Page 83 of Broken Boss

Um—to Sharpe’s house? Are you kidding?

He’s not home. Just me and Frank. Please?

There’s a beat before she replies: How can I resist? Send me the address.

Half an hour later, Orla stands in the foyer looking both annoyed and impressed.

I give her a half-hearted smile. “Not quite the evil lair you pictured, huh?”

She crouches down to pet Frank, who pants happily at seeing his buddy.

“As much as I hate to admit it, Sharpe has pretty good taste.”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

I give her a quick tour of the house, blushing when we glance in at Chris’s bed and then my own. She raises her brows at the guest room with my things strewn around it.

“Well, you seem to have made yourself comfortable.”

I’m at a crossroads here—I could lie and say I’m just taking advantage of a crappy situation, or I could spill everything. How comfortable I am here, how our physical relationship has only gotten more intense over the last weeks, how much he means to me now.

And of course, everything that’s happened with Kieran since yesterday.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed with a sigh, I give up and tell her all of it. There’s no point in lying. Chris already knows the truth.

By the time I’m done, Orla is staring at me in surprise.

“I just didn’t expect you to go so far.”

I wince. “I didn’t, either. It’s just, he’s so good at tempting me, and?—”

She laughs, cutting me off. “I didn’t mean the sex, although, obviously, it wasn’t the chore you made it out to be at first, hmm?” Ignoring my blush, she continues, “I meant that you told Chris everything.”

“He doesn’t think I did,” I grumble.

“Right…about that. You really have no idea what Kieran meant? Why he threatened you?”

“No. No idea. He thinks I know something, but I don’t—and I can’t convince Chris of that right now.”

“You can’t really blame the guy. I mean, he just found out you were plotting his downfall before you two ever met. And from what I’ve seen and what you’ve been telling me lately, it sounds like he’s fallen head over heels for you, Autumn.”

Orla watches me seriously, waiting for my reaction. Hearing out loud the small suspicion that’s been growing in my heart for weeks now makes my shoulders slump.

“I shouldn’t have led him on.”

Orla leans back, making herself comfortable on the bed. “Well, that depends, doesn’t it?”

“On what?”

“On whether or not you feel the same.”

I laugh, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes. It’s all a mess—desperate, sad, and funny at the same time.

“Do you?” she persists, eyes narrow. Orla knows me too well.

She knows what my answer is, even if I can’t say it out loud.

“It doesn’t matter,” I blurt out. “I ruined everything. He’s not who I thought he was, and now he doesn’t trust me.”

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