But Mia… fuck. Every time I look at her, every time she grabs my finger with surprising strength or stares up at me with those goddamn green eyes that are a direct copy of mine, something inside me shifts.Melts.

It’s pathetic.

I’m a billionaire turned to goo by an eleven-month-old dictator in a diaper.

And Sabrina. Jesus. Having herhere.

All the time.

It’s messing with my head even more than usual.

We’ve been working side-by-side, mostly out of my home office. I set up a temporary workstation for her near the windows, figuring proximity was necessary for managing this PR clusterfuck the tabloids created.

Very bad idea.

Because now, instead of focusing on leveraged buyouts or Series B funding rounds, half my brain is tracking the way she bites her lower lip when she’s concentrating, or the curve of her hip when she leans over to pick up a dropped pacifier, or the faint scent of peonies and baby lotion that seems to follow her around.

Oh god, it’s fucking torture. Like literal torture.

Especially after that night. That kiss. That frantic, desperate collision against the window.

Finally fucking knowing what it’s like to be with her, even if it was just that one conscious time, has only made things worse. Because now Iknowwithout hesitation what I missed in Vegas. Now Iknowwhat she feels like.

She says I ruined her for other men?

Well fuck.

She’s ruinedmefor other women.

She’s been keeping her distance since that night. Polite. Professional. All business. Walls firmly back in place.

Smart girl. Protecting herself from me.

It’s probably the right call.

Doesn’t stop me from wanting to tear those walls down again.

Not to mention rip off those clothes...

I’ve lasted two days so far.

In all honesty, I don’t think I can make it through another day.

But I have to try.

But do I?

I’m used to getting what I want.

If I want her, why not just take her?

Because I want to be better,I remind myself.

Yeah. Better.

Good luck with that.

I glance her way.