Page 61 of Safe Word

Paula gave a low laugh, leaning back in her chair with a self-satisfied grin. ‘Don’t worry, D’Angelo, happens to the best of us.’

It didn’t help. Not one bit. And it only made her grin wider.

And I realised – with startling clarity – that this banter had completely taken the weight off me.

Her brow furrowed as she leaned forward and started typing on her laptop. ‘Did you happen to see that last piece I wrote?’

Guilt sank its claws into me. ‘Ah… no,’ I admitted reluctantly, rubbing the back of my neck. ‘I wasn’t feeling well last night.’

I cleared my throat to dislodge her name – the last thing that had left my mouth before sleep.

Her eyes slid to mine, and for a moment, her playful expression softened with genuine concern. It was… unsettling. Almost warming.

‘Are you sick?’ she asked, cradling her cup. She took a sip and froze, her eyes closing as she licked her lips. A soft, involuntary moan slipped out – low, indulgent, too obscene for something as innocent as coffee.

Heat surged through me like an electric fault, shorting out logic and reason.

‘This is some good fucking coffee,’ she said, her voice hushed with reverence.

The profanity rolled off her tongue with sinful ease, and my brain went rogue, imagining how it might sound in other contexts. My throat tightened as I derailed that train of thought – straight into a goddamn mountain of regret.

‘Told you,’ I said, but my voice had dropped into dangerous territory – low and rough. I cleared my throat again, hoping she hadn’t noticed.

‘What’s wrong? Throat infection?’ she asked earnestly, her gaze so genuine it almost felt like a sucker punch.

More like a brain infection, I thought.

I shook my head. ‘No, it’s nothing. My old man—’ The words slipped out, and I stopped myself just in time.

What the hell was wrong with me? I’d known this woman less than a week, and already I was on the verge of unpacking my entire emotional baggage.

‘He was sick. But he’s fine now,’ I mumbled, my eyes glued to the screen. ‘What part did you write again?’

‘The sex part,’ she said without missing a beat, one brow arching in challenge.

I nearly choked on my coffee.

‘That’s what you hired me for,’ she continued smoothly, taking another sip. ‘Shouldn’t you be in bed?’

Abso-fucking-lutely. One behind bars – some doctor somewhere would’ve argued. I struggled against the warmth creeping up my ears.

‘I’m fine,’ I said, though the words came out too stiff, too defensive.

‘Sure you are.’ Paula smirked, her eyes glittering with amusement. ‘You know the convention starts tomorrow, right? Are you skipping?’

I bit my lip, debating how much honesty I wanted to offer. ‘If I could, I would,’ I muttered.

She tilted forward, resting her elbows on the desk, her gaze anchored to mine. ‘Are you telling me Cain D’Angelo dislikes the attention?’

I frowned at her, hoping the expression would convey my exasperation better than words.

‘No, didn’t think so,’ she said with a knowing grin, leaning back in her chair. ‘A former model isn’t exactly the type who’d shy away from attention.’

I turned to her fully now, narrowing my eyes as I tried to read whatever was hiding behind that smug little smirk. Did that mean she thought me handsome – or stuck up?

‘It paid the bills,’ I countered, my interest suddenly snagging on the unresponsive workspace. I glared at the blank little network icon in the corner.

‘Have you been doing a background check on me?’ I asked suspiciously.