Page 15 of Bottles & Blades

A flick has my comforter up and over my pillows, solving the unmade bed part at least.

“Tiff—”

I hurry back to the coffee table, start stacking books and papers. “I’m not usually this much of a slob, I swear,” I say, going for light even though I’m dying inside of embarrassment.

I’m supposed to have it all together.

I’m supposed to do everything right.

I’m not supposed to let billionaires into my apartment to see?—

“Tiffany.”

I freeze at the commanding tone, the pile of index cards and pens I’d been gathering up shooting from my hands, flying all over the place.

Clunk.

I jump again when the bottle of wine—ofOak Ridgewine—is plunked onto the table next to my laptop.

Then Jean-Michel is crouching next to me, brushing my hands away as he gathers up the pens and papers, stacking them neatly next to my books and laptop.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper.

His striking eyes lock with mine. “You had to put your wine back.”

For a couple of seconds that doesn’t process.

Then my heart squeezes hard.

“I—”

He straightens, goes back to organizing my scattered mess of school supplies. “I pay my debts.”

“You didn’t have?—”

“I know.” Firm. Final. And in control.

I shiver.

Because I wonder how far that control will extend.

Which is probably why my embarrassment disappears and curiosity gets the better of me.

I glance at the tote sitting next to my coffee table.

“What’s in the bag?”

Six

Jean-Michel

I knowI shouldn’t be here.

I know I could have DoorDashed the food, had one of my assistants—aside from Marie because she’s too fucking smart and asking too many questions already—drop by the wine.

Christ, Tiff was clearly in the shower, ready to wind down for the day, and I’m…

Here.

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