Page 52 of Her Filthy Cold Billionaire Boss

She pulled out her phone and scrolled to the chart. “Okay,” she said, “before you veto everything, I need to remind you thatthis part can be changed on the fly if needed. But I want to make sure we have a basic idea where everyone should be.”

“Why are we even bothering with this?”

“Because it’s important,” she said, eyes locked on mine. “Even if you’re too proud to admit it.”

I felt the words hit, hard, but I said nothing. It was easier to deflect. “If you want a raise, this is not the way to get it.”

She grinned, unbothered. “Maybe I just like the challenge.”

I looked away, past the trellis and out to the orchard beyond. The sunlight hurt my eyes. “There’s nothing to fix, Eden.”

She was silent for a moment, then said, “Why did you even agree to this reunion? You hate all of them.”

She’d done her homework.

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The real reason was so ugly, so final, that I didn’t trust myself to say it aloud. Especially not to her.

Eden didn’t push. Instead, she nudged her knee against mine, a brief, accidental contact that sent a shock up my leg. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms, and forced myself to focus.

She was talking again, her voice low and earnest. “Maybe you don’t want to fix it. Maybe you just want to prove you can survive it. But there’s more to you than this, Gareth.”

I almost laughed. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because you hired me,” she said. “And because you keep trying, even when you’re convinced it’s pointless.”

The compliment was so unexpected, so raw, that I had to look away again.

She reached over, her hand brushing my wrist. “You’re not a monster, you know.”

I flinched at the touch, but didn’t pull away. Her fingers were soft, cooler than mine. She held the contact, just long enough to make my skin burn, then let go.

For a second, I considered reaching for her. Just a quick touch, professional. …Okay, maybe not professional. No, I wanted to kiss her. Pull her into my lap and brand her as mine.

The crunch of footsteps on gravel pulled me out of the moment.

Leo Martin appeared at the gazebo entrance, arms folded, jaw set in that perpetual half-smirk he thought was charming. He wore a faded blue work shirt, sleeves rolled, exposing powerful forearms from hours spent loading and unloading fertilizer and potting soil.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, making it clear he wasn’t. “Need Ms. Blake for a vendor issue.”

Eden straightened, ready to go, but I beat her to it. “Can’t your people handle it?”

Leo’s eyes slid to mine, cold and unreadable. “They could. But you made it clear you wanted her in charge.”

His gaze flicked to Eden, then back to me. The challenge was obvious. It made my blood run hot.

I stood, squared my shoulders. “Give us five minutes.”

Leo lingered, then left, heavy on the heels, broadcasting his irritation.

Eden watched him go, then turned to me. “You really hate him, don’t you?”

“He’s unprofessional,” I said.

“You’re jealous,” she corrected, and the word landed like a punch to the sternum.

I considered denying it, but she was right. I hated the way Leo looked at her, the way he hovered around her in the staff kitchen, the way he spoke to her as if they were equals.

I was jealous, and it was eating me alive.