Looks real legit.There are just sooo many people urgently needing to give me two billion bucks. I flip the bird at the email. Normally when I get this kind of crap in my personal inbox, it’s the FBI or UN or Bank of America that’s dying to hand over oodles of money, so long as I send them all my personal data. But the spam coming to my work address? And…the Loomer Heritage Trust?
Apparently, even scams have to remind me of Trevor and gross me out.
I block the address and drop the phone into my bag. The elevator doors open with a soft chime to the vestibule, discreetly painted in a muted sage green. Thick glass double doors sandblasted with the firm’s logo stand before me.
Can’t undo what happened in Tokyo. Gotta focus on what I canmaybecontrol and hope for the best.
I paste on a friendly smile and nod at the receptionist.
She does a finger wave, showing off her new manicure.
“Nice polish.”
“Thank you!” She grins.
See? Just like any other day. Optimism buoying, I stride toward Rhys’s office, feeling more and more confident. Finn nods at me around his usual mug of coffee. He’s impeccably dressed in a navy pinstriped three-piece suit and polished shoes. And a red tie. His work fashion is an almost exact duplicate of Rhys’s. “Hey.”
“Hi.” I smile.
He smiles back, all friendly.There.More evidence.Everything’s fine. When Rhys isn’t happy, Finn always knows about it. This is a good sign.
Damn, all that stress for nothing. My smile widens—
Until I see my laptop bag on my desk with a yellow sticky note on top. YOU ARE WELCOME in all caps is written with a bright red Sharpie. Regardless of what Rhys might’ve told Finn, he isn’t happy, and probably not planning to let it go, either.
Part of me wonders where my carry-on is, but I decide this is not the time to ask.Put on your big-girl panties. Growing up includes facing consequences.
Please,don’t fire me,please don’t fire me,please don’t fire me…
Dread twisting my gut, I open the door with a forced smile.
The corner office is bigger than my own bedroom, kitchen and closet combined—well, when I had an apartment to return to. Rhys is seated at his huge desk, the morning sun pouring in through the giant windows behind him. I instinctively bite my tongue as his dominating presence sends an odd frisson down my back. The sensation unsettles me more than usual, putting me on edge. I pull myself more tightly together.Gotta be in control.
“Good morning, Rhys.” I grimace inwardly. I was going for the everyday cheeriness, but overdid it. But how can I control how nervous I am? The man radiates gloom, the only cloudy spot in beautiful SoCal.
“Is it?” Adjusting his glasses, he barely looks up from the document in front of him.
“It’s sunny with a current temperature of sixty-five.” I throw out the numbers from the radio weatherman. “What could you possibly complain about?”
“Any number of things. The stock market falling. The yield curve on two- and ten-year bonds not inverting enough. Being abandoned by an assistant who went AWOL in Asia.”
I manage to hold back a wince.I didn’t know what to do and sort of freaked out after waking up next to you nakedis on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it. It’s honest, but awkward and uncomfortable. Rhys can’t possibly want that level of sharing. He’s probably upset that he was professionally inconvenienced by my absence. “I’m…very sorry about that. I had a life emergency in L.A. Kaitlyn approved my two-week-long PTO.”
“Without consulting me.” He finally drops his pen and gets up, pacing all the way to the office door and then back toward me. He stands close. Very close.
I step back, only to bump into the desk. I place one hand on the edge, then raise the other in a placating gesture between us. It’s also kind of like a shield—for me. “You weren’t available at the time.”
“Oh, right. Of course. I wasn’t in the States, even. Much less the office.”
“Right!” I’m glad he’s kind of agreeing with—
“Because it’s actually rather difficult to enter the countrywithout one’s passport.”
He leans closer until my fingertips press against his hard chest. I smell the faint hint of his soap and cologne—the latterreminds me of seeing him unguarded in the morning before he put on his conquer-the-world mask. A languid warmth seems to stream through me, and my mouth dries.
“Whatexactlywas so urgent?” he murmurs, his gorgeous blue eyes on mine.
Unable to bear the intensity, I lower my gaze, only to settle on his mouth. Watching it move as he speaks isn’t the best thing for my equilibrium because the view reminds me of the way he kissed me, then sucked my nipples. If I removed my fingers, would he dip his head and lean in…?
