Wemadeittohis car unscathed.
Outside, there were flashes and chaos. In the cab of the car, it’s quiet.
Ikept my hands to myself, resisting the urge to touch the new chain that sat comfortably on my collarbone.
I hate jewelry. I never wear it.
Butthis?This necklace is stunning. It feels too expensive to flash to the world, yet too beautiful to keep hidden in the box.
The chain is dainty and gold, but doesn’t feel fragile—not like it could snap at the slightest tug. The charm is simple: a gold plated,OandAfused together side by side, with tiny diamonds embedded in the letters, catching the light and sparkling against my skin.
I would bet it cost more money than I’ve ever had in my life.
The jewellery-hating part of me feels like it’s burning my skin. But there’s also a tiny part of me that feels like it was made for me, and has made it's way home.
That part is minuscule, but she still exists, nonetheless.
"So," I start to say, but he cuts me off when he leans across me, his lips less than an inch from my mouth, and my breath hitches in my throat.
He makes me nervous, and I don’t know why. Just hours ago, I’d been the one trying to rattle him, pushing to see if I could crack that stern façade.
But he didn’t flinch. He stayed perfectly still.
And now that it looks like he’s about to kiss me, I want to close the gap and take his lips against mine.
I never get nervous over something as simple as a kiss. Hell, I don’t really get nervous at all.
I involuntarily close my eyes as the scent of leather, wood, and musk washes over me. I lean into it, letting myself bask in him for a breath, but then the moment breaks.
His warmth disappears, replaced by the coldclunkof the glove compartment closing.
My eyes snap open.
He’s back in the driver’s seat, cool as ever, his back pressed against his seat with an arrogant smirk on that infuriatingly delicious face.
"You said ‘not even once,’ but that’s twicetodaythat I could’ve kissed you, and you would’ve let me."
"No, I wouldn’t have." I cross my arms over my chest, scrunching up my nose, and he laughs.
"Here," he says, holding out a thick, yellow envelope for me to take, and I do.
"The contract?" I ask, and he nods just once. "Let me just check with Josie to see if there’s anything else to do."
"Her signature is already on it. So is mine and Orlando’s. Just waiting on yours right next to where it saysOlivia Herring," he teases, waiting to see if he’s going to get a rise out of me, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
I do, however, calmly search the page, knowing full well Josie is the one who had lawyers put this together. But when I see myactualname and not the one he calls me, I let out a little sigh of relief.
Ignoring him, I send a text to my manager.
Josie
We all good for me to scribble my name on this thing?
Sign it, ASAP. Oh, and have fun.
I do what I’m told, and sign my soul away to the devil
Once my seatbelt is buckled in and we’re finally driving away from his apartment building, I turn to him. "We need a backstory."
