“Yes.”
“You called me your woman.”
I hold her gaze.
Her blush deepens when I do not deny it, and the anger in her face tangles with something softer, something she is trying very hard not to let me see.
“That was all for them,” she whispers.
“I thought you needed help.”
Hurt flickers across her face. “This kind of help only makes it worse.”
“How?”
“How do you think I’ll look when I show up alone after all that? And now I won’t even have a room because Lydia will think you handled it.”
“You won’t show up alone.”
She stares at me. “So you’re going to pretend to be with me for an entire weekend? You, the man who hates wasting time, will spend a weekend with my family because I need it?”
Because her sister enjoyed hurting her. Because Wesley said her name like he still had rights. Because I want her in my suite, in my bed, under my hands, and I am done pretending my only interest is protection.
I give her the part I can say in a hallway full of listening employees.
“Because I said I would.”
“That’s all?”
“No.” My gaze drops to her mouth before I drag it back to her eyes. “But it’s enough for now.”
Her lips part.
Good.
Let her feel it too.
Then her eyes narrow. “Do you even know about our history together?”
I let a beat pass.
Too long.
Her fingers tighten around the envelope. “Do you have like a file on me?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Yes, I keep security files on employees with access to my office,” I say.
It is true enough to stand on and false enough to taste bitter.
I do not lie often. Lies are sloppy. They create loose ends, and loose ends get people hurt. But telling Natalie I had her checked because she looked like the exact woman my mother would plant under my nose is a conversation that does not belong here, with half the floor pretending they are working.
“You know about Wesley?” she asks.
“His name came up.”
