Page 10 of Save Me the Trouble (Country Love Collection #12)

“No. He asked Diane to tell me the truth about Aleta, which disproved everything she told all of us before she left.” I knew I shouldn’t be telling her, and I wouldn’t go into the specifics, but I trusted Darcy to be discreet.

“So, you’re still working on his profile?”

My mouth opened and shut. “I think so.”

“So, you have to go back and see him?”

“More than see him at this point,” I murmured. “I owe him the world’s biggest apology.” I sighed and picked up the last magazine, the Seattle Social. A flyer slid out from the pages . An advertisement for a nature photography exhibit at the Frye Museum.

I sucked in a breath and sat back.

“What is it?” Darcy leaned over to look. “The museum?”

The photography.

“I think I just found how I’m going to get back in his good graces.”

I didn’t know if it was a good or bad sign that when I called over to Crown Industries to schedule another time to meet with Killian, the receptionist gave me a time for this afternoon. Almost as though he’d anticipated my call and instructed that I was to be seen immediately.

I let out a slow breath, watching the elevator tree bring me up to the top floor of his building. I checked my bag for the tenth time, confirming that the tickets to the pre-opening private viewing of the photography exhibit were still there.

My olive branch.

On the one hand, it felt silly to buy tickets for a man who could buy out the entire museum. But on the other hand, it wasn’t about the money; it was that he’d never take the time for himself.

One of the true things I’d learned about Killian Crown in the last week.

My apology was well-rehearsed, but when I stepped onto his floor and the elevator closed behind me, it seemed to take with it all my well-crafted words.

I’m so sorry, Mr. Crown, for my groundless accusations—no.

Mr. Crown, I’d like to apologize for my inappropriate outburst—no.

“Ms. Johnson.” The receptionist gave me a tight smile. “You can head right in.”

It was a good thing she said it because my feet weren’t stopping. They carried me to his office, and when I saw him seated at his desk, my heart skipped a beat.

Killian, please forgive me.

His shadowed expression was focused on the papers in front of him until I crossed the threshold of the room. Then, as though there were some tripwire I’d activated, his attention snapped up. Hot eyes roamed over me for an instant before he detached all sentiment from his regard.

“Miss Johnson.” He stood as I approached.

“Mr. Crown,” I greeted softly when I reached the desk. “I owe you an apology.”

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t say a word. I guessed silence was as close as I’d get for permission to continue.

“I didn’t realize…I thought I knew what happened with Aleta, and clearly, I couldn’t have been more wrong,” I admitted, the words coming faster now.

“I jumped to conclusions, and I wasn’t…thinking.

” Because I was panicking because we’d kissed.

“I’m truly sorry, and if you don’t want to work with me anymore, I completely understand?—”

“No.” The word fell like a gavel. “I only want to work with you.”

My mouth parted, butterflies trembling in my stomach. Only me. It was a delicious— dangerous, it was a dangerous thought.

“It’s okay, Mr. Crown, I can hand off your profile?—”

“ Grace .”

I stilled.

“Only you.” His face was rigid, the command etched in stone. As if I wanted anything different.

Later, I’d come up with a hundred reasons why it was rational and logical to continue working with him, but when my head touched my pillow tonight, my eyes would close and the real reason would be right in front of me: because I wanted him.

“And I owe you an apology, too,” he said, his voice lowering as he planted his knuckles on his desk, sinking forward onto them in a way that reminded me of when a knight chose to bend the knee. “I’m sorry for kissing you.”

I should’ve been grateful for the apology—relieved that we could now wipe the slate clean from that day and move on with our jobs. Instead, all I felt were the butterflies in my stomach stop fluttering one after another after another.

While I dreamed of nothing but that kiss all weekend—and how I wanted more—he’d harbored guilt over the intimacy and only wanted to forget it.

“It’s fine,” I managed to say. “I guess it was a moment of weakness for the both of us.”

His jaw twitched again. “Yeah.” I swore there was something that flashed in his eyes, but he looked away before I had a chance to hope.

“I have something for you,” I blurted out and reached into my bag for the tickets. “A peace offering.” The look on his face when I held them out for him to take was almost like he’d never been given a gift before. “I know it’s not much, but I thought you might enjoy it.”

Killian’s eyes flicked down to the tickets, then back up to me. “Are you coming with me?”

Heat drenched my cheeks. That had been my assumption—for profile research, of course?—

“I don’t have to—” I broke off when he let out a grunt of displeasure. “But I absolutely can. I love the Frye.”

“Then I’ll enjoy it,” he said and looked once more at the tickets like they were the most valuable thing he possessed. “Thank you, Grace.”

I shivered, goose bumps warming my spine. “You’re welcome…Killian.”

Why did I do that? Why did I just smash right through the boundaries we’d just resurrected?

Because of that. The look in his eyes when he did it, like I’d just waved red in front of a bull. We’d both apologized, but somehow the tension in the room turned up at least a dozen notches.

“So, what is on the agenda for today?”

I reached for my notebook. “A few more questions to round out the profile, and then, if possible, I’d just like to observe you working and interacting with others, so I can shade depth into the profile.”

“Ask away.”

Was that—was his guard really down?

I turned to pull out one of the chairs in front of his desk, but he stopped me.

“Why don’t we sit on the couch?”

My brow lifted. “The one you never use?”

He shrugged and gave me a cocked smile. “Someone said it was a good couch to waste.”