Page 47 of The Billionaire's Secret Desire
The storm that flashes across his face is immediate and unfiltered. “She what?”
“She said some things,” I continue. “Mostly about how the two of you made up today in your office. About how she’s a Sinclair, as if that means anything to me. About how I’m a chef, and she’s clearly more ‘appropriate’," I use air quotes, "for you.”
Sawyer drags both hands through his hair with a sharp exhale, his jaw clenching so tight I can practically hear his teeth grind. "That woman has completely lost her fucking mind," he growls, pacing two short steps before whirling back to face me, his eyes dark and stormy. "What the hell was she thinking, going behind my back and pulling this shit?"
He strides over to me, his voice low but seething. “Charli, nothing happened in my office except her showing up uninvited and telling me how sorry she was for the past. I didn’t want her there, I swear, and I sure as hell didn’t ask for her to talk to you.”
I nod. “I know. She just… caught me off guard.”
He exhales slowly, like he’s trying to rein himself in. Then he cups my face gently in his hands, his thumb brushing along my jaw. “I’m sorry she did that. I should’ve warned you she might pull something like this. But Charli, she means nothing to me.Nothing. Not anymore. You’re the one I want. The only one I want.”
Something in my chest eases as I look up at him. He pulls me into his arms, and I melt into him, the safety of his hold washing over me like a balm.
When he kisses me—slow and sure and grounding—it feels like an anchor. Like a promise, and just like that, I know the truth.
Ava doesn’t matter. Not even a little bit.
Chapter 19
Sawyer
The memory loops in my mind, relentless and unyielding. Ava. At Hooplas. Talking to Charli. I can’t stop replaying it, the scene etched into my brain like a scar. I know exactly what Ava was doing—going after Charli like a predator stalking prey. It’s classic Ava: calculated, condescending, with that sneer that screams entitlement. She couldn’t leave well enough alone, not even after I made it clear I wanted nothing to do with her.
I can almost see the way Ava’s eyes narrowed when she first saw Charli, the subtle tilt of her head as she leaned in, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. I wasn’t there to hear the words, but I can imagine them. Ava’s specialty was always cutting deep without leaving visible wounds. She would have introduced herself, followed by a pause, a smirk, and then the daggers. She could always be spiteful.
I clench my fists at the thought. Ava knew exactly what she was doing—planting seeds of doubt, chipping away at Charli’s fragile confidence. And Charli, with her kind heart and tendency to give people the benefit of the doubt, probably stood there, smiling politely, while Ava’s words burrowed into her skin.
I saw Ava earlier at the kickball field, sitting alone in the bleachers. I thought she’d gotten her closure earlier that afternoon in my office. I never imagined she’d show up at Hooplas. If I had, I wouldn’t have left Charli there for even a second.
The thought of Charli standing there, blindsided by Ava’s petty jabs and manipulative half-truths, makes my jaw clench. I don’t know exactly what Ava said, but I can guess. And knowing Ava, it was enough to cut deep, even if Charli didn’t let it show.
She shouldn’t have had to deal with that.
Now Charli is curled up on the couch, flipping absently through one of Mia’s wedding planning binders. Her expression is calm, but distant, like her mind is miles away. The binder lies open on her lap, pages filled with notes and menus, but her fingers barely move. I’m just sitting here helpless beside her, watching the way her fingers brush the page edges, slow and deliberate, as if she’s lost in thought. Probably replaying Ava’s words.
I reach out, my hand brushing down her arm in a slow, soothing motion. “Are you okay?” My voice is low, rough with guilt even though I have done nothing wrong.
She nods without looking at me, her voice steady but hollow. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
But it doesn’t feel like a yes. It feels like a lie she’s telling herself, and me, to keep the peace. I know Charli well enough by now—she’s the type to bottle things up, to smile through the pain. But I can see it in her eyes, the way they flicker away from mine, the way her hands tremble just slightly as she turns the page.
I slide closer, my thigh pressing against hers. “Do you want to go take a shower?” My voice is a whisper, a promise of escape, of forgetting.
Her eyes flick to mine, and for the first time since she got home, she smiles—small, but real. “Only if you come with me.”
Something in my chest tightens, a mix of guilt and something darker, hotter. I stand without another word, holding out my hand. She takes it, her fingers warm in mine, and we walk upstairs together. The silence between us is heavy, but not uncomfortable. It’s charged, electric, like the air before a storm.
We reach my bathroom, and Charli turns on the water, the sound of it echoing off the tiles filling the room. Steam curls against the glass door as she pulls her shirt over her head, revealing the soft curve of her shoulders and the delicate lace of her bra. I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s so damn beautiful, even when she’s hurting. Especially when she’s trying to hide it.
I step closer, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, then another just beneath her ear. Her hands slide up my chest, her nails dragging lightly down my stomach as I shed my clothes. The air is thick with anticipation, the tension between us palpable.
By the time we climb into the shower, there’s nothing between us but the heat and the water and everything we’re trying to say without saying it. The steam clings to our skin, fogging the glass as we move closer, our bodies pressing together.
Charli backs me against the wall, her mouth already on mine, her lips soft yet demanding. She tastes like mint and something sweeter, something uniquely her. I let her take the lead for a breathless moment, savoring the way she kisses me—hungry, desperate, like she’s trying to erase the taste of Ava’s words. But then I flip our positions, pressing her against the tile, my hands roaming her curves, relearning every line like a man starved.
She gasps when I nip at her throat, her fingers digging into my shoulders. “You’re mine, Charli,” I murmur against her skin,my voice rough with need. “No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to make you feel like this.”
She moans, her legs wrapping around my waist, her body pressing against mine. “Then show me.”
