s smile tilts. “You left quickly this morning.”
I nearly died.
“I had work,” I blurt, too fast. “Deadlines. Responsibilities. You know journalism doesn’t sleep.”
His eyebrow lifts. “You didn’t wake me.”
“You were asleep,” I say, then immediately want to crawl into a ventilation system and live there forever. “And… I didn’t want to bother you.”
“Ruby.” His voice drops just enough to melt my spine. “You wouldn’t have bothered me.”
I forget how to breathe.
“Mr. Cole?” my editor calls from her office doorway, sounding urgent. “We’re ready for you now.”
He nods once, then refocuses on me. “We’ll pick this up later.”
“We won’t,” I whisper to myself without meaning to.
He steps closer; dangerously close, the kind of close that should come with an HR chaperone, and lowers his voice for my ears only. “We will.”
My heartbeat goes rogue.
He walks away, leaving me clutching my folder like a life raft, staring after him in horror, lust, confusion, and the tiniest bit of arousal I refuse to acknowledge.
The second he disappears into the glass conference room, the Nasty Nine stampede me like velociraptors who smell fresh gossip.
Ava, Sienna, and Trey surround me. Lana follows, but it looks like she’s reconsidering her entire degree.
“Ruby,” Ava says, hands on my shoulders. “Did you hear the news?”
“I…” I swallow. “I’m living the news.”
“He’s the new investor,” Sienna says with a grin big enough to break her face. “Fifty-one percent, he literally owns the magazine now.”
“He literally owns your orgasm,” Trey corrects, as if he’s reporting market data.
“Trey!” I hiss.
“What?” He shrugs. “Facts are facts.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Okay, everyone, listen. Whatever happened last night stays firmly in the past. This is now a professional environment. Very professional. Extremely professional.”
Ava snorts. “Honey, you’re standing here with post-sex hair and a glow that could power New York.”
“TONE IT DOWN,” I whisper-yell.
“He was looking at you like he wanted to bend you over the photocopier,” Sienna says thoughtfully.
“I’m going to pass out.”
“Do it after he signs the contracts,” Trey advises.
I inhale slowly. “None of you are helping.”
Lana pats my arm sympathetically. “You’re experiencing acute post-hookup anxiety mixed with workplace dread. It’s perfectly normal, and also extremely entertaining.”
“Fantastic,” I say flatly.
