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“I could die in the CIA,” I pointed out.
“No, you’d have people protecting you there. I just have a bad feeling is all. If you don’t leave the Army, I’m worried I’ll lose you forever.” She set her glass next to mine, and I pulled her into my arms.
“You’re not getting rid of me, I promise.”
“No trading me in for some younger girl half my age, either?” She looped her arms over my shoulders and drew herself closer. “Diana’s gorgeous. Surely you noticed.”
I rolled my eyes. I saw that comment coming a mile away. Surprised it actually took her that long to make it. “I’m not the one with a celebrity hall pass. That’s you.”
She smirked. “I’ll never meet mine. Don’t worry.”
“I am worried.” Well, not really. I knew she’d never use that “hall pass” even if she did meet her crush. I’d also never share her, not with anyone for any reason. “Surprised you didn’t invite the actor to your party. He would’ve said yes for you.”
“I did.” She shrugged. “He was busy. Another billionaire’s event to attend.” She stuck her tongue out at me, the little vixen. “Buuut back to what we were talking about . . . what if we put some of this money to better use?”
“Any ideas how?” I leaned in, my lips hovering near hers.
“One or two.”
“As long as it doesn’t involve giving money to assholes like Congressman Paulsen, I’m open to suggestions.”
“Since when is Paulsen an asshole?”
“Has he hit on you before?” I asked her instead, and at her blush, I frowned.
“Forget him and all the men who hit me up for?—”
“Better be only for your money and not for anything else.” I slid my hand around to her backside.
“Mm. Why does it turn me on when you get possessive?” She chewed on her lip. “Make love to me.”
“Here?” I grunted. “It’s your dad’s office. And someone could walk in.” I tightened my hold of her ass, reveling in her quiet moan—a dignified moan if there ever were one. “I don’t want anyone seeing my woman. Not for a second.”
“It’s my office now. And what are locks for if not for keeping people out while you screw your wife?”
4
DIANA
PALO ALTO, CALIFORNIA
“Are you eating for a family of four tonight?” My roommate set aside her suitcase and pointed to the mac ’n’ cheese box alongside the boiling water in our kitchen. “Was Christmas with your mom that bad? Can’t be worse than if it’d been with your dad.”
Oh, thank God, you’re back. I ran over and hugged Sierra. “It was bad. Like nuclear-level bad.”
“Soooo, why didn’t you call me?” she asked once I let her go. “Why wait to talk in person?” She reached for the open bottle of Pinot on the counter and poured herself a glass. I may not have been twenty-one for another week, and I was a hardcore rule-follower almost to a fault, but I’d also spent most of my life abroad where you only needed to be eighteen to drink. Some habits died hard.
“I ran into Dom,” I admitted.
She spilled the wine mid-pour as she spun her head my way. “You’re shitting me? How? Where?”
I turned down the water to a simmer, poured in the noodles and gave them a little stir as I thought back to bumping into Carter Dominick at the Christmas party almost two weeks ago.
“Earth to Diana,” she said, waving her hand in front of my face.
“He’s married,” I blurted. “I’ve spent a month fantasizing about a married man.” My shoulders slumped as I faced her, feeling the creep of a blush work up my neck and into my cheeks. “Not just any married man—he’s Rebecca Barclay’s husband.” I grimaced. “Well, she’s Rebecca Dominick now.” I probably shouldn’t have been revealing his identity since he was a special operator. Fuck, I was a horrible person for that, too.
“The Barclay billionaires? Are you shitting me?”
