Page 59 of Worth Every Moment

“Could you what?” I ask gently.

Erica paces to join us, looking composed and beautiful once more.

“Could I get your number?” the girl asks.

And there it is. Bold of her to ask me out when I’m standing withThe Erica Lefroy. Then again, she hasn’t really looked at Erica properly, so perhaps she hasn’t seen her or doesn’t know who she is.

Erica shoulders me aside, one territorial hand clamping around my arm. “You can’t. Because we’re together. Exclusively. He’s not giving his number to anyone.”

The vehemence with which Erica is fending this woman off has warmth stirring in my chest. She was so adamant after the photo shoot that she felt nothing, that I could never have imagined this scenario arising. And fuck, it feels good to be claimed by her, even if it is completely fake.

“Oh.Oh. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean…” the woman trails off and walks away so fast she’s almost running.

“The cheek of her,” Erica says when she’s out of earshot. “So rude. Couldn’t she see I was with you? I was standing right—”

“You can put the claws away.” I keep walking, heading for the exit, and Erica has to increase her pace to keep abreast of me.

“Claws? I am not—”

I stop and face her. “It’s all pretend, isn’t it? There’s no need to be annoyed.”

Her eyes dart away and she huffs. “Yes, but that was rude. Obviously, we’re together.”

“She didn’t know. You were the one asking me if I was sleeping with my PA a second ago.” My comment is the gentlest of reprimands, but Erica's gaze falls to the ground and she tilts her weight to one foot, then the other. “You don’t have to fight anyone off. You’d never have to fight anyone off if you didn’t want to.”

She stills and her shoulders fall, but she doesn't look up. Satisfied that she’s heard me, I continue my walk to the exit. I need to get back to the office before Nico castrates me for playing truant.

“What does that mean?” she calls after me.

I spin to face her, continuing to walk backwards. “It means, I’m all yours.” I spread my arms wide. “I told you, SeblovesBJs has been on his knees for you for years.”

I kiss the fingers of one hand and hold them up to her, and the grin that breaks across her face sets my heart alight.

20

SEB

“The account is empty.” The voice of my banker booms from my desk phone, which I’ve put on speaker. I’m too agitated to sit down, so I’m pacing my office. Normally, this large, airy room with its vast glass windows and epic views over London's skyline, is a place of refuge for me. A sanctuary of sorts. I know what the fuck to do when I'm behind my desk, and this small corner of the world is mine to control.

But now, standing here being told that £28 million has gone fucking missing without a trace, I am wishing I could wind back time. I’d rather be posing for photographs with Erica grinding on my lap than here facing this shit show.

“What the fuck?” I run my hands through my freshly washed hair. It’s a mess, but thank God it doesn’t have any of that awful product left in it.

“It’s all gone, sir.”

“Where? Where the fuck has it gone? Whoever took my wallet can’t have spent 28 million quid in the supermarket.”

“The card hasn’t been used.”

That uneasy prickle works its way up my spine. “What do you mean?”

“Whoever took your card, can’t use it. Didn’t use it. It was cancelled before they had a chance to use it.”

“You’re telling me everything’s gone, but it has nothing to do with the fact that someone nicked my shit at a photo shoot earlier today?”

“Yes, sir. That’s what I’m saying.” His voice trembles and he clears his throat. The poor prick sounds nervous. “When did you last check your balance?”

There’s a hint of accusation in his voice that I can’t ignore. “Are you implying I lost 28 million quid? I just didn’t notice?” A lead weight sinks through my gut, tugging me down into the darkness of shame. That could have happened. I don’t look at my accounts that often. I have so many that I mostly trust that whatever I left in them is still going to be there when I come back I have people monitoring my money. Our family’s financial advisors. My father’s—