“Good.”
I hung up before he could argue further.
Set my phone on the counter and stared at it for a long moment, my mind already moving to the next step. The money would hit her account by noon. She’d see it. She’d know what it meant.
But I needed to make sure she understood.
I picked up my phone again and opened my messages. Typed quickly, no hesitation.
Check your account.
Sent.
Then another message immediately after.
Rest. We try again in six weeks.
I set the phone down and waited.
Didn’t expect a response right away. It was barely past seven in the morning. She was probably still asleep, exhausted from crying herself unconscious a few hours ago.
But I needed her to see it when she woke up.
Needed her to know I meant what I’d said.
I wasn’t going anywhere.
Alexis showed up in my office. She’d slept over, and I didn’t hesitate to leave her ass in the bed when Truth called.
I was reviewing construction contracts for the Bywater development when she walked in.
I looked up from the contract. “Good morning.”
Alexis walked in wearing a cream-colored dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek bun, her makeup flawless. She looked like she belongedin a boardroom or a gallery opening—polished, professional, beautiful.
She closed the door behind her with a soft click.
“Hey,” she said, her voice warm. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“You are.” I set down my pen and leaned back in my chair, studying her. “But you’re here now. What do you need?”
She crossed the room slowly, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. When she reached my desk, she didn’t sit. Just stood there with her hands clasped in front of her, looking at me with those hazel eyes that had pulled me in at the gallery.
“I wanted to talk to you about the other night,” she said.
I waited.
She shifted her weight slightly. “When you got that call. You left the bed and didn’t come back.”
There it was.
I kept my face blank. “And?”
“And I just….” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “I was worried. I thought maybe something was wrong.”
I studied her for a long moment. Watched the way she held herself—open, concerned, vulnerable. The performance was good. Almost believable. But I’d been playing this game longer than she had, and I knew exactly what this was.
A test.
