Worth:
How so?
I growl under my breath. He’s playing dumb, and it’s infuriating.
You’re kidding, right? You just gifted me a silk robe that probably cost more than my entire suitcase and its contents, and you’re sending a massage therapist to my room. And you asked me to marry you just days ago. This is a clear line crossing, Mr. Miller.
Worth:
If the robe is worth more than your clothes, then we need to take you shopping, Ms. Jones.
I bury my face into the pillow and groan.
Besides the point.
Worth:
Just enjoy it, Mya. You were stressed the entire plane ride. I feel bad that you suffered at our expense.
I pause. That’s… almost sweet. Almost.
It’s fine, really. Ethan gave me sleeping pills so I was able to snooze for a few hours.
His next reply takes longer, and when it comes, my stomach drops.
Worth:
He’s fired.
Shit. No, no, no.
I jab at the screen and press his number. He answers on the first ring, irritation already lacing his voice.
“Ms. Jones.”
“Don’t fire him.”
“I do what I want. And right now, I want to fire his punk ass.”
I scoff. “What did he ever do to you? From what I know, he’s a great employee.”
“Yeah, well he’s overstepping.”
“Just like you are?”
The line goes silent, and it stretches so long I almost think he hung up.
“Worth?”
His voice comes back low. “Watch it, Mya.”
I grip the phone tighter, pulse fluttering. “Why? Because I pointed out the hypocrisy? Or because I’m right?”
Another pause. I imagine him sitting somewhere in his perfectly pressed shirt, jaw tight, eyes narrowed the way they do when he’s seconds from snapping.
“You don’t get to compare me to him. Ethan doesn’t get to put his hands where they don’t belong.”
Heat rushes up my neck. “Neither do you.” Though the memory of his hand on mine—of hislipson mine—flashes through me like lightning.