Page 23 of The Devil of Downtown

Dignity: MIA, presumed dead.

Pathetic crush on boss: spiraling out of control.

“Two days,” I mutter, peeling myself off the glass, cheeks puffing as I blow out a shaky breath. “I just have to survive two days.”

I roll out my shoulders as the elevator glides back down to reception. I’ve no idea what just happened. But the truth pricks at me no matter how much I try to swallow it down.

I wanted him to kiss me.

In my head, I already had.

Jesus.

I need therapy.

Chapter six

Ivy

“I still don’t understand why he took you. He never expects me to accompany him on business trips. Do you think he’s on to us?” I can almost picture Sloane, her forehead creased, chewing on her thumb.

I switch to speaker and throw my phone down on the bed, scrolling through the abundance of movies the five-star hotel’s TV system provides.

“If he was, why would he take me to London? He’s too frigging busy to be carrying out an elaborate revenge plan.”

I can’t lie, she makes a good point, but I keep quiet; Sloane tends to over-worry.

“And all he asked you to do was take minutes?” she asks for the millionth time.

“Yep,” I say, ignoring the part where he pressed me against the glass and threatened to murder Dominic Bexley if I so much as looked at him. I’m still trying to process it myself. Just the thought of it has heat pulsing through my veins.

“I sent you the audio of the meeting,” I add. “Did you get it?”

“I did. I’ve already emailed you the minutes,” Sloane replies, as efficient as ever. After the meeting, I looked over my typed ramblings and knew they wouldn’t make the cut.

Last night, I had just arrived at the hospital to visit Sloane and Elsie when Dane’s text message came through. I almost dropped the phone in shock. Sloane almost died of shock.

At first, she thought I’d misread the text. But after rereading multiple times. She confirmed that I was not seeing things. Then, after a mini meltdown and sayingfuckmore times than she’s ever uttered, I thought she might cry. And Sloane never cries. Even when her pet hamster, Brian, kicked the bucket. After she saved six months’ pocket money to buy him the hamster equivalent of a condo in Malibu, he keeled over the next day.

Ungrateful bastard.

“How’s Elsie?” I ask.

“She’s doing a lot better. Her temperature is finally dropping. She’ll be allowed home the day after tomorrow.”

“That’s great. I can’t wait to see the little munchkin.”

“And you know what that means, Ivy? When you get back from London, I’ll be able to return to work.”

Oh...

“Yay.” I inject enthusiasm into my tone as my heart sinks. Which is ridiculous because any longer and I’d be found out for sure. To be honest, it will be a minor miracle if I get through this trip.

I brush it off. It is only lust. I mean, the man is as hot as a Molotov cocktail, but he’s still Dane. Cold. Hard. And entirely off-limits.

“Hey, guess who I saw the other day?” Sloane says, disapproval sneaking into her tone.

“Well, from the sounds of things, it’s not Santa Claus.”