I better fucking make sure no one finds out until I can prove them wrong, but as I drive to the office—grateful I have a spare suit and a private ensuite there—I realise I’m not sure how the hell I’d do that. Can we keep this a secret long enough for me to find out?
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
good?
REY
The sounds from downstairs are not the regular clanging of Xander making his coffee. This sounds like a bear is loose in the kitchen, and he’s not a happy one. Fuck, it must have been the door I heard last night, and I completely forgot. I just went back to Mark without checking. Oh my God, did Xander hear us having sex? I don’t know if I can look him in the eye if he heard all that.
The slapping of skin, the wetness, the grunts, and Jesus Christ, my screams—it all echoes in my head. But it was so fucking good I don’t have space to worry about Xander right now.
My fingers trace the pillow where Mark fell asleep last night. The most beautiful man I’ve ever met. Not just his looks, but all of him. He’s incredible.
There’s a crash and shouting in the kitchen, which startles me. I throw on a robe and put my hair into a clip before rushing down the stairs.
“Xander, are you okay?” I yell and stop in the kitchen doorway when I see him crouching on the tiled floor, picking up pieces of whiteceramic.
He looks up at me, his brow drawn together, then he squeezes his eyes shut and blows out a breath.
So he heard.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t hear you coming home.”
The laugh that comes out of my big brother is not one I recognise. It’s hollow and fake.
“Are you mad at me?” I pick at a small crack in the door frame, not daring to look at him until I hear the tender Xander-voice I know and love.
There’s just the clinking of the pieces he’s picking up and dropping into the bin with the rest of the broken crockery. I stand still, feeling him seething while he gets up, walks past me to the cupboard, gets a broom and comes back again.
“No,” he says finally, sweeping up the last pieces on the floor. “Well, a bit actually.” He turns around now, facing me. “This is my house, and I should be able to come home with a friend without having to excuse my extremely loud sister and her—” He waves a hand towards the door. “—shag muppet, or whatever he is to you.”
“Shag muppet?” I laugh, and there’s a crinkle forming next to Xander’s eyes, and I hope I can coax a smile out of him, but it disappears fast. “Did you see him?” I ask. Why else is he pointing at the door?
Xander nods, his cheeks turning red the way mine do when I’m embarrassed.
Fuck, why is he embarrassed? “What did you say to him?”
He looks at me now, brows knitted again. “How the hell did your CEO end up here, Rey? What did he tell you?”
I gape at him. He knows who he is? “What did he tell me? What do you mean?”
“You just started as an intern there, and before that you were an HR assistant. How did you even come across theCEO? Did he single you out? What happened?”
I get it now. How did I not recognise it? Xander isconcerned, not angry. He’s my protective big brother. This is the same face he had when I fell apart all those years ago, after I failed completely at finishing the collection for the exhibition my mum pushed me to enter. It was the ultimate nail.
I’ve never before or since seen Xander so angry with our parents.
“Xander, I met him in my other job. He didn’t know who I was.”
I lead him to the kitchen island, and tell him everything (except the saucy parts) while I make coffee for both of us. He listens intently, the worry crease on his forehead slowly smoothing out, the look in his eyes softening.
“So you think he’s good for you?” he asks, sipping his hot espresso.
“Good? I think he’s extraordinary.”
“No, I asked if he’s goodfor you.”
“I’m scared, because… Yes, I do.”
