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As I started to back out of the bathroom, my eyes caught on a row of bottles displayed on a glass tray and I got an idea. Grinning, I picked up the one closest to me and pressed the top to my nose.
Eh. It was good, but nothing set it apart from any man I might pass by on the way to work.
I picked up the second one, and before I’d even brought it to my nose, my stomach did a little flip of excitement. I pressed it to my nostrils and pulled in a nice big hit.
“Mmm,” I moaned. “That’s the stuff.”
And then I spritzed it on the t-shirt because I am a totally rational, sane person.
Whatever. Don’t judge.
Ta-da. Now his clothes actually smelled like him.
No shame in my game.
I ran my fingers through my hair, bent at the waist to tie it into a knot atop my head, then hurried to join him downstairs. Smelling like him was a great idea, but it also made me want to lay eyes on him again.
Speaking of eyes, wow. I’d really have to make it up to mine. What an eyesore. No offense to Grams, but… I shuddered. Bleah. I tried not to make eye contact with any of the furniture downstairs as I searched for Reed and Mina, following their hushed voices until I found them in the kitchen.
The pink kitchen.
Lovely.
“She’s wearing your clothes.” Mina offered a tightlipped smile as I sat down across from her. “And… is she…” She breathed deeply, shaking her head. “Did you spray his cologne?” She asked it in such a way that I could tell the appropriate answer would be no. Definitely no. What kind of normal person would do such a thing?
But we already established the fact that your girl can’t lie. So I shrugged.
What could I say? The man smelled fucking good.
Reed set a cup of coffee on the table in front of me and I slid my hands around it as I smiled up at him. But his eyes were tight around the edges, his jaw set.
Something was wrong. This certainly wasn’t the man I’d been intimate with last night.
This was Reed Tower Cabot Reed.
The sorta scary version of the man I loved.
Mina clicked her tongue. “I don’t even understand what I’m looking at.”
My gaze flicked to her.
“You’ve… domesticated him.”
Reed made a sound of displeasure and we both looked up at him. His face was set into hard lines and his eyes were tight as he looked at Mina over the rim of his coffee mug. He was still shirtless, still wearing those sexy jeans from last night, and even with that dirty look on his face, the way he leaned back against the counter made my mouth water.
If this was what domestication looked like, sign me up!
The man looked good enough to eat.
His gaze met mine and his eyes darkened, as if reading my thoughts.
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Mina tapped something on the table, drawing my attention away from Reed.
I looked down at the magazine and nearly dropped my coffee.
Holding my breath, I set the mug down and turned the magazine toward me, pulling it close.
There, on the cover, of fucking Newsweek–not Page Six or Star or some other garbage rag–was a picture of New York City’s most beloved publisher.
And me. His fucking intern.
Tied
To
A
Chair.
A strangled sound came out of me and I looked up at Reed. He watched me with a look I didn’t recognize.
Three weeks ago I couldn’t even find a picture of him online, and now he was on the cover of Newsweek.
Not on purpose.
And not for his many accomplishments.
My chest ached, yet felt hollowed out at the same time.
“We have a problem,” Mina said.
I looked at her, then back up at him, searching his gaze. “What are you…” I shook my head. “Are you mad?” It was a dumb question and I realized that the second it left my mouth.
“Am I mad?” He scoffed. “Oh, I’m fucking furious.” He held my gaze for a long moment, then he said, “But I told you: no regrets.” He sipped his coffee and then I realized what I saw in his eyes.
Amidst the seething anger was something new to me.
Something even newer–and probably more disturbing–to him.
Worry.
He was worried about how I would react to this. How I would feel.
Before him, only two people in the world worried about me like that–
“Oh my god! Greer!” I jumped up from the table and hauled my ass back upstairs. I can’t believe I forgot to even look at my phone! I was so distracted by wearing his clothes and smelling like him that I completely forgot.
God, I sucked as a best friend.
I dug into my bag and found my phone. Before I even pulled it out, it buzzed in my hand.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I said, looking down at the screen. Thirty-eight missed calls and two-hundred-twelve texts.
My eyes widened and my stomach sank into the plush carpeting.
“Oh no.”
I didn’t know what to do first; my finger hovered somewhere in between the phone icon and the text messages icon.
Then Greer’s face popped up on the screen.
Make that thirty-nine calls.
I took a deep breath and pressed the button to accept the call.
“Rylan! Is that you? Hello? Oh, it better not be you because you better be fucking dead.” I pulled the phone away from my ear. “Do you hear me?” Greer yelled. “Dead!” She paused, then, in a lower voice, said, “Wait. Ry? Are you there? Say something.”
“Hey–”
“You motherfucker!”
