Page 199 of Fake it ’Til Fall

“I know.”

“Very demanding.”

“I know.”

“High standards.”

His thumb moves once along the side of my neck. “I know.”

My breath catches.

His eyes lift to mine again, and the room changes. The couch is too small for the space between us.

“Forrest,” I whisper.

He kisses me.

It’s just his mouth on mine, rougher than usual, not careless, never careless, but edged with everything he held back while I said yes. I slide into him instantly, one hand at his shoulder, the other fisting in his shirt. He pulls me across his lap, and I go, because apparently I am a woman who accepts a founding executive position and celebrates by climbing the founder on his couch.

Very professional.

Excellent onboarding.

Human Resources would need smelling salts.

His hands settle on my hips, holding me there, and the first roll of my body against his makes both of us stop breathing.

“Still negotiating?” he asks against my mouth.

“Yes.”

“Terms?”

I pull back enough to look at him. His eyes are dark, his mouth already mine, his hands warm through the borrowed shirt. “Immediate start date.”

His fingers tighten. “Approved.”

“Flexible hours.”

“Approved.”

“Regular meetings.”

His mouth moves to my neck. “Required.”

“Performance reviews.”

He kisses just below my ear.

My brain loses an entire fiscal quarter.

“Careful,” he says. “I’m thorough.”

“That is exactly the concern.”

He laughs once, low and rough, and I feel it against my skin.

I grab the hem of his shirt. “Off.”