2
LILA
I stare at the message until my phone screen dims then lights up again when I breathe on it like an idiot.
If you’re going to beg, baby girl…do it properly.
My palms are sweaty and my heart is beating so hard I can hear it in my ears. I’m sitting on my couch in my tiny apartment, knees pressed together, wine glass sweating onto the coffee table, and my billionaire boss just called me baby girl.
This would be the right time to throw my phone across the room, or email HR and resign. Other options include faking my death and moving to another continent. But alcohol gives you a second mind, and that mind makes you brave. Stupid? Sure, but also brave. So I type a reply instead.
Me: Didn’t mean to send that, sir. I’m really sorry.
Three dots appear instantly.
Gone, then back again.
I stifle a groan and wonder what he’s replying and wish he’d just delete the photo and never talk to me again.
Ethan:Don’t apologize.
My stomach flips.
Ethan: Tell me what you want.
I stare at those words like they’re a trap and a gift at the same time.
What I want?
I want rent paid and my overdraft gone. And while we’re at it, I’d love to stop pretending I don’t notice the way he fills a doorway or how his voice drops when he’s focused—or worse, irritated.
I want him to see me.
But that doesn’t happen in real life, does it? The billionaire silver fox who’s probably dated the prettiest women in five time zones doesn’t look twice at the slightly chubby smart-mouth assistant unless it’s a Hallmark movie. And I’m not blonde enough for that.
The wine buzzes louder in my veins, loosening the tight knot in my chest. My pulse skids when I realize something else too.
He didn’t say this is inappropriate or that this needs to stop.
My thumbs hover over the screen.
Me: I want you to forget this happened.
The dots appear again.
Ethan:That’s not true.
I bite my lip so hard it hurts.
Me: You don’t know that.
Ethan: I know you stared at the screen for a full minute before you typed that.
My body answers before my brain can lie about it. How does he know that?
Me: You’re making assumptions.
Ethan: I make a living doing that.
