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His gaze flicks to the towel again—a flicker so quick it might as well have been imagined, but the tightening of his jaw says otherwise.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t—”
“Don’t argue,” he cuts me off. “This is your place now, too. I’ll get someone to fix the other one. In the meantime, you’ll use mine.”
I open my mouth to protest, but his tone stops me. Instead, I nod, mortified and flustered.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I didn’t know you were here and—”
“Stop,” he cuts me off, stepping closer. His hand brushes my arm, warm and firm. The touch lingers, his fingers curling slightly as if deciding whether to let go. Then, with a soft sigh, he does. “Don’t apologize.” His jaw ticks. “Please.”
“Okay,” I murmur.
“Come on.” He turns and gestures for me to follow, his stride confident as he moves down the hall.
I hesitate, clutching the towel tighter before trailing after him, my thoughts spinning. My boss. His shower. Naked.This is going to be a long morning.
My mind is still spinning with the mortifying image of him walking in on me, rolls and all, as Nicholas leads me down the hallway.
He doesn’t say anything, the only sound is the soft click of our footsteps on the hardwood floors.
Just before we reach the end of the hall, he stops in front of a door, pushing it open. His room is even more intimidating than mine—dark, sleek, and impossibly neat.
“The bathroom’s through there.” He tilts his head, nodding toward a door on the far side of the room.
“Thank you.” I hover awkwardly, unsure if I’m supposed to say more, but he doesn’t move, his eyes lingering on me just long enough to make my pulse quicken.
Gathering what’s left of my dignity, I shuffle toward the bathroom. But before I can reach the door, his voice cuts through the silence.
“Amara, I think it’s best if you stay at home today.”
I turn, startled. “What?”
“Our engagement is everywhere, and people will have questions. The press will be crazier than ever. Stay home. Let me handle what I can. Just until it dies down a little.”
I press my lips together, reluctant to argue, and nod.
He gives a single nod in return before adding, “And from now on, you’ll be riding with me to work.”
I blink at him, trying to process. “What are you talking about? I always take the subway.”
“Not anymore,” he replies. “Not while you’re my fiancée.”
I freeze, my brain short-circuiting at the casual way he drops the word. “Nicholas. We’re not actually—”
“We are, as far as anyone else is concerned,” he interrupts. “You agreed to this arrangement, and that includes letting me take care of you.”
“I didn’t agree to being chauffeured,” I reply, my arms folding across my chest instinctively, even though it nearly dislodges the towel.
His gaze flickers downward briefly, and his lips press into a thin line, as if he’s holding back a comment. “You’re living in my house, Amara. It’s my responsibility to make sure you’re safe.”
“I don’t need a ride, Nicholas. I can manage just fine on my own.”
He takes a step closer, the space between us shrinking. “You’re not taking the subway. End of discussion. Now, get in the shower.”
Without another word, he turns and strides out, leaving me standing there in my towel with a boatload of conflicting feelings.
Heading into his bathroom, I close the door and let the towel pool at my feet, before stepping into the shower. It’s as sleek and luxurious as the rest of his space, with dark tiles and gleamingfixtures. The water is hot, cascading down my back, washing away the tension knotting my shoulders.