Yourstruly

nde?
Why would he—?
"Um." I clear my throat,

ake a seat," he says, pointing to a chair behind the counter. "I'll help with this. Your hands are trembling."

I glance down. He's right. They're shaking — courtesy of Mr. Hermes Grande.

"So, the CEO instructed you to do this?" he asks, already feeding a file into the machine.

I massage my wrist. "What do you think?"

Chris chuckles softly. "Wow, he's going full-on with you. Well, it's kinda reassuring to see you handling it just fine."

I blink. What?

I raise my gaze, conf

careful, but her fingers hesitate just a beat too long, and the cup tilts.
My hand shoots out

fuck her mouth and hands on the private jet

pause, my forehead resting against hers, breathing her in. My hand lingers on her thigh, my thumb brushing slowly. My voice drops, low and almost rough:
"Did I ever tell you… what I did to Chris?"