Page 57 of Claimed By the Boss

I knock on Lyra’s door the next morning, standing in the hallway outside her apartment like some kind of lovesick teenager. She opens it wearing sweatpants and a tank top, her hair piled on her head in a messy knot, glasses perched low on her nose. She looks relaxed, but surprised to see me.

“Damien?”

“Pack a bag,” I say with a smile.

She takes a small step back, clearly confused. “What?”

“I’m stealing you for a while,” I tell her, smiling. “Rewarding you for a job well done. Pack enough for a few days, and don’t forget a bathing suit.”

She crosses her arms, clearly not buying into my grand gesture. “I have work,” she protests.

“I know the boss,” I say, smirking.

She gives me a look, then sighs, stepping back to let me in. I take a seat on her couch while she disappears into the bedroom. I hear drawers open, zippers, the quiet rustle of fabric. Fifteen minutes later, she comes back with a small suitcase, her expression somewhere between amused and skeptical.

“You really aren’t going to tell me where we’re going?”

“It’s a surprise,” I tell her.

I take the suitcase from her and lead her outside. My driver is already waiting, trunk open, engine humming. Lyra slides into the car beside me, still watching me like she’s trying to read between the lines.

“You look happy,” she says.

“I am happy,” I answer honestly. “And you have a lot to do with that.”

She smiles and leans into me, and I’m immediately glad I did this. We’ve needed time to reconnect, and we obviously can’t do it in the office with prying eyes.

We drive straight to the private terminal. When she sees the hangar lights and the sleek jet waiting on the tarmac, she turns to me with wide eyes.

“We’re flying somewhere?” she asks, panic flickering in her eyes.

“Yes,” I reply, amused.

She huffs, but smiles. “I don’t like surprises, Damien.”

“You’ll like this one.”

When we board, the crew greets us with drinks. Lyra settles into the leather seat beside me, pulling a soft blanket over her lap, her eyes darting between me and the sky beyond the windows.

“Is this your move?” she asks. “You sleep with a gal and then whisk her off to a romantic getaway?”

“You’re the first ‘gal’ who’s made it past one night,” I say, looking into her eyes so the words will land.

Her eyes go soft, and I know she feels this thing between us, too.

“Why?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Because you’re different. Because I care about you,” I say, trying to ignore the heat growing in my chest.

She doesn’t say anything to that, too overcome with emotion to speak. Instead, she slides closer, and we hold hands as we ascend into the sky.

A few hours later, we touch down in the Bahamas, and Lyra clutches my hand.

“I smell the ocean,” she says, excitement bright in her voice.

“Wait until you see it,” I tell her. “We haven’t quite gotten to our destination yet.”

She looks at me warily as I guide her across the tarmac to the private helicopter waiting for us.