27
WORTH
It’s Friday, and I’m a goddamn wreck.
Tonight, Mya is supposed to come over for dinner and officially meet Brianna. As mygirlfriend.
The word feels foreign on my tongue. And yet, I’ve caught myself repeating it in my head all week.
We’ve been not-so careful at the office, sneaking moments where someone might catch us close enough to stir suspicion. Her bent over my desk while I “point out corrections,” my hand brushing her back a second too long in the breakroom, our heads tipped together over blueprints. Subtle enough to be deniable, suggestive enough to fuel gossip.
It worked.
On Wednesday, HR rolled out the revised fraternization rules, and within hours, three other couples came forward like roaches under light. Turns out I wasn’t the only one breaking my own damn policy.
Now, I’d bet my last dollar people are whispering about me and Mya.
I grab my phone and shoot mygirlfrienda text.
Minutes later, there’s a knock, and then Mya slips inside my office, shutting the door behind her. She’s in wide-leg slacks,blouse tucked in, glasses perched on her nose. Christ. Every time she wears those glasses, my blood runs hotter. Like I want to ruin her in the filthiest ways and then straighten them back on her face after.
I nod at the chair opposite my desk, but she doesn’t sit. She plants a hand on her hip instead.
“What is it, Worth?”
No pleasantries, straight to the point. “Did you tell Ethan?”
Her brows knit. “Tell Ethan what?”
“That you and I are dating.”
“No.” Her answer comes quickly, clipped. She crosses her arms. “Why would I? He’s been avoiding me, so he’s probably heard, anyway.”
“Good,” I say. “Better off that way.”
The thought of Ethan anywhere near her grates in ways I don’t understand. Jealousy isn’t an emotion I’ve ever entertained, but with Mya, it’s instinct. It doesn’t matter that what we have is staged, signed, and bound by circumstance.
Her eyes roll. She’s perfected that move with me. And god help me, it makes me want to pin her against the wall every damn time.
“Tread lightly, Ms. Jones,” I murmur, leaning back in my chair, deliberately letting my gaze drag over her face. “One of these days, I’m going to make sure those pretty eyes stay rolled back for an entirely different reason.”
Her lips part, color blooming across her cheeks, but she doesn’t fire back right away. Which means she’s thinking about it—imagining what it would be like. Exactly the reaction I want.
I smirk, satisfied. “Back to work. I’ll see you tonight.”
She turns on her heel with a muttered, “You’re the worst,” and storms out, but not before I catch the way her fingers tighten around the doorknob, as if she’s holding herself together.
It’s evening,and I’m pacing the kitchen like a caged animal. Maggie swats me away from the stove for the third time.
“Shoo, Worth. You’re making me nervous. Since when doyouget jittery?”
I grunt, pretending to check the oven. She’s right, I’m never nervous. But tonight is different.
Brianna is perched at the island, chipper as always. She keeps sneaking glances at me, like she’s been waiting her whole life for this moment.
I check the time again. Almost eight. Which means?—
The doorbell rings.