“Right.” He nods again, lips pressed into a thin line. “That makes sense.”
“Eventually, if you take over the company, I might end up working directly for you,” I add. “But that’s—”
“Years away. Maybe decades,” he finishes for me. “Yeah.”
He turns away, moving toward the windows. The city stretches out below, a sea of lights against the night sky. His shoulders are rigid, his reflection in the glass tense.
“I’m happy for you,” he says, but his voice has gone flat. “It’s a great opportunity.”
I realize that I can read him now. A week ago, Wyatt Kingsley was just an entitled brat I was paid to follow around. Now I can read every microexpression, every shift in his voice, every tell in his body language. I know when he’s deflecting. I know when he’s lying to himself. I know when he’s trying to hide how he really feels.
And right now, he’s miserable.
“Wyatt,” I say, my voice dropping lower. “Look at me.”
His body stiffens at the command, but he doesn’t turn. Not yet.
“Wyatt,” I repeat, taking a step toward him. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Something in my tone reaches him. He turns slowly, his face a mask of nonchalance that doesn’t match the storm in his eyes.
“What?” he asks, leaning back against the window, arms crossed over his chest.
I close the distance between us, not stopping until I’m right in front of him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
I reach up, my hand cupping his jaw. He tenses, then relaxes into the touch, unable to help himself. My thumb traces his cheekbone, feeling the heat rising to his skin. “Tell me the truth.”
His eyes meet mine, defiant for a moment, then surrendering. “They’re taking you away from me,” he whispers, so quietly I almost miss it.
“Wyatt—”
“No, I know how it sounds.” Words start tumbling out of him. “I know it’s selfish and fucked up, and I should be happy for you. And I am. I swear I am. You deserve this. You’re way too good to be just my babysitter. But it’s just…it’s just that we were finally…and now you’ll be working for my dad and that’s a whole new level of complicated and I don’t want to mess this up for you—”
I cut him off the only way I can think of. I kiss him.
It’s not gentle. It’s not hesitant. It’s like diving into deep water, committed from the moment my lips touch his. His mouth is soft beneath mine, opening on a gasp that I swallow, my tongue sliding against his. My hand tightens on his jaw,holding him in place as my other arm wraps around his waist, pulling him against me.
He makes a sound—half surprise, half surrender—his body molding to mine like it was made to fit there. His hands come up to grip my biceps, not pushing me away but holding on, anchoring himself as I deepen the kiss.
This is what I’ve been wanting without knowing it. This is what’s been building since that first night at the club when I carried him out over my shoulder, since the moment in the car when I pinned him against the seat, since the sauna when I saw him come undone at my command. Not just the physical release, but this. His mouth under mine, his body pressed against me, the taste of him on my tongue.
The kiss goes on, hungry and desperate, until we’re both breathing hard. Finally, Wyatt pulls back to look at me, his pupils blown wide, lips swollen.
“We can’t. Gray, we can’t do this. It’ll ruin everything for you.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should care.” His hands press against my chest, but there’s no force behind it. “This is a huge opportunity. Working directly for my dad, being head of security for the whole company—you can’t throw that away for…for this.”
“For what?” I ask, my hand sliding to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair. “For you?”
“I’m not worth it,” he whispers, and the genuine belief behind the words makes my chest ache. “I’m a fuck-up. Everyone knows it.”
“I know who you are.” My grip on his hair tightens, tilting his head back so he has to look at me. “I see you, Wyatt. Not the mask. Not what everyone else sees. You.”
His breath catches. “Gray…”
