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And he knows it. That’s why he’s trying so hard to rattle me.
But he’ll learn soon enough. I don’t break. And I sure as hell don’t lose.
I glance at the computer screen, at the open contract I should be working on, but my attention snags on a tab I forgot to close—a news article from last night’s gala.
I click on the article, and there we are, front and center kissing at last week’s gala. Her chin’s tipped up toward me, and my hand’s resting on her waist like she belongs in my arms.
My eyes drift lower, examining her in the way I’d never allow myself to in person. Her hand catches my attention—or, more specifically, the lack of something on it.
No ring.
It’s a detail that shouldn’t matter, but it does. Pulling out my phone, I type a quick message.
Me:
Are you busy tomorrow?
Her reply is almost immediate.
Amara:
Well, I have work.
Me:
Take the day off. Your boss won’t mind.
Amara:
I’m not complaining about that.
I rub my mouth, a smile creeping on my face.
Amara:
Can I ask what this is about, sir?
Sir. God help me. The woman lives with me, everyone thinks we’re engaged, I’ve seen her in a towel—in nothing—and she continues her professionalism with me when all I can think of ishow I caught a quick glimpse of her pink nipples before I shot my head to my ceiling.
Me:
I need you to go somewhere with me.
Amara:
I can’t exactly say no… seeing as I live with you now.
My brows knit together, and I fire off another message.
Me:
You can always say no. Living with me doesn’t mean I own you, Amara. You might be my fiancée, and I might be your boss, but you’re your own person.
There’s a pause before her next reply.
Amara:
I’d love to come.