Page 27 of The Final Contract

I turn away before I hear his reply. Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need to say he’s here with me. He isn’t. He’s just my guard. He can do whatever the hell he wants.

Normally I’d shower and change, but Killian won’t let me near the locker-room showers alone, and since that’s not happening, sweaty is my only option. I’ve got a date tonight with a new suitor, so I’ll pretty much be spending the rest of the afternoon getting ready.

At the locker bench, I prop one foot up to retie my laces.

“Christ almighty.” The words are low, thick, right behind me.

I glance back. Killian’s rubbing his jaw, eyes tilted toward the ceiling like there’s a vision of the Virgin Mary up there, and she’s the only thing keeping him sane.

“You can finish up with your friend,” I say evenly. But friend comes out sharper than I intended.

I key in the locker’s temporary code, grab my purse, and snap the locker shut.

“Friend?” Killian’s voice is full of amusement. “Nah. I’m good.”

He falls into step beside me, grin tugging at his mouth. “Got her number, though. I can just call her later.”

Oh, fucking perfect.

“Great,” I grit out.

He swallows, like it’ll hide the smirk he’s fighting. It doesn’t.

We head toward the exit as a group hustles in, probably late for the next class. Someone bumps my shoulder, my bag slips down to my elbow, and I knock into Killian.

“Jesus,” I mutter, fixing my purse. “Sorry.”

Outside, his sleek gray sports car waits like a shadow of him—sharp lines, understated, dangerous. He opens my door, like he always does. And I wonder if his little gym crush is watching. Wonder if she notices how natural it looks, the way he steps aside, the way I slip in. Wonder if she thinks he’s attached to someone.

Or maybe she doesn’t care. She gave him her number, after all. So that must mean he let her know he was single.

I roll my eyes as Killian rounds the car, his big frame folding into the driver’s seat with ease. He tosses a folded piece of paper into the tray near the dash.

Candi, written in bubbly handwriting, a heart dotting the i.

My eyes roll again, sharper this time, before I fix my gaze out the window—ignoring him. Ignoring the fact I can feel his stare on me the whole drive.

The car ride goes quick. Too quick. Manhattan traffic is rarely light, but today it feels like the city is letting us slip right through.

Killian pulls up to the valet and climbs out, already sliding a tip from his pocket for the waiting attendant. I reach down for my purse straps, and my eyes land on it. That little piece of paper. It sits there like a beacon in the tray—Candi’s name, the heart dotting the i, taunting me.

My hand hovers midair, paused on the way to my purse.

The other valet hurries up and pops my door, snapping me out of it. I move fast—snatching the paper with one hand and then reaching for my purse straps, hoping if Killian does remember, he won’t see me pocket it first.

He rounds the car just as I’m stepping out.

“Feel like grabbing a smoothie on our way up?” I ask casually, trying to redirect him. He usually wants one after the gym, and I’m praying it’ll keep his attention anywhere but on the number he left behind.

“You read my mind, woman.” He gestures for me to walk ahead of him.

I dip my hand deeper into my purse, pushing the crumpled paper down, but my fingers brush against something that stops me cold. Smooth. Thick. Not supposed to be there.

An envelope.

I pull it out with shaky fingers. White, heavy stock. A stamp pressed into the center—a red-tipped rose.

“Killian,” I whisper. The breath rushes out of me, leaving me hollow.