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I’m surprised to see a single blue rose tucked under the wiper blade on the driver’s side of my car. This isn’t X’s typical MO. Annoyed, I snatch the flower and toss it on the ground before climbing behind the wheel and heading home.
My stomach has been in knots all day. It started with the incident in the break room. The authoritative tone in Cannon’s voice when I was cleaning up the coffee I’d spilled, the lust blazing in his dark eyes when I looked up at him, and the crackle of familiar energy between us when he helped me from the floor. He smelled so good, all masculine andwoodsy.
In the elevator, on the way down to the coffee bar, I’d been nervous. Mostly because he was my boss, but also because I felt insanely attracted to him. Out of curiosity, I watched the barista make his coffee—black with a splash of cream. We fell into an easy conversation, and on the elevator ride back up, we joked like old friends. Then he asked me out and I was nervous all over again.
When I got back to my office and settled behind my desk, it hit me like a punch to the gut.
It wasn’t an instant attraction. It was a connection. One we’d been building for the past month. The lust in his eyes was because he already knows what I look like naked. The authoritative tone in his voice—much softer in the bedroom—isn’t one I’d easily forget. How could I forget the voice of the man who whispers dirty things in my ear while he’s buried deep inside me? I didn’t pick up on it the first time we met, but only because I was too distracted by his overwhelming presence in such a small space. And his woodsy scent is something I’ve committed to memory.
Cannon Davis is X. I’m sure of it.
I couldn’t focus on work today, so I feigned a headache and left for the day.
My head is spinning, and my heart is racing by the time I walk into my apartment. I go straight to my bedroom and dump my purse on the bed, then head for the bathroom. While the tub is filling, I drop a lavender bath bomb into the hot water, then make my way into my closet to undress.
My phone chirps inside my purse with a text notification. Walking over to the bed, I dig it out and race into the bathroom to shut off the water. Once I settle into the bath, I open the message from Heather.
Heather: Are you ok? I stopped by your office after lunch. Jane said you left early.
Me:Just a headache. Nothing a hot bath and sleep won’t cure.
Heather: I hope you feel better. I have a late meeting, but call me if you need anything.
Me: Thanks.
I was relieved that Heather had a lunch date with Jesse today, because my head and heart were a mess, and I needed to be alone to process my thoughts.
After a long soak in the tub, I go to the kitchen to make myself something to eat, except I have absolutely no appetite. I settle for strawberry yogurt.
It’s still light out as I fall into bed and stare at the ceiling fan above me. A pang of hurt spreads through my chest as I recount the events in my life over the last couple of months. It feels like a giant puzzle has been dumped in my lap and I’m left with all the weird pieces that never seem to fit anywhere. Like how did X know where I lived before I’d even agreed to sign his contract? How did he know where I worked even though I hadn’t given that information to anyone? I didn’t even have a job, yet. Heather never questioned it either.
Because she already knew.
My thoughts drift back to the graduation, when Heather approached me and gave me her number. Cannon was there, but where?
After the fight with Victor, it was me who’d called Heather and asked her to meet for drinks, but who paid our bill that night? Was it Cannon? Was he close by listening to our conversation?
Who paid for my hotel?
It was Heather who suggested Veil and took me there. Was she even a member, or was Cannon behind the whole thing?
Does Heather even like me, or is she pretending to be my friend for Cannon’s sake?
How does Desiree fit into this? Was she the one sending the roses? Or was it Cannon?
Desiree doesn’t strike me as the type to woo a woman on a man’s behalf.
And what about Victor? Sure, I left him, but why do I feel like he’s a part of this?
What did he mean when he said,“I don’t want to let you go, but I don’t have a choice.”
But the real question is,why?
Seems like a lot of work on Cannon’s part just to get me into bed.
Before I know it, the sun is up, and I’m even more angry, hurt, and confused than I was yesterday. I want answers, and the only person who can give them to me is Cannon, aka X.
TWENTY-TWO
