Page 179 of The Rebel Billionaire

“Can you now?”

“I can,” she says before stepping back and turning to fully face me. “You’re wondering what’s going to happen after?”

Her perceptiveness always surprises me.

I lean my arse against the desk, making us the same height.

“Time apart will give you room to think, see what you want,” I say.

“What about you?”

“The past eighteen hours have been amazing,” I say, meaning every word.

“I’m sensing a but,” she says, her arms crossing over her chest.

“I want you to be sure this is what you want. I know you want to ignore the age gap, our positions, and I believe you when you say they mean nothing to you. That’s my but.”

She nods. “I get that, and I appreciate it, but Alex, I’m not going to change my mind. You’re the first man who’s made me want a relationship. This isn’t a flash in the pan, and I’m not saying it to put pressure on you. Relationships are complicated.”

I raise an eyebrow.

She shrugs. “Older siblings and their relationship dramas. Relationships take work, but I’ve also seen that if you have a real connection with someone, you don’t want to ignore it. You want to see where it goes. Age is merely a number. And as for jobs, if it becomes an issue, I can either move department or leave St Clair and look for alternative work.”

I pull her against me. “You’ve made your point. There’ll be no more talk of leaving,” I say, dropping a kiss on her nose.

“I will if you stop trying to second-guess me. I’m a grown arse woman who knows her own mind.”

“Got it, grown arse woman,” I say.

“Don’t you forget it,” she says, stepping back. “Let’s get these finished, and then I’m sure we can find something much more interesting and pleasurable to do with our time.”

“I’ve created a monster,” I say.

CHAPTER 53

ALEX

“Alex, have you heard a word I’ve said?” Enzo asks.

He’s sitting opposite me, wine in hand. It’s been a long week, despite talking to Brooke every day.

“Sorry,” I say.

“You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind. Anything I can help with? I thought this week had gone well.”

“It has,” I say, shaking my head.

He shoots me a questioning glance.

Our eyes lock, and I feel heat rise up my neck. I grab the glass of wine he’s just topped up and take a large swallow.

He leans back and rubs his jaw, his brows furrowing, but his eyes never leave mine.

“A staring contest… You only do that when you’re covering something up, like the time you dented Dad’s Porsche.”

“I was eleven, and I fell over, not my fault. I was wheeling my bike.”

“Leaving the office in a rush on Friday, radio silence over the weekend. Crying off when I messaged you about going out for a drink.”