Wicked Billionaire - Sawyer Bennett Page 0,64

when we slept on it last night. I mean, we did lots of other things on it first, and, wow, was it heaven. And maybe it’s because Declan wore me out, or maybe it was the pillow top, but it was the best sleep I think I ever had in my life.

Declan doesn’t argue, merely watches me from across his desk. “Why do you ask if I’m over my snit?” I press.

“Well,” he drawls, setting his sub on the wrapper and mimicking my earlier actions by wiping his hands, then his mouth, with a napkin. “I want to update your wardrobe. You need more work outfits, and I wouldn’t mind seeing you in some more sexy lingerie.”

“No,” I exclaim firmly. I even wag my finger. “No, no, no.”

“Why not?” His question is calm in the face of my displeasure.

“Because,” I sputter, completely aghast he doesn’t get why I’d be against this. “I will not be a kept woman.”

Declan’s eyes go round. He blinks several times, clearly at a loss for words. Finally, he manages to ask on a bark of laughter. “A kept woman? Jesus… are you serious?”

“You’re rich,” I say the obvious, pointing across the desk. I throw my thumb back in my direction. “I’m not rich. We are at a vast disparity in income, but I am fully able to take care of myself. It’s… it’s… sexist for you to buy stuff for me.”

“You let me buy you clothes before,” he points out.

“That was when it was a condition of my employment,” I retort, leaning an arm on top of the desk. “That is not the case now.”

“You let me buy you a mattress,” he counters, his smirk telling me he’s enjoying this exchange.

“That was for your benefit, not mine,” I reply primly, grabbing my sub so I can finish my lunch. But I lift my eyes briefly to add, “And you can take it with you if we ever break up.”

“Plotting the demise of our new relationship so soon, Miss Robbins?” he asks in a mocking tone.

“Not at all,” I reply with a sly grin. “Just setting boundaries.”

“Fine,” he replies on a drawn-out exhale. “Can I at least buy you sexy lingerie?”

I stare at the ceiling with exaggerated contemplation before giving him my attention with a brilliant smile. “Yes. You may do that.”

Laughing, Declan picks his sub back up. He went with turkey on wheat, way healthier than mine, which is loaded with olive oil vinaigrette, plus mayonnaise. But my working theory is he works so many calories off me each night in our lovemaking, I can afford it.

We finish our lunches. I quickly clean up the wrappers, wiping the desk off with Lysol I keep at my cubicle, while Declan pulls out a binder from his back credenza.

He opens it just as I’m sitting down to take notes on my iPad using the sleek new Bluetooth keyboard that appeared on my desk this morning.

“I’ve decided on the next Blackwood project,” he says, scanning inside the binder.

“San Francisco,” I guess, because I’ve watched him hammer out the pros and cons with his executive staff during meetings over the past few weeks. I can tell which way he’s leaning.

“Yes,” he says, pinning me with an appreciative smile. “You’ve been paying attention.”

“I’m not just a pretty face,” I quip, pulling up a clean screen to start typing notes.

“Or a fine ass,” he teases.

I ignore it. “So what’s first on the agenda?”

For the next hour, Declan dictates the various phases that will occur, in a rough format, of course. He’s already got the property firmly in mind, and he’ll begin negotiations on that soon. Then it will be about getting our primary contractor committed, who will then slate out the subs with a potential construction start date in about six months.

“At what point in this process will you be moving there?” I inquire, trying to sound professional in my desire to have this knowledge, but knowing deep in my gut I want to know because it probably means we have a finite end to our relationship. I always knew he’d be leaving at some point, but I wasn’t quite prepared to think about it.

Declan’s attention stays within the binder, but he answers, “I usually like to be there when we break ground on the site.”

So six months, give or take. I’m not even sure if I should consider that a lot of time or not. Compared to a lifetime, it’s the blink of an eye.

Compared to what we had yesterday,