Page 92 of Fallen Empire

God, itfeltlike love.

Stronger than anything I’d let myself feel before. Even with—

I cut the thought off before it could finish forming. I wasn’t ready to admit that yet. Not even to myself.

I twisted the handle off and stepped out of the shower, water dripping off my skin and pooling around my feet.

My eyes landed on the can in front of me. Same brand, same spot, same emergency miracle-worker. I gave my roots a few quick sprays. Dry shampoo: the official sponsor of women who don’t have time to fall apart.

Because right now, I didn’t have the time. I’d lost enough of it already.

I stepped into the closet, snagging a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater. It was nice not having to wear heels for once, despite the heavy reason why. I slipped on a pair of tennis shoes, tugged my hair into a loose ponytail, and opened the bathroom door.

Then froze.

The bed was made. Clothes picked up. And sitting on the ottoman in the corner was a tray of breakfast like we weren’t two emotionally complicated disasters who’d barely made it through the night.

Too bad I didn’t have time to eat it.I could definitely get used to this.

I wandered over and snatched a piece of bacon, then another bite of egg as I made my way toward the kitchen, nibbling as I walked. The food was perfect. Like if my favorite chicken alfredo had a steamy one-night stand with a southern brunch and made magic in my mouth. That, plus last night’s sex? Easily my new favorite combo.

Ben sat on one of the bar stools, scrolling something on his phone, his back to me. He turned at the sound of myfootsteps, but the second his eyes landed on me, his expression shifted—part disapproval, part concern.

“Mills, you had time to sit down and eat.”

I popped the last bit of bacon into my mouth and shook my head. “No, I didn’t. I told you ten minutes. I just multitasked like the boss I am.”

He muttered something under his breath, but I ignored it, heading toward the trash to toss the napkin I’d grabbed from the tray. I opened the lid—

And froze again.

Two familiar to-go containers sat right on top. From the breakfast place three blocks down. I turned slowly, narrowing my eyes.

Ben met my glare with both hands raised in mock surrender. “You’re the one who said you didn’t have time. I couldn’t exactly whip up a homemade breakfast with a ten-minute window.”

I crossed my arms, one brow lifting. “So you’re telling me… you bribed a delivery guy at 7 a.m. to pretend you might have potential?”

“Guilty,” he said with a shrug. “But it worked, didn’t it?”

I hated how right he was. Because damn… Icouldget used to this. The breakfast. The clean apartment. The part where he made me forget the rest of the world existed for a night.

And that scared the hell out of me.

Because things like this? They always ended. That was the part I trusted. That was the part I knew. But I’d laid out my truths to Savannah for a reason. If I was going to help heal her, I needed to at least try and heal myself.

If she could fight her way through the physical, I could damn sure meet her halfway and fight the mental. If there was even a chance we could both be happy—really happy—I owed itto her to try. I owed it to myself not to shove one more thing into that damn box inside my head and slam the lid shut.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed my keys off the hook near the door. “Let’s go, Chef.”

Ben grabbed his jacket and followed, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he locked the door behind us. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back.

The elevator dinged, and we stepped into the parking garage. Ben clicked the remote, and the sleek black sedan beeped as the lights flashed.

He opened the passenger door for me—classic Ben—and I climbed in without a word.

The second he slid into the driver’s seat, I turned to him. “You’ll drop me off and then head to the office?”

He looked over, one hand on the gear shift. “No. I’m staying.”