Page 4 of Bastard In A Suit, Vol. 3

I feel my cheeks go warm. “A little.”

He lets go of my hand and grips just above my knee, giving it a light squeeze. My reflexes jerk and he laughs. “More than a little,” he says.

Too soon, the light changes, and we continue along Michigan Ave. In the distance, the glass front of the Kingston Industries building shimmers under the bright sun. Surrounding towers reflect in the mirrored windows, looking small and insignificant by contrast. Its impressive façade is a heady reminder that this moment with Duke is almost over. A cloud of disappointment casts shade over my happiness.

Duke clears his throat. “To access the top floor from the parking garage, you’ll need a special access code,” he says. “I’ll punch in the code and then meet you upstairs if you’d rather no one know we arrived together.”

“No, it’s fine,” I say quickly, and then, after a second of thought, add, “Unless that’s what you want.”

“It’s not at all what I want.”

My relief comes out in a slow breath. It’s going to be okay. I repeat the mantra over and over until I allow myself to believe that everything will work out. Duke, the MicroTracker, this business with Jake. “Good,” I say.

At the entrance to the garage, Duke enters a series of numbers into the security box, and the door slides open. I anticipate an empty garage, but it’s filled with dozens of normal vehicles.

“Your employees park here?”

Duke eases the car around a corner. “Of course.”

I don’t know why it surprises me. “With your Lamborghini?”

He chuckles. “Are you concerned someone will steal it?”

“Mar it, take it, stare at it too long.”

“I trust my employees implicitly, Hailey,” he says, and there’s no mistaking the underlying meaning behind his words. I’m reminded of this morning’s actions and lingering shame pricks at the back of my neck.

Duke parks the car in a private stall marked clearly with his name, and raises the doors. It’s like stepping out of a space ship. My heels tap against the asphalt, bringing me fully out of the moment and into reality. I square my shoulders, and prepare myself for walking into the building.

It’s not the inevitable stares of the employees that makes me nervous—it’s trying to decide what I’ll say to Forrest.

Duke takes my hand and leads me to the elevator. Once inside, he adjusts his tie, fixes his hair. Gone is the carefree guy who laughed at his own jokes and sang badly out of tune, and in his place, is Duke Kingston, the billionaire business technology golden boy with the Midas Touch.

It strikes me with alarming clarity that I’m falling for both.