Page 167 of With a Cherry On Top

She said it more than once.

I straighten, my cock sliding out of her.

Eyes on mine, she pulls herself up too. “Did I freak you out?”

“N-no, I . . .”

“Aaron.”

My heart lurches as I turn toward the kitchen door where Ian stands, arms crossed, jaw clenched tight. His eyes pin me in place.

Holy shit. Why is he here? When did he come back?

“I—Ian.”

I’m already shielding Charlotte with my body but I shift anyway, angling myself to better block his view as she frantically yanks down her skirt. My pulse pounds so hard I swear it rattles my ribs.

“My wife is fifteen seconds behind me,” he warns, his voice a low, urgent growl. “So I strongly suggest you buckle your pants and get your friend off the counter.” His gaze flicks to the floor—Charlotte’s underwear, stark against the tile. His nostrils flare. “Right now.”

CHAPTER 32

Burnt To a Crisp

Shit. Amelie’s here? Shit, shit,shit.

I lift Charlotte off the counter, setting her down as gently as I can while every nerve in my body screams at me to move faster. Before I can reach for her panties, her hand clamps around my wrist.

I meet her panicked gaze, her breath coming in quick, uneven bursts.

“It’s okay,” I reassure her. Fuck the panties—right now, fuck Ian and Amelie too. She’s terrified. “It’ll be okay, I promise”

I mean it.Shehas nothing to worry about. I, on the other hand, have already made peace with what’s about to happen. I’m going to lose my job. Amelie. Logan—everyone who matters. But no part of me regrets what happened between me and Charlotte. No part of me would take it back.

“I can’t do it.” Her voice breaks, tears pooling in her eyes. “I’m scared.”

“Whatever happens, we’re walking out of here together.” I press a kiss to her forehead, trying to soothe her even as it feels like my heart will squirt out of my ears. “I promise.”

And then Amelie’s voice rings out from the corridor.

“Hey, did you—” She steps into view with an easy step—until she sees Charlotte. Her expression falters, her confusion morphing into something really,reallyangry. “Charlotte?”

Oh, shit. Sheknowswho Charlotte is?

Charlotte stiffens beside me, her fingers tightening around mine. “H-hi, Amelie.”

My gaze jerks between them, then to Ian, who looks just as blindsided as I feel—right up until his eyes widen in dawning horror. He knows about her existence too.

“What is she doing here?” Amelie’s gaze flicks to me. “With you?”

“She’s . . . We . . .” My throat is stuck together. “Her m-mom, Beatrice, is?—”

“No,” Ian says, stepping back like I’ve hit him. “She said her name was BeatriceArnault. Not—not?—”

“It’s my father,” Charlotte explains. “She gave you my last name.”

Ian drags a hand through his hair before shaking his head like he already knows the answer but can’t bring himself to accept it. “Please tell me you’re not having sex with your first client’s daughter.”

And there you have it. The final piece of the puzzle.