But I’m also not a quitter, and I definitely did not drive all this way out into the middle of nowhere to quit.
That’s not an option.
“You've been through worse, Lilly.” I pull the rearview mirror down and inspect my reflection. I wipe under my eyes even though I never let any tears fall and brush my hair back from my face, tucking it behind my ears.
“He’s just a man,” I speak to my reflection.A very large, intimidating, and grumpy man.“He doesn’t scare you.”
He does.
“You can do hard things, Lilly,” I say, my voice calmer than I feel. “If you’re scared, do it scared.” I blow out a breath. “But you have to do it.”
I shove the door open and step out into the cold November air. My spine straightens, and I let the strength I don’t entirely feel flow through me. Icando hard things. My back is up against the wall, and I have nothing to lose.
And if there’s one thing that the last week has taught me, it’s that I’m not going to let other people decide my future for me.
I march back up the steps onto the porch. This time, I don’t knock.
I was hired for a job. And I’ll be damned if I’m not going to do it and do it well.
The door handle turns easily in my hand. I shouldn’t be surprised. Who would wander so far up into the mountains uninvited?
Me apparently.
I almost laugh as I step inside.Almost.
I blow out a breath and walk into the cabin with as much confidence as I can muster. “Luke Morgan,” I call, my voice strong. “We need to talk.”
Luke
She had no right.
No right to send a stranger up the mountain. No right to make decisions behind my back as if I’m not capable of handling my own damn life. Anger flows off me in waves as I storm through the cabin, into my office, and grabmy phone.
I stab at her name in my contacts, ready to demand exactly what Tessa was thinking, hiring someone to be my assistant when I specifically told her I didn’t want one.
“Luke Morgan,” a female voice calls, steady and clear. “We need to talk.”
I freeze, the phone still in my hand, the call not completed.
"Fuck.”
I drop my phone onto the papers on my desk and step out into the hallway, and immediately stop.
The reaction hits before I even fully process what I’m seeing.
She’s in my house.
Only the sharp physical awareness has nothing to do with anger and everything to do with instinct.
Attraction.
It’s immediate. Unwelcome. And completely inappropriate.
My pulse kicks up, heat settling low in my gut, and I know in an instant, even if I were inclined to hire an assistant, which I certainly am not, it sure as hell wouldn’t be her.
It can’t be.
“What the hell are you doing in my house?” I ask, my voice low and dangerous.
