Page 50 of Her Filthy Cold Billionaire Boss

I hate when you get all wise and shit.

Too bad. You deserve it.

I blinked back tears.He’s going to destroy me.

You say that like it’s a bad thing.

I thought about that for a while, the way Gareth had held me, the weird tenderness of his hands, the look on his face when he thought I wasn’t watching. It would absolutely end in flames, but for once, I was the one holding the match.

I want to see what happens.I meant it.

Then do it. Go all in. You’ve spent your whole life keeping people at arm’s length and pretending you don’t need anyone. Maybe it’s time to need someone.

It’s always so simple in your head.

Life is simple. We’re the complicated ones. Also, you should definitely get laid as may times as you can. For, like, health reasons.

I laughed, a short, happy sound.I’ll put it on my calendar.

She sent a meme of an angry kitten with the words “GO FORTH AND CLAW” on it. I tossed my phone on my bed and watched the garden, the moonlight turning everything silver.

And I wondered if Gareth was doing the same thing: pacing, thinking, maybe regretting. Or wanting me as much as I wanted him – a girl could dream.

I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to imagine a world where I let myself have something, anything, without already rehearsing the ending.

When I went to bed, I dozed off and on, and every dream was a remix of the same theme, waltzing in the dark, spinning, spinning, his arms tight around my waist, his breath at my ear. I woke up half a dozen times, hand pressed to my chest like I could keep my heart from jumping out.

In the wee hours of the morning, I watched the sun rise, gold creeping over the stone and lighting up the property. I thought about the NDA in my drawer, the clause that said I could walk away at any time, no strings.

But I didn't want to walk away. Not anymore.

I wanted to see how far I could fall.

So I picked up my phone and scrolled through my old texts with Dolan, just to remind myself that I could love and lose and still get out of bed the next day.

Then I texted Gareth. Just a single word.

More?

I didn't expect an answer.

But I wanted one.

Chapter Twelve

Gareth

More…

That single word haunted me in the best possible way. I could still taste her, feel her body reacting to me, tightening around me. She was a potent combination of the strongest drug, the most addictive liquor, a substance I couldn’t deny or refuse, and that was dangerous.

All I wanted to do was touch her, but I didn’t dare.

Instead, I signed off on the final draft of the Wolfe Family Reunion contract at 1:17 p.m., Eastern time. The moment the digital ink dried, my chest went cold, as if someone had swapped my blood for crushed ice.

All Eden’s meticulous planning came down to this one moment. Before Eden, I’d waited through five months of planning, eight event coordinators, two feuding chefs – Maribel and the catering staff, a security detail that could have handled a presidential visit, and now it was locked. Unalterable. Doomed to proceed.

Objectively, it was a triumph. The schedule was airtight, the vendors cowed into being on their best behavior, the grounds a showpiece of perfection. I should have felt satisfied. Instead, I just kept staring at the date of detonation and counting the minutes until the show.