Page 79 of Morally Black Betrothal

It wasn’t the right answer, apparently. Simone covered her eyes with her hand and took several deep breaths before continuing.

“I’m talking about my job at the hospital. The one we explicitly discussed that I would keep.”

Just as she said it, I found the messages I was looking for. Ones I hoped would absolve me, but that unfortunately proved exactly what she was saying.

Confirm that Simone is no longer working. We can’t afford to have the press following her around there or contacting her coworkers.

Ruth:

Including the hospital or just her paid positions?

Everywhere. She’s a target whether she’s paid or not.

Well, fuck.

I shoved my phone back in my pocket and did another thing Blacks were very good at: I dug in my heels. “I reconsidered. It’s just not possible.”

That distractingly full mouth fell open. “It’s notpossible?”

“No. The hospital security isn’t strong enough, and anyway, your presence would be a detriment to the patients’ health.”

“What? Think about what I did for your father alone—and the other people, they need someone to—oh myGod, I would not be a detriment!”

She was sputtering and pacing again now, and I found myself grabbing the arms of my chair so I wouldn’t grab her hair and haul her around the desk and into my lap. The urge to help her calm, to make things right for her, was overwhelming and very fucking disconcerting.

“Of course you would.”

For want of something to do, I stood again, and she stopped on the other side of my desk, stilled by my sudden movement, or maybe by the near foot difference between our heights.

“Look, angel, whether you like it or not, you’re now a target. A press release went out this morning confirming our engagement, along with my appointment as interim CEO.” I leaned in closer with every word. “My office has been fielding calls all morning. People are dying to know about the woman who captured my cold, black heart, which means they are going to be digging into where you live, where you work, who you know. They’ll be stalking your coworkers, friends, and every old lady whose hand you’ve held in the past five years. Do youwantto bring that kind of scrutiny into people’s lives?”

By the time I was done, our faces were mere inches apart. I almost stopped myself from sneaking a glance at her mouth.

Almost.

Her lips were the exact shade of pink tulip petals.

She jerked back on a hiss. “I—of course not.”

I straightened. “Then you’ll accept a temporary leave as part of the deal. As soon as we’re done—although I’d wait a few more months to be safe—you can go back to working for free. But until then, your time is mine. Are we clear?”

She clearly wanted to argue with me but was finding it hard.

I couldn’t blame her.

Most people couldn’t manage it either.

That fact that she was even trying to put her a cut above the rest.

That delectable mouth opened and closed a few more times. God, I wanted to bite it. Suck until it bruised, until she forgot what we were arguing about, forgot everything but my name when she screamed it so loud all of Boston could hear her.

I pulled on my collar.

Simone fell into the chair behind her. “Fine. We’re clear.”

I resisted the urge to pull her back up. Shake her into arguing again. I didn’t stop to wonder why I preferred her fighting spirit to the slumped resignation I expected in everyone else.

“Tell me why it bothers you so much,” I found myself saying instead.