“I don’t understand why it always comes down to that.” I admit. “’I give everyone the same deadlines that you once gave to me.”

He lets out a low laugh that sends butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

“Thank you for making me waste my time on a phone call with you,” I say. “I’ll see you at the office, and—”

“I’m not laughing at you.” He interrupts. “I’m laughing at the idea that you honestly expect your coworkers to have the same work ethic as you do. If you gave them the same amount of time I gave you, then you can only expect half of the work. Give them an extension, or hire more people if you want it done to your standard.”

I sit still for several seconds, stunned by his compliment.

“Is there anything else, Miss Grey?”

“Yes.” I clear my throat and pull out my planner. “Mr. Warner sent me an email requesting that we push back our Rockefeller Plaza meeting by an hour. I told him that was fine, but I’ll still need to leave at eight.”

“For the date with your boyfriend, correct?”

“Yes.” I pause. “He’s meeting me for dinner right after his flight gets in.”

“Hmmm. Did you settle on a dress yet?”

“I’m still debating between a few options.”

“Which ones?”

I’m tempted to say, “None of your business,” but he has good fashion sense. That, and Georgia previously suggested wearing a ‘Distance makes us closer’ T-shirt and jeans.

“There’s three.” I stand to my feet and walk into my bedroom. Opening my closet, I hit the lights and head over to the options.

“There’s the pink and white A-line one that I wore a few weeks ago at the Donovan meeting, the black one I wore last month at the charity ball, and a brand-new navy blue one that I haven’t worn yet.”

“You look good in dark blue, so you should wear that one,” he says. “Where’d you buy it from?”

“Versace … My boyfriend bought it for me.”

“Your boyfriend brags about buying his suits off the clearance rack,” he says. “I doubt that he would ever set foot in that store.”

I don’t bother denying that. I hold back a laugh and take it off the hanger. “Thank you for your help.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Silence.

In moments like this, I almost feel like we’re friends—that maybe, just maybe, we can have a conversation that doesn’t end with me hanging up in his face.

“I was about to get in the shower when you called, Miss Grey,” he says. “So, unless you plan to come over and join me—sans the boyfriend, I’d like to get off the phone now.”

Welp, so much for that.

I end the call and begin granting extensions for my colleagues.

THREE

Garrett

This Christmas

Manhattan, New York

“Mr. West! Mr. West! How serious are the rumors about your company purchasing Netflix? Does this mean you’re selling your shares of YouTube?”

I ignore questions from the press as I walk out of the Empire State Building. I’ve just given them three hours of my time and allowed them to ask whatever questions they wanted, but of course, it’s never enough.

I make a beeline through their huddle and slip into my younger brother Seth’s town car.

The moment I shut the door, his driver speeds toward West Media headquarters.

“You know, this might be the first time that you looked like a CEO who gives a damn at a press conference.” Seth smiles. “I almost believed that you had a heart while you were up there. Good job.”

“Fuck you, Seth.”

He laughs and pulls a bright green box from his briefcase. “Here. Dad wanted me to give this to you.”

I grab it, placing it between us.

“You’re not going to open it?”

“Not without calling the bomb squad first.”

“He bought you a pen.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s an engraved pen that says, ‘I miss our old holidays & I’m sorry,’ in case you want to know. He also wrote you a short letter. I’m sure it’s a bit different from the one he gave to me, but …”

I tune out his voice and look out the window. Stop and go traffic is far more interesting than anything my father has to say after years of treating me like nothing.

A switch went off for him the moment he lost my mother, and he transformed into a coldhearted bastard who raised his children like soldiers instead of sons. As far as I was concerned, our relationship wasn’t worth the years of circuitry and labor it cost to fix.

He’s not sorry about anything. He needs money.

I let out a sigh and pull out my phone. I scroll down to Savannah’s name to send her a quick text.

Me: My father is attempting to play the sympathy card again. How much money did I send him last time? I forgot.

Her response is instant as always.

S. Grey (She’s Not Yours…): Fifty-thousand. I advised you to send seventy-five. Would you like me to send the remainder now? (How sure are you about the blue dress?)

Me: Yes. Thank you. (500%)

I tap my fingers against the screen, wanting to ask for a picture of her wearing this dress, but I know that’s crossing the line.

The two of us dance around each other every day—somehow never spinning into one another. The tension between us is palpable and ever-present, but we pretend like it doesn’t exist.

S. Grey (She’s Not Yours…): Not that I value your opinion, b/c I don’t, but since you’ve never seen it, do you think this will work for Joshua? [img.]

The image downloads and my cock instantly stiffens. The dress is an extremely low cut one that exposes almost the mounds of her C-cup breasts.

The fabric clings to her curves in all the right places, cinching her right at the waist.

Right where I would start kissing her before going lower…

It takes everything in me not to text back, “Joshua doesn’t deserve you,” but I hold back.

Me: Dress is perfect. You can go back to work now. Your office isn’t designed for fashion shows, and I’m not paying you a multi-six-figure salary to help pick out your dresses.

S. Grey (She’s Not Yours…): *middle finger emoji*

“So, uh… I’m not coming to the party this year.” Seth’s words jerk me out of my thoughts.

“Excuse me?”

“I meant to tell you last night but I got busy with the Yardley proposal. Aren’t you going to ask me why I won’t be there?”

“Not at all.”

“Well, I’ll tell you anyway. I’m proposing to Amelie Foster—the woman I introduced you to a few months ago.” He looks as if he’s waiting for me to tell him that this is okay. That he’s somehow above the rules because he’s the CFO and wants to run off for personal reasons.

I cross my arms and keep him waiting.

“She’s the love of my life.” He pulls a small velvet box from his pocket and opens it, showing me a massive diamond ring. “I know it’s fast, but I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and I hope she says yes.”