She tells me about her family—her mom, stepdad, siblings. Her eyes light up when she talks about Tiana, her step-sister, and the chaos they grew up in together. When Mya mentions her little brother, her smile softens, and I can already see how protective she is of him. She admits she’s a die-hard Cowboysfan, courtesy of her late father, and there’s a flash of pain there that she quickly hides with practiced ease.
Then she drops something else, almost shyly. “I’ve always had this thing for old vinyl records. I’ve been slowly building a collection, when I can afford it. There’s just something about the sound, you know? Imperfect but real.”
When it’s my turn, I tell her about Brianna—her quirks, sass, the way she’s grown into her own too fast for my liking. I talk about Henson and how we built W.H.M. from nothing, and about Griffin, who’s been with us since day one. Mya listens intently, as if she’s genuinely interested, and it disarms me more than I want to admit.
The conversation is easy, almost too easy. I laugh more than I should. She teases me, rolls her eyes, calls me out when I dodge a question. For a while, it feels like we’re not CEO and employee, just two people eating takeout in a hotel room.
And it’s… nice.
But beneath it, a dangerous truth hums: my attraction to her isn’t just physical. It’s in the way she looks at me, the way she listens, the way her laugh pulls me apart and puts me back together again.
And that terrifies me.
Because I can’t allow myself the luxury of falling for someone. Not when my company is scaling faster than ever. Not when Brianna is a teenager who needs every ounce of me. Even more now with Vanessa trying to claw her way back into our lives.
So I shove it down, drowning the thought. But no matter how hard I try, Mya lingers like a fingerprint I can’t scrub off.
24
MYA
The week flies by, and before I know it, we’re back at the airport, waiting for the company jet to be ready for boarding.
After that night Worth ordered room service for me, no lines were crossed beyond that one kiss I baited out of him by dropping Ethan’s name. Since then, nothing. No stolen touches, no testing my boundaries.
A part of me is relieved. The other part aches, like something is missing.
But it’s better this way.
Until I’ve told my colleagues, family and friends about our “relationship,” I’d rather keep him at arm’s length.
Ethan appears at my side, holding out a paper cup.
“Here’s your latte, Mya. Oat milk, no sugar.”
Just how I like it. If I were even a little interested in him, this would’ve been a winning move. Ethan has been kind, thoughtful, and always circling just close enough to make his intentions obvious. Eventually, I’ll have to tell him I’m not interested before he gets the wrong idea.
“Thanks, E,” I say, taking a sip. The warm bitterness blooms across my tongue and I can’t help the moan that slips out around the rim of the cup.
Ethan grins, but my gaze shifts across the terminal.
Worth is watching, as always.
At this point, I’m convinced Worth Miller missed his calling as a professional stalker. One of these days, I’m going to start charging him rent for all the space he occupies in my line of sight.
He’s standing with Seraya and one of the project leads, his broad shoulders framed by his suit jacket, phone in hand, only half-listening to whoever’s speaking. And his eyes are locked on me.
My stomach flips. That unreadable mask of his makes it impossible to tell what he’s thinking, though I know one thing for sure: he noticed Ethan’s nice gesture.
I tear my gaze away, pretending to be fascinated with the coffee lid. Ethan starts talking about the meetings we wrapped up yesterday, but the words blur. Worth’s stare is like static over my skin.
When I finally glance back, he’s typing something into his phone.
My phone buzzes against my palm, and I glance down.
Worth:
If you take another sip of that coffee, I’m going to march over there and dump it over the fucker’s head.