Page 43 of Her Filthy Cold Billionaire Boss

I nearly laughed, the question was so absurd. “I regret nothing.”

She poured herself more coffee, the motion lazy, unconcerned. “Then why do you look like you’re about to be executed?”

I gripped the edge of the table. “Because I don’t do this. I don’t let people in.”

She sobered, just a little. “It’s not a crime to want someone.”

“I don’t want,” I said, too fast, too harsh. “I need.”

She swallowed, slow, letting it settle. “You can have me, you know.”

The words hit with physical force.

I looked up, met her eyes. They were steady, unblinking, completely without fear.

No one had ever said something like that to me. Nobody offered a full surrender, though I knew she wasn’t the type to surrender. Maybe in bed, but in life, we’d be pretty evenly matched in most things.

I studied her. For a second, I thought I might reach across the table, drag her into my lap, and devour her in front of anyone who might walk by, rules or not. The only thing that stopped me was the memory of her voice last night, the way she’d begged, the way she’d said my name like a secret.

I shuddered.

She held out a crescent, as if to make peace. “Eat something,” she said. “You’re going to faint.”

I took the perfectly-baked pastry, hating her, loving her, all at once. My hands shook.

We ate in silence for a minute, the tension morphing into something almost companionable. I watched her lick the jam she’d added as an afterthought to her pastry from her thumb, watched the way she chewed, the way her hair caught the sunlight. I memorized every detail, because I knew I’d be replaying it for the rest of my life.

She finished her meal and wiped her mouth on a linen napkin, then stood.

“Where are you going?” I asked, an unfamiliar panic spiking in my chest.

She glanced at the clock. “I have work to do, Mr. Wolfe.” She stretched, and grinned at me over her shoulder. “I’ll see you soon?”

I nodded, mute.

She left, her flats silent on the tile, and I sat there for a long time, staring at the place where she’d been. My hands were fists. My breath came short.

I was ruined. I was lost. I was utterly, hopelessly hers.

And that scared the ever living shit out of me.

Help me understand.

I stared at Eden’s text, unsure how to respond. But I knew. I knew what to do, but I didn’t know if I could.

Join me outside your bedroom in ten.I was making a huge mistake, but some part of me trusted her, and whispered to the rest of me to just trust her.

And she met me there, eyes wide, breath catching as she studied me and continued talking from the texts she’d sent.

"Tell me something real," she said. "About you. About your family. The stuff you don't put in annual reports."

I almost laughed. "I don't think you want to know."

She grinned. "Try me."

I hesitated, but something in her expression, defiant, sure, made it impossible to refuse. "Fine," I said. "Follow me."

We climbed the main stairs, up past the bedrooms, up past the short-term staff member’s quarters, to the third floor, where the house thinned and the ceilings pressed in. At the end of the hall was a locked door no one used, paint chipped and hinges rusted. I fished the key from my pocket and handed it to her.