Page 145 of Not That Into You

Monica bites her lip, and I fight the urge to stare at her mouth. “I also realized I needed to get back to New York.” She takes a deep breath. “I have some things to take care of.”

Nodding, I try to maintain a neutral expression. “Am I one of those things?”

She nods.

My heart pounds as I wait for her verdict.

She swallows. “I missed you.”

My stomach clenches. “I missed you, too.”

She takes a step forward, and that’s all the encouragement I need. I meet her halfway, pulling her into my arms as she lays her head on my chest. This is right. This is where she belongs.

Cupping her face, I meet her eyes. “I missed you a lot.”

She smiles before her gaze drops to my mouth, causing my pulse to race. Dipping my head, I brush my lips over hers before slowly deepening the kiss until it’s almost unbearable. Groaning, I grasp the back of her head while wrapping my other arm around her, pulling her closer. When she whimpers, I lose all finesse, and our kiss becomes more hurried, hungrier. I starved for her touch ever since she left, and now, I’m feasting.

I’m moments away from running my hands under her shirt when I hear someone clearing their throat. Shit. I pause and look up at Mac, who’s standing in the doorway again, pointing to their watch. I give them a nod and take a step back from Monica.

She grabs my hand. “We need to talk.”

“I know. Will you be home tonight?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll come by after work.”

“Cameron,” Mac says from the doorway. “HR is waiting.”

I glare at Mac before going back to my desk to grab a pen and notepad. As I walk back toward Monica, I clasp her hand and walk with her out of my office and over to the elevator.

She grins. “What’d you do to warrant a meeting with HR?” She cocks a brow. “Been misbehaving again?”

I run my thumb along her bottom lip and drop a quick kiss on her mouth just before the elevator doors open. She steps in, and I finally let her hand go.

“It’s an exit interview. I quit my job. Today’s my last day at The Stanhope Group.”

Chapter 40

Monica

I rifle through my mail, which Hayley left in a neat pile on the small table by our front door. It’s mostly requests for donations or life insurance offers.

Walking into the kitchen, I toss most of it into the recycling before pulling out a mug and turning on the kettle to make a cup of tea.

It’s good to be home and a relief to be back in New York. I spent the past week shuttling my mom to and from physical therapy appointments and dealing with her constant complaints. After an especially heated argument about whether she should be allowed to drive herself, my dad found us in separate rooms, refusing to talk to one another. He brokered peace between us, and we decided it was time for me to return home.

I pour hot water into my mug as the front door opens and Hayley walks in.

“Hey! You’re home.”

She rushes into the kitchen and hugs me. “How’s your mom?”

“She’s good. Ornery, but good.”

Hayley smiles. “I’m so glad you’re back.” Cocking her head, she narrows her eyes. “Where are your glasses?”

I groan inwardly, resigned to everyone commenting on me wearing contacts more often. It’s not a big deal; I just thought it would be nice not to wear glasses all the time. “I got new contacts.”

---