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And I blink rapidly, hoping to find some clarity in the whirlwind that’s now upending my world.
It’s like I’m in the goddamn Wizard of Oz. But, instead of it being a dream, it’s my reality—I’m being thrown into a dangerous, time-warping vortex, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
I lick my lips, trying to bring some moisture to my mouth and some semblance of life back to my body.
“Ex-excuse me? W-what?” I stutter and shake my head in disbelief.
“Given the current state of our stocks, which is a direct result of your feud and reckless stunts, we have no other choice but to change the narrative and make it seem as if this whole thing was a lover’s spat. Not a business disagreement,” Mark restates.
If he wasn’t spouting profanities at me, I would think Mark cute: salt and pepper hair with emerald green eyes. He might be a bit older, but, sometimes, maturity is a good thing.
It’s a type of quality that Tanner has yet to acquire.
Another director on my board, Michael, follows up, continuing to describe some of the finer details.
“For our industry, spinning this as a spat between lovers makes sense. It is relatable, and our consumers will understand. You will get engaged, and we’ll leak everything to the press. I’m sure Lis Langley will have a field day with this.” He raises his eyebrows and a few of the other directors laugh at his oh-so-humorous joke.
Are you fucking kidding me? Get engaged? To Tanner!?
No matter how many times they say it, I still can’t believe it.
My body starts to go numb, and I’m beginning to feel like I’ve died and am now floating above my body, watching as my world implodes below.
“How in the hell do you think that’ll work?” Tanner asks, looking all too comfortable given the current situation.
One of the directors goes into a lengthy explanation, answering his question, while I get distracted by him and my raging thoughts.
He looks agitated but not enough for our current situation. Nothing close to matching my fury.
Why isn’t he fuming? Why isn’t he freaking out about this?
A day ago, he was humiliating me, and now he’s fine with being engaged to me.
He’s fucking Jekyll and Hyde.
And it’s shit like this—his unpredictability—that made marrying him a terrible idea. One of the many reasons why I so vehemently ran away from it.
Sure, what we had was powerful and exhilarating. But it was too good to be true.
Something like that—like us—is dangerous.
Don’t get me wrong, once upon a time I dreamed of being Mrs. Sharpe. Running the lingerie world by his side as Mr. and Mrs.
And, in our time, we were damn good at it.
So naturally, and very briefly, it makes me think that this ridiculous plan could work.
Seeing as we have a past, it wouldn’t be hard to spin it as a fight or whatever the hell they’re calling it.
My mind veers off as I stare at him. His muscles tense, outlining his chiseled features, and he runs his hand through his chestnut hair, styling it in a perfectly groomed but messy way.
I hate how attractive he is, even when he’s hungover—it’s not fucking fair.
Maybe, it could be like last time—hot, passionate, magnetic.
Admittedly, parts of me still ache for him. And his steel grey eyes continue to send chills down my spine and heat up my body.
Watching him now sitting across from me, biting and licking his lips, has me reminiscing about the times we had together.
