Page 112 of Anti-Hero

My heart trips in my chest when he steps out of the driver’s seat.

A ridiculous reaction, which is how I wound up needing to use an elastic hair tie to close my jeans this morning.

If I’d never started working for him—if I hadn’t wound up pregnant—I probably would have convinced myself that night in the Hamptons was simple lust. But Kit has depth. He’s just selective about when he shows it. Or maybe I never looked hard enough. Maybe I subconsciously knew, if I did, I’d wind upin love with him.

Fallingis an accurate verb. It’s a loss of control. Walking into water, deeper than your feet can touch.

“Hey, Monty,” Kit greets casually.

My, “Hey,” comes out breathless, and it has nothing to do with the flights of stairs I just hustled down.

Ever since our conversation on the steps behind me, I can’t be around him—can’t even think about him—without my body reacting. It’s like he lit the end of a fuse. A verylongfuse that’s going to take three more weeks to burn.

Even more frustrating, Kit appears unaffected. All week at work, he acted completely normal, like our conversation never happened.

Which might have factored into my decision to wear a V-neck shirt today that shows off the fact that my boobs are twice their former size.

“Ready for our road trip?” he asks, flashing that billion-dollar smile my way.

“I don’t think a two-hour drive really constitutes a road trip,” I say dryly, setting my suitcase on the curb.

Kit frowns, glancing between the luggage and my building. “Does your building have an elevator?”

“Yes,” I lie, reaching for a strand that’s come loose from my bun.

He lifts a knowing eyebrow, and my hand immediately falls to my side. My cheeks warm as I recall the last time he called me out on doing the same thing.

I sigh. “No, it doesn’t. My bag isn’t that heavy, and cardio is good for you.”

“Let me help sometimes, Collins. It’s good for my fragile male ego.”

At that, I scoff. “A hurricane couldn’t wreck your self-confidence, Kensington.”

He tilts his head. “Thank you?”

I smile. “I’ll use the elevator at your place, okay?”

Not like I’ll have a choice since his unit is the penthouse.

“Does that mean you talked to your landlord?”

“Yes,” I say as I climb in the front seat, pulling my hands out of my pockets and holding them in front of the vents.

This is a different car from the one Kit drove me home in before. Just as sleek and luxurious, but a little roomier. I don’t know enough about automobiles to recognize the logo on the steering wheel, but my guess is, it’s European and expensive.

“And?” Kit settles in his seat, clicking his seat belt into place.

“He’s already found a new tenant.”

Which is ideal because it means I won’t be penalized for breaking my lease. But also nerve-racking because I no longer have an alternate living option. Moving in with Kit is happening.

“I have to be out by January 4,” I add.

I start my new job on January 3, so it’s going to be a hectic start to the year. At least there’s not much to move. I haven’t had the energy to decorate my apartment, and I only bothered bringing the bare necessities from Chicago to begin with.

“Did he give you any problems with the lease?”

“No.”

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