Page 161

Zayn

“I’d make a few changes,” I tell Kai, circling every demand that doesn’t sit right with me.

Yeah, we’re acquiring a strong brand. Their club chain is well known across England, and the concept itself is fresh, but the client isn’t exactly in a position to dictate the terms his lawyer stuffed into this contract.

“We’re not keeping the name.” I cross that clause out entirely. “We’re not maintaining this supplier either.” That one goes too. “Their employees stay, but they go through our training process first,” I add, rewriting the condition. “And if they can’t keep up afterward, we’ll find them another job.”

“He doesn’t need to know that part,” Kai points out.

“Obviously not,” I agree immediately. “The second he signs, he stops receiving any information about the business.”

I slide the contract back to him without touching anything else. The rest of the terms work for me.

A smirk tugs at his mouth as he grabs the file and rises from his chair. “Those are exactly the changes I would’ve made too.”

And considering he’s probably the best lawyer in the world—fuck that, not probably. Definitely—that statement pleases me more than I care to admit.

“I’ll be late for dinner,” he says, already nearing the door.

“Hot date?” I ask, opening an email.

He doesn’t even need to answer. I already know.

Exactly as expected, he just laughs. “See you tonight.”

Amused, I shake my head and reply to the email Beatrix sent two minutes ago with next week’s schedule.

Too many meetings booked. Too many partner dinners. Too many negotiations.

Perfectly normal until recently.

More specifically, until the most incredible woman in the world agreed to be mine again.

Speaking of that woman, I quickly text Beatrix to postpone a few meetings next week, then open my messages with Pixie.

Zayn: I miss you.

Zayn: And your sweet pussy.

As always, when she isn’t at work, her answer appears instantly.

Pixie: I don’t know whether I should be jealous or not.

Pixie: Also, because I was bored out of my mind, I rearranged the dressing room a little.

* photo attached *

I open the picture without hesitation and realize it’s a panoramic shot of my entire walk-in closet.

The only difference between this morning and now is that there aren’t any boxes left anymore—boxes filled with her clothes, shoes, jewelry, and everything her brother had shipped from New York after she asked him to pack up her apartment and send the rest of her belongings to my place when I refused to let her leave without me.

Now, the clothes hanging on the racks are arranged by color like before, except one hanger holds my clothes, the next holds hers. And it continues like that through the entire closet.

Even the shoes are paired together—one pair of mine beside one pair of hers.

Everything is perfectly organized, arranged with flawless precision and that maddening attention to detail only she could possess.

I stare at the picture, my chest feeling too full, as if my heart might split open from the pressure of it.