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My curled toes and numb fingers are still tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure when my phone alarm goes off a few seconds later.
And I breathe out the one word I swore I’d never say to Kit Kensington.
“More.”
3
From the fifty-fifth floor, New York looks tiny.
Well, on the street below—the people walking, the yellow cabs honking, the pigeons flocking—theyall appear miniature from this distance. Nothing else appears small. The skyscraper that houses Kensington Consolidated’s corporate headquarters is surrounded by buildings of similar heights, the backdrop an endless stretch of bright blue, dotted with fluffy blobs of white. Castles in the clouds, surrounded by sentries.
Morningsunlight reflects off the windows opposite mine, making me squint. My grip tightens on the mug I’m holding, the ceramic burning my palm while my retinas are seared by the brightness.
There’s a softsnickas the door to my office opens.
I turn, expecting Indy. Asher’s assistant has been helping me until I hire my own.
Instead, my sister waltzes in. Her heels click against the hardwood as she lifts her phone in my direction.
I’m positive she’s taking photos.
“You look so grown up!” Lili props a hand on her hip as she surveys me. She’s wearing a colorful sundress that stands out amid the dark, muted shades decorating my office and a smirk that suggests she’s here to make fun of me.
“Lili,” I grind out between gritted teeth, “you can’t just barge in. I could have had a meeting happening in here.”
She waves away the possibility with a flick of her wrist, then walks over to the towering bookcase to run a finger along the leather spines. “Youdidn’tthough. Where’s your assistant? It was either ‘barge in’ or stand out in the hallway.”
I walk over to my desk and set my steaming coffee cup on the coaster next to the keyboard. “Knockingwas a third option.”
Lili flings her Birkin onto one of the armchairs facing my desk, then dramatically sprawls in the other.
Great. She’s staying.
“Why don’t you have an assistant?” Lili asks, twirling the end of her ponytail around one finger.
“I haven’t gotten around to it yet.” My eyes flick toward the stack of résumés piled at the far end of my desk, right next to the earning statements I’m supposed to review in advance of the board’s monthlymeeting.
A personal assistant—just like a corner office on the executive floor—is a luxury I inherited. I might have been born with the pedigree to be a big deal in the business world, but a few months ago, I was attending frat parties and playing pranks on my housemates. I feel like a fraud. A kid playing at being important.
Plus, I’ve been so busy that I literally haven’t hadtimeto look at the résumés.
I take a sip of my Americano, then glance at my email. The number of unread messages has doubled since I arrived at the office an hour ago, suggesting it’s going to be another long day and late night.
My attention refocuses on my sister. “How was London?”
Lili half smiles. “You mean Dublin?”
“Nope.” I pop thePfor dramatic effect. “I meantLondon.”
She rolls her eyes but is still smiling. And it’s not the snarky one I’m used to seeing. It’s softer. A tiny bit tentative even. “Fine, yeah. It was a good trip.”
“Good? So, I don’t need to show up at his house and kick his ass?”
“House?” Lili laughs. “It’s really more of a castle. And, no, you don’t. I’d be pissed if you did actually.”
“Are you”—I grimace—“dating him?”
I can’t believe she’s making me dig for details like a tabloid reporter.