Page 49 of A Bossy Proposal

“I gave you a home. I gave you a sanctuary. You were virtually homeless when I met you.” His voice gets lower and harsher with each word.

“Then I am happy for you to offer the same to someone else.”

“Who the fuck is he? The man who answered your phone?” he yells. “Tell me. Is it West Davenport? If it is—”

The designer taps her watch. I stick one finger in the air. “I have to go, Felix. I’m banning unknown numbers from now on.”

“Ames—”

I disconnect as two pieces of fabric are thrust into my hand. “This is silk, which will be lovely if you want something light, but it will crease. I suggest this.”

We continue going over fabrics and designs until we finally meet eye to eye.

I arrive at the office just after eleven.

The elevator ride feels endless, each level ticking by slower than the last.

My stomach is in knots because I’ll have to tell West that Felix may cause us some trouble.

When the doors finally open, I take a deep breath and step out, my heels clicking against the polished floor.

As I round the corner to my desk, I freeze.

West is in his office, as normal, but he is not alone. Two men in black suits stand before him. West towers over them, his presence commanding even from across the room.

I’ve seen West upset before, but this...this is different. The muscle twitches in his jaw because it’s clenched so tight. His eyes are cold, hard as steel as he gestures sharply. And although his words are inaudible through the glass, I know they are biting.

One of the men tries to interrupt, but West silences him with a look. I watch, transfixed, as he leans forward, palms flat on his desk. The men shrink back, their bravado evaporating under West’s icy glare.

Suddenly, his eyes flick to mine. For a split second, our gazes lock. My breath catches in my throat.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he reaches out and presses a button on his desk. The glass walls of his office instantly frost over, cutting off my view.

I sink into my chair, my mind reeling.

What was that about? And why do I feel like I’ve just witnessed something I shouldn’t have?

Did he plan for me to stay at home because he never wanted me to see what was about to unfold?

I feel it now more than ever. I can’t shake the feeling that whatever is happening in that office is about to change everything.

And everything was fine until I opened up about my life.

I stare at the opaque glass, willing it to clear, to give me some clue about what is going on. But it remains frosted, leaving me alone with my swirling thoughts and growing unease.

“Ames—”

I spin to see Layla, the executive assistant to Westley’s brother, Easton.

“Are you okay?” she asks, pulling out a chair and taking a seat opposite me. “I heard about you and Mr. Davenport. You lucky thing. How did you pull that off?”

“I promised not to talk about it at work,” I tell her, hoping the lie will pacify her.

“Be careful. Sian is spreading rumors that he frequents sex clubs, and he met you there.”

“What the hell?”

“I know, right? What a bitch.” Her eyes wander to the frosted glass and back to me. The frosted glass feels like a barrier of uncertainty. “Howdidyou meet?”

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