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A whiskery face comes into view, snuffling at Priya’s camera. Rusty’s purr thrums through the phone speakers.
“There’s my handsome prince!”
I know I sound insane. But I don’t care, because Rusty hasnevermessed with my emotions or made me feel all fluttery and unhinged. He’s a very straightforward cat.
I feed him; he loves me. The rules of our relationship are clear.
“How are the Boring Bamfords?” Priya’s voice is distant, echoing across the kitchen. I shrug, though she can’t see me.
“Stuffy as hell.”
“Gross,” she says. “Hope that boss of yours pays you extra overtime.”
I cringe, tapping the phone screen with a fingernail. Does an orgasm in a hedge maze count? I forgot I was being paid for this weekend. Rusty bucks his head against the phone, like I’m really petting him—and he blocks out Priya’s words, but when she filters back in, my stomach churns.
“…can’t believe you’ve loved this guy for years.”
“Hey, you thinkyourboss is hot.”
“I said he’s handsome,” she corrects, knocking a spoon against a pan. Rusty purrs and drools on the camera, smudging the image. “You know, objectively speaking. But I’m not attracted to him at all. Although—”
She cuts off, slamming a drawer shut.
Uh-huh.
“You’re telling me everything when I get home.”
“Likewise.” The suite door opens and Sebastian slips inside, and I don’t have time to warn Priya before she says, “Now go screw your grumpy boss so you have some good stories.”
I splutter, cheeks flushing.
Rusty meows.
Sebastian raises an eyebrow.
“Gotta go,” I rush out, hanging up, but the damage is done. He’s standing there, all tall and broody and knowing. His bronze hair is pushed back from his forehead, and with his muscles and that jawline, he could be one of the statues on a plinth in the gardens.
Sebastian slides his hands into his pockets, then strolls forward to the edge of the bed.
“That was Rusty,” I say.
My boss hums. “Your cat is salacious.”
“And my roommate Priya.”
The faintest smile. “I see.”
He’s not mad? My phone thunks against the nightstand, and I draw my knees up, twiddling my thumbs next to my chest. This bed is so huge that I’m lost in an ocean of high thread count sheets.
What is he thinking? Is he obsessing over what happened in the maze too? Has he moved on already? What happened back there at dinner?
Aaah!
“I don’t want overtime,” I blurt. Sebastian tilts his head, waiting for me to go on, and those gray eyes are like the winter ocean. “I don’t want you to pay me for this. It’s—it’s weird.”
“Alright,” he agrees slowly. “Then I don’t want it to be fake.”
I turn to stone, going rigid against the headboard. “You… you don’t?”
