Page 67 of The Most Perfect Wrong

“Oh, hey!” I say. “I was looking for you.”

“Hey. I was just coming to find you to talk about tonight. Sorry, I didn’t text back.”

“That’s okay. Where’d you go?”

He gestures to his office. “Let’s go in my office.”

I follow him inside, and he shuts the door. God, he looks like pure sin in that crisp white shirt—sleeves rolled up just enough to show off his strong, tanned forearms. The way his blue pants hug his thighs, leaving just enough to the imagination, but not really—I know exactly what he’s working with, and it’s enough to make my knees weak. Damn, he looks good.

My mind spirals with dirty thoughts of him stepping behind me, pushing me up against his desk, and taking exactly what hewants. I wish these walls weren’t glass.Jesus. Last night, I had a good-looking naked man on top of me, and I felt nothing. But now, just seeing Ryan—fully clothed in his office—I’m ready to rip his clothes off. It’s not just the physical with him, though. There’s this raw pull I feel in my chest, a breathlessness when he’s near. I want him to pull me close. To look at me. To listen. I want to be intimate with him in every way.God, what is happening to me?

He takes a seat, and I settle in across from him.

“What’s going on? Everything okay?” I ask, desperate to distract myself.

“Yeah, everything’s good. I was just at a follow-up appointment with Beth.”

“Oh, you were? How did it go?” I swallow, steadying myself, shutting down the dirty thoughts running rogue in my mind. We’re talking about Beth—cancer. It’s not the time.

“On the outside, things are looking good. We won’t get her scan results for a few days, but… we’re hopeful things are still on the up and up.”

“Well, that’s great. I’ll send good vibes,” I say, a smile playing on my lips.

He chuckles. “Everything should work out then if you’re sending those good vibes.”

“Good vibes usually work… So, what will you do if all the scans come back… you know, with good news?”

“I’ll serve Beth papers,” he says, his voice flat.

I glance down at my fidgeting fingers. “And what if it’s…” I look up, making eye contact. “What if it’s bad news?”

He holds my eyes, unwavering. “Then I’ll serve Beth papers.”

The intensity of his gaze makes my breath hitch. “Oh,” I manage, my voice unsteady. “What about the insurance?”

“Beth got a new job a few months ago. She wanted to simplify things… especially after she had an affair with herboss.” He lets out a frustrated sigh, and his hand brushing over his jaw. “I know she was hoping I’d stay, but…” He trails off. “Anyway, once the new year starts, she’ll switch to her insurance.”

The way he says it—matter-of-fact, not bitter—makes my chest ache. How is he this good? This strong? If I were him, I’d be wrecked—I am wrecked. He’s nothing like Brad. Beth was so damn lucky, and she threw it all away. She threwhimaway. And me? I’m just… weak.

“Look, I wanted to tell you…”

A rush of nerves tighten in my stomach, and tears threaten—tears I can’t even place. If I don’t get out of here, I’m going to lose it. “Shit,” I blurt, glancing at my watch. “I totally forgot—I told Jason I’d meet him before he heads out. Are you staying after to discuss Austin?”

“Yeah, does that work for you? If you want to get home to Brad, I understand.”

He’s probing, trying to gauge where things stand with Brad. “Brad won’t be home until late. I’m good to stay.”

“Alright. I should be done by five-thirty. We need to plan our next trip out for interviews. Genevieve’s vetting candidates over the next few weeks.”

I nod, emotion sitting in the back of my throat. “I’ll see you in a bit,” I manage to choke out, reaching for the door. I don’t dare look back as I make my exit, shutting the door before he can respond as a tear slips down my cheek.

* * * * * ?* * * * *

We’ve been working for over an hour at Viv’s. I nurse my second cocktail, a strong buzz setting in. Ryan’s on his second beer,looking more relaxed than I’ve seen him all week. I’ve always been attracted to him, but since the pool, our come-to-Jesus at the hotel bar, and that text message the other night, I’m a mess of nerves and raw need around him.

It’s been a long damn week, and he’s been on my mind constantly—whether I’m at work, finding excuses to be near him, or lying in bed replaying every word he’s said.

When I’m alone at night, the thoughts become something else entirely. His hands on me, his voice, the way he looks at me—it’s all-consuming. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve given in to the ache, imagining it’s him instead of my own hands—or Brad’s.

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