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Not the polished, professional one she wore when she was conducting business. Not the sarcastic one she flashed when she was about to put someone in their place. This one was soft. Real.

And it hit me square in the chest.

"Morning," I'd said.

"Morning," she'd whispered.

Her voice had been rough with sleep. I'd wanted to kiss her. Badly.

Instead, I'd gotten out of bed. Because I was a gentleman. Or a coward. The jury was still out.

I'd headed to the kitchen and made her coffee.

When I returned with a steaming mug, she was sitting up against the headboard, phone pressed to her ear, on a business call.

"That's not what we agreed to," she'd said, her voice crisp and authoritative. "I want the revised projections on my desk by Monday."

She'd caught sight of me and smiled.

Then she'd mouthed, thank you, when I set the coffee on her nightstand. I'd nodded and left her to it.

I might not understand the ins and outs of running a global corporation, but I understood that when Mikayla Parsons was talking business, you didn't interrupt.

I went to the kitchen and started breakfast. Eggs, bacon, toast. Nothing fancy.

I'd just finished plating everything when Mikayla appeared in the doorway, fully dressed, hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, looking like she was ready to negotiate a hostile takeover.

"That smells amazing," she'd said.

"Good. Sit down."

She'd checked her watch.

And winced.

"I can't. I have to go."

"Go where?"

"Spa appointments. Massages and facials with my cousins and aunts."

I glanced at the clock. I knew that the spa didn’t open up for another fifteen minutes.

"You've got time to eat."

"No, I don't."

I'd held out a plate.

She'd looked at it like it was a personal attack. "You're very bossy."

"I've never had any complaints," I teased.

Her cheeks flushed. "I have a schedule."

"And I have bacon."

She'd hesitated. For one glorious second, I thought the bacon might win. Then she'd shaken her head.