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“I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.”
I smile, moving to straddle his waist. “It doesn’t sound so creepy anymore.”
He laughs. “I’ve been thinking about selling Veil to Desiree.”
I raise my brows. “Why?”
“Because my heart’s not really into it anymore.”
“Would it hurt you financially?”
“I don’t need the money from Veil.” He smirks. “Everything I need is right here in this bed.”
I tilt my head. “I think I just swooned a little, boss man.”
He jerks forward, wrapping his arms around me. I squeal when he pins me beneath him.
“Is it too soon to tell you I love you?”
My heart nearly bursts from my chest. “Probably.” I snort. “Our relationship is completely out of order, but you’re dealing with a hopeless romantic here. So, I love you, too.”
* * *
“So,what exactly is this show about?” Cannon asks.
His head rests on my lap as I rake my fingers through his soft brown hair.
“Basically, it’s about the sex lives of four best friends who live in Manhattan,” I put it simply. “That’s Carrie. She writes a column called Sex and The City and a lot of the time she uses her friends’ relationships for inspiration.”
“Why do you like it so much?”
“Because it’s not just about sex. It’s also about friendship, love, and fashion.” I laugh. “I like the dynamics of their friendship. I wish I had friends like that. I like that each episode ends with a message. For example, you can have a difference of opinion and still be friends at the end of the day.”
He hums in approval. “I like that.” He pauses. “So, which one is Samantha?” His body shakes with laughter, and I groan.
“I swear your sister has the biggest mouth.”
THIRTY
CANNON
“Good morning, Mr. Davis.” The barista smiles as she moves over to the coffee station to prepare my usual order.
“Morning.” I nod.
Turning away from the counter, I check my watch before scanning the busy lobby. My gaze slides to the revolving door and a grin tugs at my lips when I see just the person I’m looking for.
Right on time.
“Here you go,” the barista chirps.
Pulling the cash from my pocket, I peel off a ten-dollar bill and hand it over as I take my coffee. “Thank you.”
Shoving a hand in my pocket, I stroll over to the elevator bank and lean against the wall. A small group forms outside the doors, waiting for the car to reach the bottom floor.
“Morning.” I dip my head and take a sip of my coffee.
At last, the elevator pings and the doors slide open. As the group files inside, I hear the tapping of heels against the marble floors just as a female shouts, “Hold the elevator!”