I stare at her. “And you allow this?”
She deadpans, “Do you think I have any control over that man?”
I let out a short, incredulous laugh, despite the fire still burning in my chest. “I stormed in here ready to verbally eviscerate Ben, and now I’m just picturing some ridiculous bird judging me from the corner of the room.”
Sophie smirks. “It does have very judgmental eyes.”
I groan, rubbing my temples. “Okay, noted. No duck murder.”
Sophie shifts beside me as the lift doors slide open. “Want backup?” Her tone is still light, but there’s now a hint of seriousness beneath it.
I hesitate for half a second, just long enough for the idea to tempt me, but then I shake my head. “No. I need to do this myself.”
She watches me carefully, then nods. “Alright. But if you don’t come back down in an hour, I’m sending a search party.Or a clean-up crew, depending on how this goes.”
“If I commit a crime, I trust you to make it look like an accident.”
“Obviously.” She smirks, stepping back into the lift. “Good luck.”
I exhale sharply as I head down the hallway, my fingers tightening around the key card. The weight in my chest creeps back in.
After all this time, I’m finally facing him on my terms. My pulse stutters, my grip faltering.
What if—?
No.
I straighten my spine, shoving the hesitation down.
I cannot let him win.
10
Ben
I know she’s coming before she even reaches the door. Lisa at reception calls me, her tone clipped but with a trace of intrigue. “Mr Ashcroft, there’s a guest on her way up to see you. She seems… determined.”
Lisa has been eyeing me since I checked in. Too eager, too interested. The sharp, furious knock comes next.
I smile, rolling my shoulders back, but my pulse is already kicking up. I knew she’d come.
But I didn’t expect this heat curling under my skin, this damn anticipation thrumming through my veins.
Another knock, harder this time.
I exhale sharply, then pull open the door and there she is. Flushed, breathing hard, dark eyes burning as she glares up at me. Her hair is wild from the wind, loose strands framing her face, untamed and just as fierce as she is. She shoves past me before I can say a word. The scent of her—jasmine, fresh-cut stems, and the crisp bite of spring rain flooding my senses.
A crumpled piece of paper smacks against my chest.
I barely catch it before it hits the floor.
“What the hell is this?” she demands, spinning on her heel, arms crossed like she’s holding herself together through sheer force of will.
I glance down at the letter I sent her yesterday. I’d expected her to storm in the same day, not leave me stewing overnight. Turns out, she made me wait and I hate waiting. I lean back against the table, folding my arms, watching her. “It’s called a buyout offer, sweetheart. Most people read them before storming through hotel suites.”
Her nostrils flare. “That’s not an offer. It’s an insult.”
I bite back a smirk. Because she’s right. It was low, deliberately so. I knew she’d never take it. That was never the point.
