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Twice.
The third timeis nota charm. It slips through my fingers and drops to the floor.
Theconcretefloor.
They can probably hear the crunch that rings out in the break room. If anyone is there to hear it, that is.
Royce picks up my iPhone, scanning it briefly before giving me an apologetic shrug. “So, I’m an ass, huh?” he asks, referring to my text. His eyes sparkle and around his mouth is a hint of a smile.
And that one look, that hint of vulnerability, causes me to slip. The floodgate of thoughts I’ve kept pent up comes pouring through.
Billionaire.
Boss to the third degree.
The man who fucked me until the lights shut off in my brain.
Something I crave as much as German chocolate cake.
No. No. No.
What Royce and I have…had, isn’t safe. Normal. Standard. He’d released a side of me I wished I kept hidden. He makes me weak. Needy. Way too invested. If I let him in now, I’ll fall backwards… and ultimately become lost.
“Mr. Grayson, do you mind?” I narrow my eyes and hold out my hand. I want my phone back. Nothing more.
He acts like he does not hear me as he turns my broken device over, looking at the back. “This can’t be…” He cuts off when he sees my look of discomfort.
Mr. Billionaire Boss can afford a new phone every year, but I’m not prepared to spend my money like that. Not if I want to save up enough to eventually quit my job and strike out as a photographer.
I have the cheapest plan on the planet and a busted phone. Who cares what people think?
Royce schools his features into blandness, and says rather gruffly, “This thing is ancient. Why don’t you have a new one?”
“Give me my phone, please,” I say in my sternest voice. It’s the one that makes my subordinates come up with solutions instead of excuses.
When he doesn’t respond, I make a move to snatch it.
I can’t.
His long arm shoots up in the air, keeping the phone out of my reach.
And just like that, I’m in high school all over again. From the time I was born, I’ve been in the 75th height percentile. That means I’m a smidge over average. Royce Grayson towers over me. He was a big man when I met him two years ago, and he’s even bigger now.
He could do some serious damage.
And I sure as hell want him to.
“Royce, give me my phone.”
His grin spells trouble. His words even more so. “That’s all I was waiting for, Sin. I wanted to hear my name come out of that damn sexy mouth of yours. I’ve been thinking about it all day.” He places the phone in my palm and his slight touch lights a trail of fire up my arm.
I ignore the sensation and glance at my phone.Besides a thin crack on the left-hand side, close to the top, the screen now has a spiderweb of lines starting in the lower right corner and progressing to the middle in a wide arc.
Terrific. Fine. Whatever.
My annoyance with him and his kind comes out in the harshness of my tone. “Don’t call me ‘Sin,’” I say, stuffing my phone in my bag.I’m going to the bar. To hell with this.
Whatever this is.
