Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 22067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 110(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 110(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
I reluctantly back up, knowing the truth when I hear it. "So that's it, then? You never dated?"
"Why bother? My parents were crazy about each other. They both swore by this. But then all of a sudden, they just...weren't."
"And you still haven't met anyone capable of changing your mind?"
Her gaze drops to my mouth, and then she quickly looks away.
"Nope."
The air between us shifts, charged with something that neither of us is ready to acknowledge.
Shayla straightens, and I see a mask fall into place.
Ah.
"I've just remembered. You have a meeting in fifteen minutes."
Shayla has slipped back into her role as my ever-efficient secretary, and I realize now that this is nothing but a role for her to hide behind.
"I'll go and have the boardroom set up."
From life. The world. And me as well, probably.
"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Kontides?"
She doesn't wait for an answer.
Typical.
But what's not typical is how she has me staring as she leaves the room.
I want her.
And I have no idea what the hell am I supposed to do about this.
SHAYLA
I make it to the women's restroom before my composure cracks. My hands shake as I grip the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection.
What just happened?
I can't believe he still hasn't fired me, even though he knows about everything.
My fake wedding.
Fake divorce.
And all the other messier things that I don't yet have the strength to think about.
The look in his eyes when he cornered me against the bookshelf—I've never seen him look at me like that before. Like he was seeing me for the first time.
Take off that ring.
Why does he care so much?
I twist it around my finger, a habit formed over nearly a decade.
So that's it, then? You never dated? And you still haven't met anyone capable of changing your mind?"
The answer I gave him...
It's the only answer you can give, I remind myself.
So don't let him bother you!
I straighten my blouse and check my appearance one last time.
Focus, self.
I can't let this...this mess bother me.
I...regret saying personal stuff about him, and I still intend to apologize to him about that.
Because truthfully?
I love my job. I love working for him. And so I can't let anything...messy destroy the life I've painstakingly worked hard for in the past nine years.
So just do what you usually do, and pretend everything's normal!
Chapter Five
SHAYLA
THE COURTHOUSE FEELS like a pressure cooker, but as much as I want to think it's because of the high stakes involved in the whistleblower lawsuit we're handling—
It's not.
And I'd only be fooling myself pointlessly if I said it was.
I slide into the bench and place Adriano's briefcase precisely where he likes it—right side, handle facing outward. I arrange his notepad and pens in perfect alignment. His coffee (black, boring, and scalding hot, just the way he likes it) on a black marble coaster to the left.
It's been a couple of days since the night he found out about my fake marriage (and divorce, but let's not be petty and start counting lies). And since then, we've both avoided looking into each other's eyes and doing our best to act like nothing's changed.
Because nothing has.
Really.
And then I feel it.
His presence.
Even before the courtroom starts buzzing, I already know he's arrived, but I keep my eyes on my notepad even as he reaches his seat.
"Good morning, Mr. Kontides."
"Shayla."
Hearing him say my name startles me into looking up—
Ugh.
I regret it immediately, with the way my heart starts banging so loudly, I'm afraid it will get people to wonder if the courtroom's haunted, and we have with us some ghostly judge pounding its invisible gavel in condemnation of our poor unfortunate souls.
Control yourself, self!
But the opposite happens as I hand him the case folder, and our fingers accidentally brush.
Yikes!
I barely keep myself from flinching as electricity jolts through both of us.
Stop sparking, sparks!
"You look pale," my boss observes broodingly.
"I'm fine."
"Did you eat breakfast?"
Since when does Adriano Kontides care about my eating habits?
"I had coffee."
"Coffee isn't food."
"Says the man who considers espresso a food group."
He almost smiles. Almost. But because I'm suddenly terrified of what could happen if he does.
"The judge is in a mood today," I relay under my breath.
"And you trust your sources about this?"
I nod.
"Thank you." I'm pretty sure he'll find a way to use this to his advantage, just like how he always does. He's the kind of man you never want to lower your guard around. Give him an inch, and he'll end up taking a mile.
"Anything else?"
I consider his question seriously, and that's when I see it.
Double ugh.
But...I've done this a thousand times before, and so all I can do is croak out the truth.
"Your tie's crooked."
So please, please, please just fix it yourself.
But instead, my boss keeps his gaze on the documents as he says, "Fix it then."
Grrrr.
I reach for his silk tie with hands that stupidly tremble. I do my best to ignore the muscular heat of his chest.