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"I have a plan. Six months is all I need. The rest of my team will be covered and I’ll have fulfilled my contract. He’s not chasing me off. He’s not wearing me down.”
All you have to do is stay off the man’s dick.
Easy.
"You don't have to go in today though,” he suggested.
"This is work. It's the one thing I've got that gives me an anchor. I’m never going to let him run me off."
Inside the lobby, he took my hand and squeezed it. "Look, don't make any rash decisions, okay? Just try and make it through one day at a time. Are we still on for lunch?"
I winced. "You know, let me play it by ear. I might not be up to it."
"That's fair. But I've got you."
In the lobby, I saw one of Gavin's other men. The same black suit uniform. Short haircut, not entirely cropped, but still military-ish. Same shrewd, assessing gaze as he scanned the lobby. "Don't worry about me. I got this."
Instead of going to the office I temporarily used sometimes on the third floor, I took the elevator all the way up to the top floor. On the days I had come in, I told myself if I was on the third floor, there was no way in hell I would ever run into Atticus if he ever had to be in London.
Well, how wrong you were.
My mind oh so helpfully replayed the other morning for me. Atticus kissing me, sucking on my nipples, groaning about how much he’d missed me, telling me I was his. Always his.
Jesus Christ.
I reached the top floor, and the elevator doors slid open. There was a man behind the desk. Young, fastidious, clean-shaven with assessing eyes. He pushed to his feet immediately. "Hello, Miss Becker."
I clenched my jaw tight. "Is Atticus in?"
"Yes, Miss, right this way."
I could have corrected him, but honestly, I was exhausted. And truly, what was I going to say? Any response would just slice right through my heart, and I was in no mood for that.
When I opened the door, I found Atticus leaning over his desk reviewing something. He stood up straight when he saw me. "Gwen, hi."
"Hi."
"You look… um, good."
"You're a shitty liar. I look like ass."
There was that lopsided smile again, making my heart squeeze. "No. No one would say that. You always look beautiful."
"Now I know you're really full of shit. So, I have questions. With you here, should I go back to New York? Or if I go, will you just follow me?"
He frowned. "New York? I thought you'd gotten used to being here."
"It doesn't matter where I am. I just want to do my job to the best of my ability. Without getting my heart shattered every other day."
He shook his head. "Gwen, I'm sorry."
"We covered that already, Atticus. I don't want to do this thing where you and I go back and forth. You tell me you're sorry. I tell you I don't believe you. And then we fight. I'm tired, Atticus. I want my life back. The life I had before I met you when I had my work, my employees, a couple of friends, and that's what I did."
"I'm sorry, Gwen, I can't give you that."
"Yes, so you said. So now I'm asking, what do I get?"
He crossed his arms and sat on his desk. "What you get is me."
