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Ethan raises an eyebrow. “I own the damn club, remember?” He kicks his feet up on my desk.
I exhale sharply, running a hand over my face. “Get your feet off my desk.”
I try to focus on him, but my mind’s miles away. I don’t have the energy to deal with him right now.
Ethan studies me for a few seconds, shaking his head. “Alright, what’s going on with you? You look like you just walked face-first into an existential crisis.”
I rub my temples. “I don’t fucking know.” Everything. Nothing.Her.
Ethan sighs. “I thought you were getting some action. Should’ve loosened you up by now.”
I shoot him a glare. “I’m not the fucking mood, alright?” I shake my head, frustrated. “It’s… My chest feels tight, and… my head’s all over the place… Fuck.”
Ethan lets out a low whistle, holding his hands up. “Almost sounds like you’re in love or some shit.”
My whole body locks, the thudding of my heart ringing in my ears as if to confirm his suspicions.
I stiffen, fingers twitching on the desk.
My jaw clenches.
The truth smacks me in the face like a slap.
And suddenly, it’s so damn obvious that it’s almost suffocating.
I’m inlovewith her.
I’m inlovewith Amara.
“Of course, that wouldneverhappen,” Ethan continues, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Not with your assistant-slash-fake-fiancée who you took to my club, just last week, right?”
I ignore the nosy fucker and picture her. Her laugh, her smile, and the thought of not seeing that ever again is like a knife twisting in my chest.
Fucking hell.
This is the worst complication possible.
Before I can even process the feelings coursing through my body, the door swings open.
And there she is.
Amara steps in, eyes glued to her tablet. “So, I think I found the perfect color for the bedroom—” She stops mid-sentence when she sees Ethan. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here. Am I interrupting?”
She tucks the tablet under her arm, and all I can do is stare at her. She has no fucking idea. No clue that she’s the reason my whole world just flipped upside down.
Ethan arches a brow at me. “You’re painting the walls again?”
My teeth grind. “We’re redecorating.”
Ethan squints, confused. “Didn’t you just hire a decorator like… five months ago?”
That fucking big mouth of his.
Amara freezes, her eyes widening. “What?”
I don’t look at her. Can’t. I can feel her eyes on me, though. Sharp, searching.
“But…” She shakes her head. “You told me you needed a decorator.”