Page 104 of The Contract

DAMIEN: We should focus a few minutes on my magnificence.

ELENA: Ooh… would love to. Super busy, though.

DAMIEN: Doing?

Oh, why do you want to know, Mr. Wolfe?

ELENA: Things.

I watch the screen. The dots appear, disappear. Appear again. Then disappear once more.

Is he in a meeting, texting me under the table, hiding his phone and his smirk? Or is he alone in his office, leaning back in his chair, smiling as he types?

DAMIEN: Will those ‘things’ be over by five p.m.?

My brows pull together, and I swipe up, checking the schedule for our contract. There’s nothing planned until tomorrow.

His next message pops up at the top of my screen.

DAMIEN: It’s not on the schedule.

DAMIEN: I know you were just looking.

ELENA: Was not.

The dots flicker again. Then stop. Then start again.

I press my lips together, biting back a laugh.

DAMIEN: So… tonight?

All that for this?

ELENA: Depends.

ELENA: May I ask what we’ll be doing?

DAMIEN: We’ll be making a detailed presentation on all the qualities of my magnificence. It could take us all night.

I chuckle, shaking my head.

ELENA: That sounds riveting.

ELENA: What outfit would one wear for such an occasion?

I stare at the message, my stomach flipping as I hit send.

The back-and-forth is too easy. Too effortless.

And I shouldn’t like it.

Shouldn’t like the way my pulse kicks up every time my phone buzzes with his name. Shouldn’t like the way my fingers hover over the screen, thinking too long about what to say next.

But I do.

I like it too much.

DAMIEN: Let me take care of that.

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