I tidy up the evidence, strip my bed, and hop in the shower. The hot water helps wash away the lingering cogs of sleepiness. Too bad I can’t wash away the sudden familiar dread hitting my gut.
Today is Friday, which means it’s payday. And just like every other payday, the thought of opening my banking page hits my stomach like a lead weight. So much for a relaxing shower. I’m in and out faster than I intended. A quick rinse, a jolt to wake me up and calm the ache between my legs is all I’m allowing myself.
Wrapped in a towel, I walk to the tiny area that has a small kitchen table and bypass the thought of coffee with the way my stomach is churning. I take a seat, pull my laptop toward me, press a button, and it comes to life. As much as I want to ignore the inevitable, it won’t change the outcome of my financial demise. Plus, the numbers never lie, and right now, they’re downright terrifying. The nursing home invoice my mom is in stares at me on the screen. It’s barely maintainable. Okay, fine, it’s not. I’m floundering. The wholejust keep swimmingmotto won’t even work at this juncture. Her insurance doesn’t cover enough, and my paycheck doesn’t cover the remainder of her nursing home bill, my rent, or cost of living. And it’s not like I live a lavish life—my place is postage-stamp small, my car is paid off, and my grocery bill is as small as I can make it, even picking up lunch yesterday courtesy of Alex consisted of a special, and I still used a coupon.
The math isn’t mathing. I’m going to have to get creative to keep the wolves at bay, and not just for this month but for every month after. A heavy, suffocating anxiety squeezes my chest, and placing my hand over my heart does nothing for the rapid beating of my heart. I’ve picked up extras, working six days a week, and the hospital even has me on the call list in case a shiftbecomes available on my only day off. A second job is looking more and more likely. I could sell some of my old jewelry, except the heirlooms from my mother, but one of thoseWe Buy Goldplaces wouldn’t give me much. Still, the pressure is becoming unbearable.
I make the remainder of last month’s payment and half of this month, leaving me the exact amount to pay my rent next week and survive off a hundred dollars for gas and groceries. Which means I’ll have to explain the nursing home again that I’ll be late. They’ve given me leniency, but I’m unsure how much longer that will last.
“Shit.” I look at the clock and realize my time is dwindling down. I’ve got to get a move on or I’m going to be late. A few short steps, and I’m in my closet, trying to figure out what to wear. I bypass anything that feels like I’d be trying too hard, forgoing dresses and skirts, landing on a pair of dark, hip-hugging jeans that mold to my curves in all the right places, and pick out a lightweight coral knit sweater. I toss the clothes onto my bed, then head to my dresser for a bra and panties. Since I’ll have to come back after leaving Dom’s to change for work, I opt for comfort in the form of breathable cotton. It’s not sexy, what it is, is comfortable. I pull those on along with socks, then slip on the rest of my clothes.
Simple, casual, and completely me.
I grab my things: keys, purse, and phone. Only stopping to fluff my hair and take a deep, steadying breath before walking out the front door and locking it behind me.
The weight of the world is on my shoulder, it doesn’t matter where I am, it’s going to follow me everywhere. Except for the next couple of hours. Maybe I can push the bills, nursing home, and rent to the back of my mind. A billionaire alpha male with a voice like sin is demanding my presence, and I’m going to live in the moment. For now.
CHAPTER SEVEN
dom
I’m home earlier than I’ve ever been in years, and asking my assistant to reschedule meetings along with transferring only important calls to my cell phone raised a few questions. Luckily, she’s paid handsomely and doesn’t rock the boat. My phone has been silent since I left, stopping at an Italian joint to pick up salad, bread, and pasta. There’s even dessert in the fridge for later.
“Wow.” I’m knocked out of my reverie when I hear her voice, not even the noise of the elevator clued me in. She looks small in the entryway, clutching her purse like a shield. There’s a faint shadow under her eyes, signs of her working too damn much.
“You’re here.” I lean against the marble kitchen island. I avoided making a drink, needing a clear head and my wits about me when it comes to Corinne Pierson.
“I can leave?” Cory voices it as a question.
“No.” I make my way toward her, and she meets me halfway.
“Why here?” she asks.
“Privacy. I don’t want to share you with the outside world.” Her scent wraps around me, the tension between us that of a high-voltage wire.
“Privacy for what?” Her breath hitches.
“For this.” I don’t give her time to think. I step into her space, my hand cupping the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair as I pull her into me. When my mouth finds hers, the slightest sigh slips from her lips, and I take advantage, deepening the kiss as my tongue claims hers. Cory tastes like sweet warmth and sharp defiance. Her purse drops to the floor with a dull thud as her hands fly to my chest, fingers gripping my shirt. She doesn’t pull away. She pulls me closer, arching her body into mime.
A low growl tears from my throat, and my dick throbs. Her chest heaves, and my thigh moves between her legs, giving her the friction she’s after, nearly pushing me over the edge. I hold still, backtracking. A dick move, but if I take this where I want, it could fuck with her head.
One harsh breath of air, I force myself to break the kiss, dragging my lips away and burying my face in the crook of her neck. I need a fucking second, if only to control the raging hunger I have for Cory.
“Dom.” I pull back to take her in. Her face is flush, lips swollen and damp, eyes sparkling with a wild hunger.
“Christ, Cory. Come on, take a seat,” I command softly, my voice rougher than intended. Before she can protest, I grip her hips, noticing the way she shivers at my touch, and lift her effortlessly. I carry her to the kitchen island, setting her down on one of the leather-cushioned barstools. It takes a lot for me to take a step back, to deliberately put so much as three feet of space between us. Instinct is screaming at me to close the fucking gap. Instead, I reach for the document on the other side and slide it toward her along with a heavy fountain pen.
“What’s this?” She looks from the documents to me. I see the subtle way her throat works when she swallows, and fuck if that doesn’t make my dick go haywire. I want my thumb glidingalong her skin as she takes me to the back of her throat while on her knees.
“An NDA to start,” I say, pulling myself together, leaning against the opposite counter and crossing my arms to keep myself from reaching for her again. “And a contract outlining the terms of our future.” She frowns, flipping through the pages, eyes skimming over the dense legal jargon, and I watch the exact moment her brain processes the numbers.
“A lump sum of fifty million dollars after three years of marriage.” Her jaw slackens before she reads aloud, her voice dropping in disbelief, “Marriage?”
“Keep reading,” I say when she looks up at me.
“Full liquidation of all current debts, effective immediately,” she mutters, her eyes racing down the page. “Including… oh my god, Dom.” She pauses, eyes filling with an emotion I can’t quite decipher. “My mother’s nursing home bills, for the remainder of her stay, however long that may be?”
“Every cent. And your college debt, paid in full by tonight, if you sign,” I confirm.
