Celeste straightens her gown unnecessarily. “Of course.” She gives Cal a stare that can only be interpreted asshut up right now.
“Do I want to know what the two of you have been up to?” I continue toward my office.
“You most definitely don’t,” Cal says, and Celeste groans.
“TMI, van den Linden, TMI.” I roll my eyes.
“I said nothing.” He laughs. “See you later, Ro.”
“Unfortunately.”
The banter with the partners has a new quality as well. It’s not them razzing, and me trying to rebut to keep up.
It’s just us. Brutal rhetoric, but deep respect.
I drop my things at my desk and answer a few emails before I leave.
When I get out of the elevator, I realize I’m running late, so I step out of my heels and rush through the foyer.
“This feels like déjà vu, Foxy.” A velvety voice stops me in my tracks. I turn, and my heart stutters.
Liam leans against the front desk counter, a tailored tux hugging his torso. His collar is open. No bow tie.
I swallow. I forget to speak. My legs, however, move.
He pushes off the counter and meets me halfway. Reliance. Trust. Us.
“What are you wearing?” He growls.
I frown. “Don’t you love it?”
“I hate it.”
I blink and look down at myself. “What are you talking about?”
“I can see too much of you… and I’m not in the mood to share,” he snaps.
“The naked legs are the point of the creation.” I take his hand, turning to leave.
“To give me a heart attack?” he grumbles.
“To distract people from my belly.”
“Why? You’re pregnant, and it suits you.”
I stop and smile at him. His frown persists. “They can look all they want. I’m yours.”
“Roxy, I love you, but let’s get you a skirt,” he demands.
I laugh. “I adore the caveman routine, but I’m wearing this dress. And you get to take it off at the end of the night.” I plant a kiss on his lips. “Come on, handsome.”
We get into our waiting car, and he raises the partition before I greet the driver.
“What are you doing, Liam?”
“Take off your underwear, Thunder.”
Jesus. I may command boardrooms, win negotiations, and lead teams of people to do my bidding.
