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His expression goes even darker as his gaze moves from my eyes to my mouth.

“Don’t cast me as someone I’m not. You think you’ve got me all figured out, but I can see you’ve got shit backwards as fuck about me.”

Heat rises to my cheeks, but I don’t back down.

“Oh? So you’re not a spoiled little rich kid who probably has never been on a commercial flight in his life because private is the only way to travel? You don’t wipe your ass with hundred-dollar bills or have bitches hanging off your dick every night?”

I don’t know why I add that last part. Pettiness, maybe? It’s not like I’ve seen a gaggle of women swarming around him aside from the one I’m sure is his girlfriend. There are rumors, but I haven’t actually experienced this version of him, this Playboy Storm that Yenn warned me about.

“Wow,” Storm drawls, leaning back in his chair with an angry-stunned expression. “If that’s what you think of me, how can you stand to be in the same room? The person you describe sounds terrible.”

It’s because I know I’m lying.

“If my assumptions are wrong, please feel free to correct me,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest.

And then we’re in a stare-off. We remained locked in for one heartbeat, then another, but it’s Storm who rises, breaking the moment.

With stealthy movements, he glides around the table until he’s standing right next to me. He leans back against the tabletop, bracing himself on his hands with straight forearms.

He’s so fucking close to me, I can smell his cologne again—and there goes another cootch twitch.

“Let’s get this straight right now, Shae,” he starts, his voice still low. “Because you’ve got me all fucked up.”

With him towering over me, the power imbalance is stark, but I still hold my ground.

“Okay. Set me straight, then,” I whisper, hating that his close presence makes me weak.

The smile that shapes across his lips appears in slow intervals.

“First, about my wealth,” he says, leaning down until his mouth is close to my ear. “And we have to keep this between you and me, because it’s rude to talk about vast sums of money, isn’t it? It’s gaudy, at minimum.”

I’ve been robbed of speech, so I nod.

“In some ways, you’re right. The Sandoval family has a cumulative net worth of around twelve billion. That’s a far step from where my father started, fresh out of U of I with a few thousand he was able to hustle up between his paper route and tutoring job.”

I nod again, but snap my mouth shut when I realize it’s dangling open.

Storm inhales slowly, rocking forward and moving so close to me that I can feel his nose nudge one of the curls on my neck.

Don’t start moaning in the middle of this quiet-ass building.

“My dad started Stratos Wealth Fund out of his apartment with my mama behind him. My mama’s folks had a few cents over pocket change, so they were his first clients. Then he took on a few prominent business owners, a few politicians, and the next thing anyone knows, my father is on the cover ofForbesas one of the richest Black men in America.”

“That’s nice,” I mumble, but only because he’s still so close to me and I’m scared he’ll be able to tell how turned on I am if he doesn’t give me some space.

“It is. So that hot rich guy persona you think I have?—”

“I never said you were hot!” I interrupt. Slapping a hand over my mouth, I curse my instinct to say whatever the hell I’m thinking. Storm does pull back then, and I feel like I can breathe.

A little bit.

“Sure, Shae,” he murmurs.

I want to die of humiliation when I realize the direction of his attention, which is on my hard-tipped nipples pressing through my top.

“Yes, I come from money, but I also come from hard work. Nothing in this life comes easy, so if I was born into wealth, it’s my job to work to keep it.”

He’s serious again, and I’m nodding like a dummy at his words.