Page 77 of Money Reigns
I move like I’ve been struck. The breath punches right out of me.
Eyes wide. Lips parted.
My brain stutters through every possible reaction—apology, denial, excuses, but none of them make it past my tongue. Because the only thing louder than my panic is the truth that rushes back in a flood.
The feel of his mouth crashing against mine.
The way my body melted, helpless.
The sound I made. God, that humiliating whimper.
And now he’s here.
In my space.
Waiting.
I grip the edge of the door behind me like it’s the only thing holding me upright. My throat works, but no words come.
His voice is smooth. Deep. Lethal.
“I figured you’d try to hide,” he says, not turning around. “So I waited here.”
My stomach drops to my knees.
He knew.
He gestures toward my desk with a tiltof his head.
There’s a coffee cup, still hot, still steaming and two sleek matte black boxes.
More gifts.
My heart thumps painfully.
I should leave. I should run. I should tell him this is inappropriate and unprofessional and a million other things I’m too terrified to say.
But I don’t move away.
I move toward him.
Like gravity. Like instinct.
Like I never stood a chance.
I reach for the coffee first, needing something to anchor myself. The cup is warm against my fingers, my name scrawled on the side in sharp black ink. I take a sip, and the perfect ratio of hazelnut and espresso coats my tongue.
His gaze sharpens, mouth curving the slightest bit. “Good.”
The warmth doesn’t stop at my mouth. It spreads down my throat, into my chest, radiating through limbs that had gone cold the second I saw him.
“Sit.”
It’s not a question.
My chair squeaks faintly as I lower myself, the leather too soft against my rigid posture. He gets closer, his hand brushes over the first box, sliding it toward me.
“Open it.”
