Page 23 of Ever Mine

“I didn’t say that.”

He grins. “You didn’t have to. You’ve got that look. The one that says you’re trying to talk yourself out of something you already did.”

I exhale, staring at the ceiling. “This was meant to be simple. It’s not.”

“Nothing worth having ever is,” he says. “You can keep pretending it’s theoretical, or you can admit it’s real and figure out what you want.”

I look at him, the words hitting harder than I’d like. “That’s uncharacteristically profound for a man who once sent an apology bouquet to a woman he ghosted.”

“Hey, growth,” he says, smirking. Then, more gently: “If she’s making you think like this, Thorne, maybe stop fighting it.”

I stand, needing distance before he says anything else insightful. I go and stand at the window. “I’ll… consider your unsolicited wisdom.”

I realize Ford’s right.

I’m not fighting Addison because she’s a complication.

I’m fighting her because she makes everything feel real.

And that terrifies the hell out of me.

chapter

eleven

Addison

If I were a rational human, I’d be at my desk pretending everything was fine. Instead, I’m holding a coffee that’s already gone cold and pacing outside Mia’s office like a woman rehearsing her own bad decisions.

I just need a sanity check. That’s all. A little post-research debrief. Maybe advice from a woman who seems to have her life—and her love story—together.

But when I reach Mia’s door, I hear voices from the next office over. Ford’s office.

Thorne’s voice.

I freeze before my brain can tell my feet to move.

“…I didn’t plan for any of this,” Thorne is saying, his tone clipped but frustrated.

Ford snorts. “You never plan anything that involves feelings. But damn, Thorne, seducing an employee? That’s a new one, even for you.”

My stomach drops.

Seducing.

“Oh, don’t make it sound sordid,” Thorne mutters. “It wasn’t like that.”

Ford laughs under his breath. “Well, as long as you’re not just using her for research for your own novel, Rosie, I’ll let it pass.”

Silence.

My heart slams into my ribs.

Rosie?

I step back, nearly spilling my coffee. My pulse is a roar in my ears as I stumble away from the doorway, back down the hall toward my office.

By the time I shut the door behind me, my hands are shaking so badly I can barely type.