Page 3 of Desperate People

I can see the toll it takes.

But she never complains.

She’s grace in motion. Strength in a silk blouse.

And fuck, she’s too good for me.

Too polished.

Too brilliant.

Too real.

Smart as hell, too.

Not just a face. Not just a figure.

She’s a woman who reads contracts with a red pen and negotiates like she’s playing chess five moves ahead.

She sees through people. Cuts through bullshit like a scalpel.

She should be with someone worthy.

Someone who doesn’t flinch when he looks in the mirror.

Someone without mismatched eyes and a chip on his shoulder the size of a glacier.

Not a ghost in the machine like me.

But none of that changes the fact that I want her.

More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.

And that right there?

That’s the real danger.

Because from the moment I see her, I know I’m done.

Finished. Cooked.

She’s the only distraction I can’t encrypt or firewall away.

Too beautiful.

Too kind.

Too goddamn dangerous for someone like me.

So far, I manage to keep my distance.

Even after she asks me to dinner.

Yeah, I was shocked too.

I can still see her the day she invited me.

Her lips curl around a joke about sweet desserts and late-night cravings, and I nearly lose control.

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