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“What you wanted, right?”
“No. I mean, yes, I wanted you to go. I’m annoyed and anxious and I try to keep my personal life totally separate from work, which is basically the opposite of yelling at each other in my office. But the answer to your question…it’s no. I don’t want a divorce.” I hold his gaze. “Better or worse, right?”
Relief floods his expression, smoothing the creases in his forehead. “Richer or poorer seems more fitting for the current situation. Stock dropped more this morning.”
I lift and lower a shoulder. “I promised both.”
“I won’t hold you to it. I won’t fight you on it.”
“I don’t want a divorce,” I repeat.
His eyes close for a minute before he shrinks the small gap between us. He cups my jaw and I’m treated to a heady dose of déjà vu. This feels like our first kiss.
The anticipation. The uncertainty. The possibility.
I grip the stiff fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.
Crew brushes my hair back. Runs his thumb along my jaw. “This mess—it’s not about the money or the company or the scandal or my dad. It’s aboutyou. It’s about being the guy that’s good enough to stand next to you. You were worried I wouldn’t see you as an equal—as a partner? I’m worried about the exact. Same. Thing.”
It’s so vulnerable, sayingI love youto someone you choose to love. Love toward my parents was obligatory, stemming from the biological fact that without them, I wouldn’t exist and the opportunities their work allowed for. Love toward the baby I’m carrying is instinctual. He or she is my child, a tiny piece of me, my responsibility to protect and adore.
None of that applies to Crew.
I love him because Iwantto. Because he challenges me and confides in me. Supports and softens me. I know the moment he enters the room and the second he leaves.
He sighs when I say nothing. “I know I’m the one who barged in here and demanded to talk to you, but now I really do have to go. If it was just my dad, I’d make him wait, but it’s the whole board and most of the legal department. I’ll get home as early as I can tonight. Okay?”
I keep holding his shirt. Stay silent.
His forehead wrinkles. “Red—”
“I love you.” The words fall out of my mouth and hang between us.
And… Welp, there it is. I said it.
Awkward and unsure, I stare at Crew, waiting for him to react. Say something. Move. He’s stunned; that much is obvious. Eyes wide. Lips parted, like he was about to say something that no longer applies.
He clears his throat.
“You don’t have to say it back. It wasn’t, I didn’t, I—”
His fingers tilt my chin up, forcing me to look at him. He kisses me again, firm and warm and unyielding. It lingers on my lips with an invisible brand.Property of Crew Kensington. “I love you, Scarlett. So fucking much.”
“You do?” To my embarrassment, my voice wavers. I genuinely wasn’t sure if he did—does. It’s part of why I hadn’t said it until now. Not because I didn’t want to show my cards, but because I didn’t want him to feel like he had to.
His thumb swipes my cheek, caressing my face like it’s something precious. “Yeah,” he replies softly. “I do.”
Crew is looking at me like I’m all he’ll ever want. I let myself trust it. Cherish it. Believe it.
“Okay.” It comes out as a whisper.
“I’ll see you tonight.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, as unwilling to leave as I am to let him go.
Reluctantly, I nod.
He smiles. Shakes his head a little. Exhales. “Okay.” Then he drops his hand and walks away toward the glass doors separating the lobby from the street. I can see Roman standing outside, waiting next to the car. Crew pauses to say something to his driver before he climbs in the backseat and out of sight.
I turn back toward the elevator with a smile on my face. This time, it arrives quickly. I’m back inHaute’s offices in a couple of minutes, with plenty of curious looks being aimed my way. Me running into the stairwell isn’t a normal occurrence.
