Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
It’s a documentary reel of Oliver’s rise to the top, one perfectly matted document at a time. For a second, it kind of punches me. He’s always so relaxed with me, all warm hands and dirty jokes and soft murmurs, but here? This is his arena. His turf. He runs every inch of this place, and yeah, I know he’s a genius at what he does, but being here makes it feel… bigger. Permanent.
Like, holy hell, this is the guy who whispers dirty words in my ear and kisses the hickey on my neck before breakfast, and he’s also the guy who built this empire out of nothing. I grip the envelope tighter, heart thumping in a weird new way.
The hallways twist and turn, every corner more intimidating than the last, until Helen finally stops in front of a set of double doors. She gives me the tiniest wink and pushes the handle.
“Go on in. He’s waiting for you.”
For the next ten seconds, I’m frozen in the doorway, staring at the sunlight pouring through Oliver’s floor-to-ceiling windows, the real-deal mahogany desk, the whole Worthington Hills skyline spread out behind him.
And then I step inside, taking one last deep breath, letter in hand, ready for whatever happens next.
The door closes with a soft thunk behind me, but Oliver’s already on his feet.
He’s pure alpha right now—tall, looming behind that slab of a desk, all intense eyes and crisp lines. The city sprawls behind him through glass walls, a sun-drenched sea of rooftops and neat little grids, but he doesn’t even glance at it. He’s locked in on me, chin set, eyes soft with concern.
“Cydney, is everything all right?” There’s a note of protectiveness that hits me right in the sternum.
I take two steps onto the extra-thick carpet and try to look less like I just ran a marathon on pure caffeine and existential dread. “I, um… not really. I got a letter this morning. The building’s being sold.” I hand over the envelope and blurt out in a rush, “It pretty much says our lease isn’t guaranteed after six months. Tessa and I could lose Gobble Me Up.”
He takes it from me, fingers brushing mine, and I catch the tiny flare in his eyes like he’s already assessing the threat and lining up every chess move. Oliver slides the page out and scans it, brow tightening as he reads.
For the next ten seconds, I try not to crumble. His eyes dart back, scanning the fine print, then up to meet mine. I see the exact second his frown flips into something confident—a quiet, no-bullshit conviction that radiates out and makes every molecule in the room stand at attention.
He drops the envelope gently on the polished surface, every move so deliberate it’s almost hypnotic.
“Don’t worry about this,” he tells me, voice low and serious. “I know the current owners. I’ll make sure your lease is protected, no matter who ends up buying the building. If someone tries to endanger Gobble Me Up, they’ll have to get through me first.”
My breath actually catches. It’s like there was a steel band around my ribs, and suddenly, it snaps—relief flooding in, hot and dizzying. My hands tingle; my knees almost buckle.
He sees it and steps closer, closing the distance until I can smell the faint trace of his aftershave and the powder-clean scent of his shirt. One big hand lands gently on my shoulder as the other wraps around my waist.
“Hey,” he says, softer now, thumb stroking once along my collarbone. “I won’t let anyone take Gobble Me Up away from you. I’ll buy the goddamn building myself if I have to.”
My heart thumps so hard I’m half convinced he’s going to see it through my shirt. There’s a second where I’m just standing there, frozen like a total idiot, brain not computing anything but the fact that this man is ready to pull out his checkbook and buy a literal apartment building for me.
“That’s…” I swallow so hard it’s embarrassing. “Holy cow, Oliver. That’s insane. I don’t even know what to say.”
He gives me one of those slow, lopsided grins that should be illegal in all fifty states. “You don’t have to say anything, sweetheart. I told you, I’ll take care of you. Nobody’s taking your shop, your home, or anything else you love. Not while I’m around.”
I blink, still trying to catch up, but all the terror from this morning is dissolving under a tidal wave of hot, dizzy relief. My knees actually wobble. He tugs me close to his muscular body and leans over to cover my lips with his.
Everything inside me melts. Just totally, instantly, melts. I don’t even care that I’m standing in the middle of his office with my hair all wild and my nerves jangling. Nothing matters except the way Oliver’s mouth claims mine, slow and sure, warm and steady, promising the whole damn world if I’ll just let him.