Page 30 of Secret Marriage To My Bosshole

Grinning, I reach out to twirl a strand of her hair around my finger. I give it a light tug before slamming the trunk shut. “It would be interesting to see what happens if we got along with each other for more than ten minutes at a time.”

“You saw what happened when we did that.” A flush spreads across her cheeks, though mischief shines in her eyes.

I round the car and open the passenger door for her. “I know exactly what happened. Now, come on, we should go home and get some sleep.”

Screw sleep. I’ll be going for the coldest shower of my life.

Cora turns up the music as I get in the car. She hums along with the song, her fingers drumming on her thighs.

Her attention stays focused on the bright lights blurring by the car as I leave her neighborhood behind and head for my beachfront house.

One thing I love the most about living in Maine is my New England-style home on a private beach. This home was the first thing I bought for myself after taking over the firm.

I love nothing more than going home and sitting outside while the waves crash against the private beach.

Cora’s mouth drops open as we pull up to the white iron gate. I roll down the window and punch a code into the keypad beside the gates.

There is a low hum as the gates open, revealing the winding driveway and trees lining either side.

“Like it?” I grin as I take the turns slowly.

Small lights are strung between the trees, illuminating the driveway and the flowers that are my gardener’s pride and joy.

Cora shakes her head, looking back at me. “Your place is beautiful. I mean, I knew you had money, but this is... It’s nice.”

I park the car in front of the house and get out, grabbing her things from the back. She follows me as I lead the way up the stairs into the house.

I turn on the lights as I go, pride swelling through me when she takes a moment to admire the pale wood floors or the art hanging on the walls.

The floorboards creak slightly beneath my feet as I lead her up the massive staircase to the third floor.

“Here.” I open the door to the suite room that takes up half of the floor. “This is going to be your room.”

“For the night.” She glances at me before stepping into the room and turning on the overhead light.

“We can talk about that in the morning.”

Cora gasps as she turns in a slow circle, looking at the massive windows surrounding the room. “This is amazing, Griffin, but I’m serious. I’m going back to my own home tomorrow. I only agreed to this tonight so you wouldn’t rat me out to my brother.”

“Cora, if you think I’m going to let you return to your neighborhood, you’re mistaken.”

“Well then, it seems like we’ve reached a problem. I’m not going to live with you. I’m not your wife. And I need those divorce papers signed. Trust me, once you spend more time with me, you'll want me gone, just like you always have.”

I put her bag on the corner dresser. “Get settled in. I’ll see you in the morning,” I tell her.

“We’re going to talk about this now. You don’t get to run away from this and leave me to figure it out all by myself. You said that you don’t hate me, and you refuse to sign divorce papers, but everything I’ve known about you indicates that we would be the two worst people ever to be together.”

My chest aches as I look down at her. I hate the person I was to her while we were growing up.

Would we even be in this position right now if I didn’t make her feel unwanted?

“Cora, I want you here. I want you safe.” I sigh and rake a hand through my hair. “Consider this another step in paying off your debt. You can stay somewhere safe and put the money you were putting toward rent to the debt.”

“I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity, Cora.” My voice is low as I step toward her. She tilts her head to look up at me. I want to kiss her until we forget how to breathe. “There are many things I feel for you, Cora, but pity is not one of them.”

I do my best to sound sincere. Her cheeks flush with a sudden rush of emotion, and she looks up, meeting my gaze with a mixture of surprise and intrigue.

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