Page 23

It does nothing for the noise in my head.

Jeremy is already in the front passenger seat, one phone to his ear, the other in his hand, his thumbs moving fast as messages flood in from every direction.

Beside me, Aria is still breathing like she ran a mile barefoot and kissed a man she hates at the finish line.

Or maybe a man she doesn’t hate nearly enough.

My mouth still tastes like her.

That is a problem.

A serious one.

Because the kiss in my office had been bad enough—contained only by the thin thread of restraint I barely managed to hold onto.

The kiss outside?

That had been something else entirely.

That had been me forgetting, for one reckless, humiliating stretch of seconds, that there were cameras, consequences, and an entire trust board waiting to dissect every decision I make.

That had been me putting my hand on her ass in front of half the city because the second she touched me, reason left the building.

Dangerous doesn’t begin to cover it.

Jeremy glances at me in the rearview mirror. "That was ballsy."

Aria turns her head toward me, cheeks flushed, mouth kiss-swollen, eyes brighter than they should be. "You told me to sell it. Now everyone thinks I’m in love with you. I don’t think I could have been any more convincing."

My gaze catches on her mouth for half a second before I drag it away.

"The board will decide whether they believe us," I say. My voice sounds even, as if I still have control over the situation. Like I’m not one bad second away from hauling her back across my lap.

She blinks. "So this still might not work?"

Jeremy makes a sound that could be a cough or a laugh and wisely turns it into neither.

I look out the tinted window as the car pulls away from the arena.

I saw her the second she walked into the ballroom tonight.

Black dress. Bare shoulders. That slit running up one thigh, high enough to make a man think dirty thoughts in public. Her hair down. Her mouth painted in soft pink.

I hadn’t expected to see her again. Not after I fired her. In fact, I was counting on never seeing her again—it was the entire point of letting her go.

Seeing her tonight was unexpected.

And the second I did, every instinct I had demanded distance. So I kept mine.

I watched her from across the room like a masochist. Like a man with enough self-awareness to know exactly how bad an idea she was and not enough self-preservation to stop looking anyway.

That slit in her dress caught every time she moved.

I spent an entire conversation with a donor imagining tracing my fingers along the exposed line of her thigh to find out just how soft her skin is.

Then I went upstairs because distance felt smarter.

Because if Aria was downstairs looking like temptation wrapped in black silk, the last place I needed to be was anywhere near her.