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Sage

Thenextmorning,Isat in the passenger seat of Brandon’s pickup feeling like the biggest piece of shit to ever walk the earth.

Last night’s argument was on constant replay in my head. The hideous things I’d said to Brandon. The utter hurt and disbelief in his eyes at my callousness. I could almost pinpoint the exact moment his heart had ripped in two when I’d implied—scratch that—straight up told him he was only helping me to make himself feel better about not saving his sister.

How did I even apologize for that?

Hey, I’m sorry I said a bunch of shitty things after you gave me the holy grail of orgasms. My bad.

Ugh.I wanted to crawl onto the rear seat, find a blanket to hide under, and shut the whole world out for ten years.

But I couldn’t. We had a job to do. This wasOperation: Invitation Swap. Truth be told, I was a little excited to play spy for the morning.

We were parked alongside the curb of one of Philly’s most prestigious apartment buildings. Standing by my door wearing a light-blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, Brandon rested his forearms on the edge of the open window. Now was a bad time to appreciate how fine his arm veins looked.

“I should be inside for no more than fifteen minutes. Five to repair the virus I remotely installed on his computer, and ten pretending to work while I wait for an opportunity to look for the invitation. If it’s in the study and he leaves me alone to make the swap, we’re in business. If not, I’ll message you for the diversion we spoke about so I can snoop around.” He handed me a burner phone. “Apartment 901, got it?”

I nodded, even as my heart rate picked up in anticipation of the con we were about to attempt. I was to ring the apartment’s buzzer and call the owner down to collect a nonexistent package. Just enough time to give Brandon the privacy he needed to go through the apartment. “Got it,” I said.

Brandon was all business today. Focused, professional, a little standoffish. That hurt but was understandable. It was far better than I deserved.

I wished things could go back to the way they were before I messed everything up. I never realized how much I’d miss Brandon’s roguish smiles and cocky comments. He wasn’t ignoring me or sulking. He did exactly what I’d asked. He’d ditched the flirting and treated me as a business partner. It was more than that, though. He’d lost his shine. The mischievous spark in his eye, the one that made my stomach flip, was gone.

I hated that I was the cause of it. I really could’ve handled the whole situation better.

I stood by my decision to cool things down between us. My rules were back, and I was more determined than ever to make sure they stuck. Last night, I’d stumbled and screwed up. The problem was, Brandon had already wormed his way into my life. I’d be devastated if anything bad happened to him. And if I let my feelings for him continue to grow, I was setting myself up for heartache I couldn’t possibly deal with. Pushing him away was the right thing to do, so why did it feel so horrible?

Because you allowed the man to catch feelings, came all over his hand while he finger banged you, then tossed him away like trash.

God, I was a disgusting human.

This would be easier if what had happened had been a random act between two horny people. But it was something more. As much as I wanted to deny it, I couldn’t. The memory of his lips on mine and his hands…everywhere set off a wave of fevered tingles through my body. He’d made me come faster than I could myself. I’d been out of my mind with bliss, which was why it could never happen again. When I was with Brandon, I lost focus of everything but him.

“Wait!” I called out as he turned to leave. “Your glasses.” I grabbed them from the cupholder and passed them through the window.

Brandon slipped on the black-framed specs, and my pain-in-the-ass heart fluttered. He still looked like the most badass computer-repair guy ever, but they helped.

And then he was on his way. I tried not to notice how delicious his ass looked in a well-fitting pair of tan chinos, or how the leather laptop satchel slung diagonally across his chest accentuated his broad shoulders.

Inside that satchel was a replica of Dante’s masquerade ball invitation. Marcus Brady, CEO of Tristar Construction, would never know the switch had been made. How Brandon had found the exact design and gotten it printed before nine a.m. was beyond me. We needed an original because of a unique identifying hologram on each invitation. We couldn’t reproduce it in the time frame we had.

I gripped the burner phone in my palm. Five minutes and no word from Brandon. Perhaps we’d get lucky and the swap would be easy? If we failed this task, we’d have to find another target, which would eat into precious time. We were already stretched thin. No. This had to work.

A black town car pulled up in front of the Brady’s apartment building.

“Shit.”

Delayne Brady, who should’ve been busy taking her Pomeranian to the groomer, stepped out of the vehicle on stilettos so high I was amazed anyone could walk in them.

Brandon’s job would be more difficult with two people in the apartment. I needed to delay her from going up.

I jumped out of the pickup and jogged across the busy street to make the intercept. I had no clue what I was doing, but I had to try something.

As I neared the front of the building, the petite woman, who reminded me of the Kardashian mom with her dark pixie cut, fussed over a rust-colored fluff ball.

The dog squirmed in her arms, its gold diamante-encrusted lead still attached and dangling to the ground.