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I look out the window. “I don’t like people in my space.”

“I know,” she says softly. “I can tell.”

That night, I work late, trying to bury thoughts of Quinn and what we did last night—and failing. When I get home, I find the dinner my staff left for me in the chef’s kitchen, as requested.

Her pancakes are on a plate in the fridge, along with a handwritten note with warm-up instructions.

I refuse to get used to this. I won’t eat her pancakes. I won’t let myself start missing her. Craving her niceties, longing for her attention.

You can’t start counting on things like that.

I knock on the door of Manus’ apartment over the garage, and give the pancakes to him.

I should’ve just given her bracelet back when she mentioned she’d lost it. Or before that, like I told myself I would. Lying to myself.

I don’t know why I lied toherand kept it.

I don’t know what I was thinking having Brant run it over to my family’s jeweler today. The diamonds in my pocket are a terrible reminder that I can’t control these things like I need to. That I’m already out of control.

I already want to see her again.

Every time I let myself think of her, remember how she feels, how she smells, the way she reacts to my touch, I get hard.

When I go up to bed, I can’t sleep.

I end up folding clothes in my walk-in closet. Folding and rearranging the socks and underwear in my drawers in perfect lines, because no matter how long my housekeeper has worked for me or how neatly she puts them away, I have to redo them.

Not because they’re wrong.

Because they’re not quite right.

Meanwhile, I keeptelling myself I won’t see Quinn again. That she’s out of my system. Now that I’ve fucked her, I don’t want or need anything else from her.

I meant it when I told her that last night was a one-time thing.

I know it’s becoming hazardous to my health to even think of her at all.

I just can’t stop.

I’m still awake at almost one in the morning when Manus texts me, to ask if I’m still up. He tells me I have a visitor.

I stare at the text, absorbing his meaning.

Manus:I wouldn’t have bothered you, but it’s her.

There could really only be oneher.

One woman who he’d let into my house at this hour, without my permission.

One woman he’s seen me with lately.

One woman he thinks I hired for some dubious job after running surveillance on her, then made out with her in the back of my car, brought her home, and let her stay the night.

I head downstairs to find Quinn standing in my foyer.

Manus is nowhere to be seen.

She grips her purse and jacket, wearing a little black dress, with a short skirt and juicy cleavage.