Page 70 of Yours to Keep

By the time I finally managed to clear my head a little bit, it was late afternoon and I was on my way to the fifth floor to check in with the construction crew when I spotted Bree. She was in an empty hallway near radiology and my pulse jumped stupidly at the sight of her, my feet carrying me toward me before I could stop myself.

“Hey,” I said when I reached her, but she didn’t even slow down.

She didn’t look at me either. She just turned on her heels and walked in the opposite direction, leaving me standing there like an idiot in an expensive suit.

A minute later, my phone buzzed.

Bree: Not at work, remember?

I stared at the screen, then typed back.

Me: Fine. Let me take you to dinner.

Bree: Absolutely not.

Me: What if I cook for you at my place? No witnesses.

There was a pause long enough to make me sweat.

Bree: You can cook?

Me: I can make passable pasta.

Another pause.

Bree: Okay.

Relief hit me so hard, I had to sit down.

Me: You know, you’re really good at pretending you don’t like me.

Bree: Who says I’m pretending?

I stared at that last text for a long time, but for some reason, all of this just made me want her more. God, I really think there might be something seriously wrong with me.

CHAPTER 27

BREE

By the time I got to his place, my nerves were shot. Every day without him in it had stretched too long, like time itself was being petty. Ignoring him at the hospital had taken real effort. Olympic-level restraint.

Every glimpse of him down a hallway made something feral light up in my chest. All I wanted was to run into his arms. Hold him. Lick him. Kiss him.

It was insane—and a real relief that I would finally get to do all those things tonight, because if I had to wait any longer, I would have lost my mind.

The elevator doors opened directly into his penthouse, which probably shouldn’t have been such a big surprise. I kept forgetting how rich he was, though. Honestly, it probably would’ve made things a lot easier if he was just another guy, but the scent of garlic, butter, and something sweeter wafted into the elevator, and immediately, I yanked myself out of my head.

After the doors had slid all the way open, I stepped out and looked around, taking in the soaring windows, the city glittering beyond them, and the echo of my footsteps on his expensive floors. And then I realized how empty the place was.

“You live like a monk with a trust fund,” I said as I walked further into the entryway, wondering if he’d recently been robbed.

He turned from the kitchen, looking unfairly good with a wooden spoon in his hand and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Hello to you too.”

“Hi. Uh, is everything okay?” I gestured vaguely at the vast nothingness, convinced something must’ve happened here. “Where’s all your stuff?”

“I have stuff.”

“You have a couch,” I said. “One. Singular, and a table that looks like it’s never been eaten at.”