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He jerks his head to Liam, and the two leave the room, so I settle into my chair for a respite while Ty drops into the one across from me.
“That wasn’t so bad,” he says, to which I cock my eyebrow, wondering if he was in the same room as me. He smiles. “She knows we won’t be letting her out of our sight, and as far as I can tell, she’s pissed but not planning to flee. Gage had to get that out of his system. It’s done. And if we didn’t already know, it’s clear she’s got the fight in her to survive what’s coming.”
“She’s a lot to rein in,” I muse.
I shouldn’t relish her fire so much, the way she pushes back at me, but I do. That spark of lightning. Every strike is a show of trust whether she realizes it or not. Trust in herself and, to a degree, trust in me. I need her compliant, not cowering. She certainly doesn’t disappoint.
But, Christ, she fucks with my head. My whole office smells like vanilla raspberry and erotic fantasies.
Ty chuckles, eyes creasing as though he’s in on a secret. “I think you’ll manage that just fine.”
“Maybe so, but not now. Go smooth things over with her. The last thing I need is her pushing boundaries. And get her to sign these damn papers.”
His lips curl into a smirk as he grabs the prenup. “Sure thing, Chief.”
My private jet is fueled and loaded with everyone but Gage and me. He stands beside me, holding his Black Rifle Coffee sipper and a pumpkin muffin. A muffin from the batch Ivy whipped up at the crack of dawn, claiming baking eases her anxiety. He already ate two at home.
I never got a private moment with him last night, and it’s important that I know where his head is at. “Do we need to discuss expectations for this trip?”
He scowls. “I confirmed my understanding yesterday.”
Nodding, I pat him on the back with a subtle smile. “Good muffins?”
He shoots me a sidelong glare before slipping his sunglasses on and trudging forward. “Yep. I bet Adam thought it was a tasty fucking apple in the garden too.” Backhanding my chest on his way toward the stairs, he laughs. “I’m good, I swear.”
If he says he is, that’s enough for me and one issue I can cross off my growing list. I scale the stairs, my own coffee in hand, and scan for Ivy. The guys wisely left the seat across from her empty, so she’s alone, reading.
Once seated, I call her name a couple of times, but she’s so engrossed in her book that nothing else exists. While I find that endearing, the termbook boyfriendthat she threw at Liam yesterday keeps assaulting me. I lean forward, skimming my hand over herlinen pants. She’s a vision of both class and comfort—olives and beiges. Half of her blazing locks are swirled into a braid on top of her head, leaving the back flowing, while wisps frame her face. Her silver necklace makes her peach skin shimmer above her scoop-neck tank.
She seems more like a doe than a storm in this light. Too pure for the world I’m about to thrust her into. And while I’m fairly confident she’ll thrive because we’re very good at what we do and we have anticipated the endless routes, she may very well hate me when all is said and done. It’s the one destination I can’t see clearly because at the end of this, her feelings about me won’t be a choice I can manipulate any longer. But whether she likes it or not, she’ll be tethered to me.
Mine.
I’ll have to let that be enough.
The touch of my hand on her leg forces her eyes up to me, innocent and sapphire today.
She pulls out her AirPods. “Hey.” She giggles. “Were you trying to get my attention?”
“You were immersed in your book.”
“Yeah.” She sighs. “It’s a villain romance, and I had the noise-canceling on the AirPods. The racket a plane makes can be imposing.”
“Villain romance?” Are her book boyfriends villains? That could work.
She wiggles her head, a whimsical grin coasting up her cheeks. “He’s bad news, but she can’t resist. Good in print, not in practice.”
“Right,” I reply, choosing not to read too deeply into that as I pull a small box from the pocket in my suit jacket and pass it to her.
She flashes me a questioning look, followed by a hard swallow.Nervous.
I reach over and tap the top of it. “Open it.”
Her breath catches as she does, eyes flitting between me and the ring—a rare square stormy-blue diamond, bold in both size and clarity, surrounded by smaller white diamonds that continue downthe band. “Wow.” Voice raw and real. “I didn’t think … when did you? It’s stunning. So elegant. I wasn’t expecting …”
As much as her sharp tongue arouses me, I find it being tiedcharming. “It’s important the engagement and the marriage come across as authentic. A ring was necessary.”
“Of course.” She straightens in her seat, composing herself as I’m sure her mother has schooled her. “You have impeccable taste. It’s exactly as I would have chosen for myself, so consider the authenticity nailed.” She begins lifting it from the box but hesitates. “May I?”
