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She looks up and sticks her tongue out.
“I hate you for making me like that stupid nickname.” She takes a bite of scone.
“As long as you hate me enough to keep fucking me like last night,” I growl, grabbing her hand and squeezing.
The lopsided smile she throws back says that’s a yes.
“So how long have you been painting?” she asks.
“Since I was a kid.”
“Impressive. The owl is definitely cool, but the paintings in the living room of my grandma’s house and your office are my favorite.”
I nod.
“The Narada Falls set—the ones in my office—that was my dad’s work. I had them put up after I became CEO. My father got me into painting originally. I can’t deny his style rubbed off on me.”
I stuff my face with scone so I don’t have to see the surprised look on her face. I don’t tell her Narada Falls was also my mother’s namesake and a contender for her favorite place on Earth, the spot where my father proposed when they were young.
“Pretty amazing. You’re both very talented.”
I nod my thanks.
“Is your Dad still around?”
“For now.” She looks at me like she’s expecting more, but I don’t elaborate, especially when I’ve already said too much. The words also come out more clipped than intended.
Fortunately, the distant dryer buzzes, sending the dogs skittering with excitement and giving me the distraction I need.
I throw back the rest of my coffee and scrounge up Jenn’s clothes.
As adorable as she is in my old t-shirt that hangs off her like a garbage bag, we both need to get to work at some point.
“Maybe I should Uber,” she says.
I throw her a look.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Benson has to take me in anyhow. You’d might as well come with.”
“Miles, if people see us get out of the car and walk into the office together, they’re going to talk.”
I shrug. “It’s just one night. We needed to get it out of our system, don’t you think?”
“One night. Sure.” She doesn’t look up from her second scone, and something about her tone rings hollow.
My gut clenches.
Is this dumbass honesty too much?
I clear my throat. “Obviously, we won’t make it a habit. But it’s stupid for us to go to work in separate cars. If anyone says anything, they can take it up with me, and I’ll tell them we had an early morning business meeting.”
Yep.
Definitely dumb. Definitely too honest.
She barely speaks to me during the ride in, and I’m annoyed as hell with myself for trying to quit her cold turkey when I can already feel my hunger building again.
Of all the stupid, shit-for-brains things you could’ve said...
By evening, I keep thinking I should call Jenn and try to smooth over my idiocy this morning, but when she mentioned people talking if we showed up in the same car, it was like a bucket of ice water being dumped on my head.
It woke me up from a dream I never knew I wanted, not before we—
Fuck.
There’s no denying I lose my mind when she’s around. My brain transfers all thought control to my dick.
And last night, nothing made it through my head except how fatally gorgeous she is, how right she feels in my arms, how magnificently she lights up with every kiss.
What people might say about me—or more importantly, her—was the furthest thing from my mind.
The worst part is, I know there’s no hiding this thing we’ve started, if we decide to keep it going.
How could I ever have her in the same meeting room without people noticing how starved I am every time I look at her?
“Mr. Cromwell?”
The knocking doesn’t wait for me to answer before my office door swings open.
Bradley’s face is red and pinched tight, but that isn’t what screams there’s something wrong.
The bearish head of my company’s public relations and my personal reputation manager never blows into my office announced.
What now?
“What’s the matter? Don’t tell me, the charity gala in Medina tonight?” I ask, my mind snapping to the first thing that springs to mind. “We already have two teams covering it and plenty of freelancers for support. Our stations will be the first to report a nipple slip or drunken insult, so you don’t have to worry.”
Bradley just stands there, shifting his bulk uncomfortably.
Not good.
Whatever he’s here to tell me is bad news, the kind with no easy fix.
“It’s your side project and—ahem, Miss Unmentionable.”
Miss Unmentionable?
Is Jenn right? Has the talk about us already started right under my nose?
Damnation.
I’m going to be in damage control very soon, if that’s the case, and I’m not sure even Bradley can help me with that.
“Cut the shit. What side project?”
“Your Pinnacle Pointe tourism project,” he says nervously, bowing his head.
Fuck.
“And Miss Landers has done something to warrant a visit from PR?”
He quirks a brow. “Miss Landers? No. I’m sorry, sir, I should be more specific. Pacific-Resolute just released an exclusive story on Pinnacle Pointe around noon. It’s all over their major channels, and it’ll be trickling into the papers tomorrow for sure.”
