One Bossy Offer (71)

Her eyes gleam with sympathy as she nods. “Oh. Oh, right. I’m sorry, Miles.”

“It was a long time ago.”

And still just like yesterday, I think bitterly.

I pry the dark thoughts off my mind and set the scones down to cool, then quickly whip up my take on honey butter.

“These won’t be Lottie good, but they’re nothing to sneeze at.”

She smiles, drawing a happy breath. “Smells amazing. If we all had to live up to Gram’s cooking, we’d be so screwed.”

The way she bites into the scone a minute later and chews so intently says I did the job.

“I have to say, you don’t seem like a Marine,” she tells me.

“What does a Marine seem like?”

She doesn’t say anything, just picks up her scone and slathers it with more honey butter.

“I don’t know. Tough. Street smart.”

I snort. “You think I’m not?”

Again, she laughs.

“You’re scary. You paint landscapes and make property deals. You manage a multibillion-dollar media company and you look like you could knock down a linebacker. Also, you’re so rich—and a good cook—it’s just hard to imagine you sleeping in tents, scraping dehydrated food out of bags.”

“Tents are for officers. Everyone else sleeps on the ground like real jarheads. You’d be surprised how many CEOs in this town have done their four to eight years with Uncle Sam.”

She chews thoughtfully and swallows, sipping her sugar-milk.

“I suppose you’re right. Pippa said Brock did some time in the Air Force, and I know Lincoln Burns and Cole Lancaster also served.”

“Yeah. Veterans everywhere in the ranks. Discipline gets you a whole lot further than money ever will. War is business. It teaches you how to survive on no sleep and gut-rot coffee. You go forty-eight hours if you need to and you make your bed before you leave the house. It’s better training than any MBA degree for frat boys.” I shrug. “Grit’s worth its weight in gold.”

“Lucky you,” she whispers. “Yeah, if I hadn’t slept in two days, I’d just lie down on the ground and pass out.”

“You’d be court-martialed in no time.”

“But I didn’t leave. I just needed sleep...”

“I suppose beauty sleep is extra important for you, kitten.”

She looks up and sticks her tongue out.

“I hate you for making me like that stupid nickname.” She takes a bite of scone.

“As long as you hate me enough to keep fucking me like last night,” I growl, grabbing her hand and squeezing.

The lopsided smile she throws back says that’s a yes.

“So how long have you been painting?” she asks.

“Since I was a kid.”

“Impressive. The owl is definitely cool, but the paintings in the living room of my grandma’s house and your office are my favorite.”

I nod.

“The Narada Falls set—the ones in my office—that was my dad’s work. I had them put up after I became CEO. My father got me into painting originally. I can’t deny his style rubbed off on me.”

I stuff my face with scone so I don’t have to see the surprised look on her face. I don’t tell her Narada Falls was also my mother’s namesake and a contender for her favorite place on Earth, the spot where my father proposed when they were young.

“Pretty amazing. You’re both very talented.”

I nod my thanks.

“Is your Dad still around?”

“For now.” She looks at me like she’s expecting more, but I don’t elaborate, especially when I’ve already said too much. The words also come out more clipped than intended.

Fortunately, the distant dryer buzzes, sending the dogs skittering with excitement and giving me the distraction I need.

I throw back the rest of my coffee and scrounge up Jenn’s clothes.

As adorable as she is in my old t-shirt that hangs off her like a garbage bag, we both need to get to work at some point.

“Maybe I should Uber,” she says.

I throw her a look.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Benson has to take me in anyhow. You’d might as well come with.”

“Miles, if people see us get out of the car and walk into the office together, they’re going to talk.”

I shrug. “It’s just one night. We needed to get it out of our system, don’t you think?”

“One night. Sure.” She doesn’t look up from her second scone, and something about her tone rings hollow.

My gut clenches.

Is this dumbass honesty too much?

I clear my throat. “Obviously, we won’t make it a habit. But it’s stupid for us to go to work in separate cars. If anyone says anything, they can take it up with me, and I’ll tell them we had an early morning business meeting.”

Yep.

Definitely dumb. Definitely too honest.

She barely speaks to me during the ride in, and I’m annoyed as hell with myself for trying to quit her cold turkey when I can already feel my hunger building again.





Of all the stupid, shit-for-brains things you could’ve said...

By evening, I keep thinking I should call Jenn and try to smooth over my idiocy this morning, but when she mentioned people talking if we showed up in the same car, it was like a bucket of ice water being dumped on my head.