head into the lobby, thinking of Paige’s words. I could just ask Armstrong for a ride to my parents’ place later.
Magnus is expecting me, but I need to think about what Paige said.
I get that he wants to avoid conflicting interests and do things by the book.
But he’s Magnus freaking Heron.
If our relationship could close a deal—and it has with the airline—it wouldn’t be a secret.
My phone pings.
Mag: I haven’t heard from you the whole day. Is everything okay?
I ignore him and step into the elevator. I haven’t responded ten minutes later when my desk phone rings. Probably Hugo letting me know how the test turned out.
“Is it good?” I say as soon as I’ve picked up.
“Why are you at the office?” Mag snaps off.
“Oh. There was an issue with the airline brochures, but I think we’ve worked it out. How did you know I was here?”
He’s quiet for a minute.
“I checked the security cameras when I didn’t hear from you all day.”
“What? It hasn’t even been a whole day.” My phone buzzes. “That’s Hugo on the other line. I have to find out if the test piece worked.”
“For the brochure?” he asks, this growly doubt in his voice.
“Yes. If it didn’t, I have to go back to Arrowpoint with more options.”
“Armstrong’s on his way to pick you up. Why don’t you come over and fill me in on what went wrong? If the test piece isn’t up to snuff, I’ll call the CEO myself,” he says, trying so hard to brighten the mood.
Sigh.
My heart sinks. He knows something’s wrong, but I can’t even get a handle on what it is myself.
“Because you don’t think I can handle it?” I whisper, trying to sound bantery.
“Because I don’t think you should have to handle it, woman. You help creative, not fix their messes.”
He chuckles, a sound I love so much, and it makes me wonder if I’m being ridiculous.
“You gave me this project. If the CEO needs a call, it’s mine to make, isn’t it?” I bite my lip.
“Fair enough, but make it from here?” I can hear him smiling, genuinely wanting me back at his place.
Sweet Lord, what was I thinking?
This doesn’t sound like a man playing games, eager to smash up my heart. And good luck ignoring his magnetism.
Armstrong waits outside when I step out, as promised. I ride there in silence, staring out at the city lights, thinking of what Paige said. Don’t let that rich boy use you.
Is Mag using me?
As I lay my keycard on Mag’s door, my phone pings.
Hugo: Test worked. Brochures will be printed and delivered to the office Monday afternoon.
A huge sigh of relief steams out of me.
Good. One less thing to worry about.
When I walk into the penthouse, Mag and Jordan are playing chess on the living room floor. Neither of them notice me, which gets a heaping smile.
It’s kind of adorable.
Mag has transformed, every part the doting big brother. My heart swells.
I don’t care what Paige says. I get why she wonders, why she’s looking out for me, but Magnus isn’t using me.
He may be ruthless in the boardroom, but he isn’t nefarious enough to keep our relationship a secret for the wrong reasons.
Those searing blue eyes look up from the game.
He’s wearing little spectacles, and it gives him this Professor McHottie vibe. My core tightens, already thinking about tonight.
A smile spreads across his face as he removes his glasses.
“Jordan likes chess,” he says. “I haven’t played for years.”
I come in and sit down on the couch. “Looks like you two are having fun.”
Jordan slides a Rook across the board.
“Checkmate. I win again,” he snickers.
Mag scowls. “I let you, of course. I’m not that rusty.”
“Right.” Jordan belts out a laugh, skimming his fingers through his wavy hair. “You said that the other three times, too.”
With a hapless grin, Mag joins me on the couch.
“The test piece worked out fine,” I say, holding up the new picture on my phone.
“Perfect.” He nods, but he looks at Jordan. “Go back to your video games, bud. I’ll clean up the board.”
“Thanks!” Jordan takes off to the back of the penthouse.
Those intense blue eyes land on me now. “I’m glad our little crisis was averted, but I’m worried about my girl.”
“Careful.” I smile. “You just called me yours.”
“Did I?” He quirks a knowing eyebrow.
“No take-backs.” I shake my head.
“What is this, middle school?” He chuckles, and once again, I’m falling a little harder for this man.
“Might be. Paige is stuck in eighth grade.”
“The sculptor friend.