Page 260 of By His Rule

I should be living my best life right now. I’ve got a job I love that pays enough to look after my brothers. I have incredible friends and a lovely home. Everything I’ve ever wanted.

Well, almost everything.

I didn’t manage to get to work on time this morning. When I finally rolled out of bed, my eyes were sore, red, and swollen, and my heart wasn’t in much of a better state.

I lied and messaged Melissa to say that I’d forgotten that I had a doctor’s appointment this morning and gave myself a few hours to put myself back together.

After doing both a hair conditioning treatment and a face mask, I had the world’s longest shower, where I shaved and scrubbed my body until I was sure I’d washed the heartache from it. I spent longer than ever before on my hair and makeup and pulling on a dress I wouldn't usually choose to wear to the office, I took myself out for brunch.

It didn’t come anywhere close to fixing anything, but at least I felt good on the outside, even if the inside was a broken, battered, and confused mess.

I arrived just as Melissa was leaving for lunch, and I settled in to work.

One more day in the office without my boss.

Or at least, that’s what I was expecting.

I intended to leave by seven to be home in time to watch Wilder’s game.

I only had an hour to go, and I’d be free for the weekend—as free as I could get when it was my own thoughts that were tormenting me.

But at just past six o’clock, the elevator door opens, and a heavy yet confident set of footsteps moves toward my desk. Not a second later, Kian appears around the corner, looking as gorgeous as ever in a black fitted suit with an emerald green tie that makes his eyes twinkle.

My heart jumps into my throat, and my lungs cease to work.

Our eyes connect, and I swear he may as well just take a baseball bat to my chest.

But while I freeze in shock, he gets angry.

His expression hardens, and his eyes narrow.

My stomach knots, and damn it if my thighs don’t clench beneath my desk.

Damn it, Lorelei. This is why you have such bad luck with men.

Your taste is toxic.

His lips part and I brace myself for what’s going to spill from them.

I already know it isn’t going to be good.

“What are you still doing here?”

My own frustration builds and I push to my feet, sending my chair shooting out behind me with enough force that it crashes back against the wall.

“I’m working; what the hell does it look like? We don’t all get to disappear to London at the drop of a hat because we feel like it.”

For a second, disbelief overrides the anger in his expression.

“Because we feel like it? You thought I went because—” He cuts himself off with a huff of disbelief.

He stands in front of my desk with his chest heaving before both his hands lift, his fingers combing through his hair and pulling until it has to hurt.

Briefly, he glances up at the ceiling as if he’s praying for strength.

If it’s possible, the air around us grows thicker and thicker until I can barely suck in a breath.

But then he looks back at me and everything takes another turn.

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