Page 50 of Money Reigns
I’m watching her.
Black pencil skirt. Pale blue blouse. Hair pinned back in that loose way that always falls by nine. I watch it fall every morning. Like a promise unraveling. She walks with her head slightly lowered, shoulders squared, like she’s holding herself together by sheer will.
That quiet, breakable strength wrecks me so much that I’ve studied her like scripture.
It makes her so beautiful.
How honest.
She crosses the floor, heels clicking on the marble, and disappears into her office.
I wait.
Ten seconds.
Fifteen.
Then I grab the coffee I got for her this morning and I follow.
I stop at her door. She doesn’t hear me. Her back is to me as she sets her bag down, adjusts the monitor, tugs the hem of her blouse like it’s not sitting right.
She’s always fussing with her clothes, like she hasn’t realized yet that they fit her like temptation.
She turns; and startles.
“Oh—Warren.” Her breath catches. “Good morning.”
Not Mr. Beaumont.
Thatmatters.
I hold out the coffee. Her favorite. Half sweet cream, two pumps hazelnut, no foam. The lid already turned toward her so the mouth opening faces front.
She takes it with both hands, blinking up at me.
“Thank you,” she says softly, fingers brushing mine as she grips the cup. “I wasn’t expecting…”
She trails off when she sees I’m still watching her.
I don’t speak.
I just wait.
Her lips part, then close again. Then finally, eyes still on mine, she lifts the cup to her mouth and takes a sip.
Obedience.
No command.
Just instinct.
Reflex.
Everything in me clenches.
Goodfuckinggirl.
“You’ll be in my office at noon,” I say, voice low, even.
