Not because of the sex.
The sex was a catastrophic success.
No, it’s bad because I woke up alone and hated it. That was not part of the deal.
I take one container of soup and pull out a small pot to warm it in.
Except there is no deal.
There is no conversation. No boundaries. No agreement. No explanation for what this is supposed to be now that I have slept with the most complicated client of my career and let him order me around through a note.
While my soup warms, I sip on the juice and find that I’ve finished a full glass. Then I sit at my small kitchen table with soup, juice, and the note I’m absolutely not obsessed with.
I read it again.
Do not work today
I glance toward my briefcase by the sofa.
The access audit is not done.
The last comparison reports are waiting. Benjamin and Ainsley need assignments. The redundant access matrix still needs cleanup. I should at least open my laptop and—
I am a grown woman. A lawyer with my own firm. I do not take orders from men I slept with once— or any number of times.
Even if he made me come so hard, I think I briefly saw the afterlife.
I pick up my spoon and eat the soup.
It is good.
Definitely not adequate.
Wow.
I set the note down and give the soup my full attention.
It coats my tongue, rich and warm, with just enough garlic and herbs to dance across my taste buds.
The gnocchi is soft and pillowy, the vegetables tender, the broth creamy without being heavy. It tastes like the exact opposite of my normal diet of coffee and protein bars.
My stomach settles first.
Then my shoulders relax.
I close my eyes for one second and let the warmth move through me.
Okay.
Fine.
Maybe he was right about the food.
My phone buzzes on the table.
For one wild second, I think it might be him.
It is Ainsley.
