Page 95 of Forbidden You

I stay quiet, my jaw sitting somewhere on the floor until he literally places his fingers under my chin to close it.

“Are you okay?” he asks, smiling at my reaction.

“I’m just shocked. Here I thought you were like the master in English. You own the company that has published four bestsellers in the last two years.”

“Nope,” he says, popping hisP. “I just created a business to be able to share my love for books.”

“So, what are you saying?” My eyes are sparkling, bemused by this new development.

“I’m saying that you don’t need a degree to be able to see if this is a good book.” He pricks his finger in the paper. “You’re a reader. You love to read. The question is: do you enjoy it? Because if you do, there will be other people who will enjoy it too. Your opinion matters just as much as any of my editor’s.”

Your opinion matters just as much.

It’s like he knows exactly what to say to make me just want to hand over my heart, begging for him to hold it. To keep it safe in his strong hands. And for the first time since I walked out of Stanford, I’m wondering if I can have a future in publishing without going to an Ivy League school.

“Who sparked your love for books?”

“My mother.” He smiles. “When I was younger, I remember her reading to me every chance she got. It made me fall in love with the craft of storytelling. With fiction.”

“What is your favorite genre?” I tilt my head, interested in his answer.

“Political Thrillers.” It doesn’t surprise me. Bodi is smart. Something tells me he doesn’t want to read a book that doesn’t challenge him at least a little bit. To give him that brain exercise that makes him the wise man he is today.

“Why?”

“Because they can give you a few hours of entertainment where you can escape the world, get completely sucked into the story, and when done right, it also makes you question your own world at the end.”

See, wise man.

I hang on to his lip, listening to whatever he has to say.

“What about you? What do you like to read?”

“Historical romance.”

He cocks his head in surprise.

“What?” I screech.

“Nothing.”

“I guess for the same reason as you. I like the idea of love. The idea of being destined for each other, completing each other.” I bravely hold his gaze. “The idea that two souls connect, no matter their circumstances. But I don’t just want to read smutty romance. I like the realization that at the end, I learned something about history. About what the world looked like before I was alive.”

He presses his lips together. “See, you totally just showed why you could never get kicked out of Stanford.”

I could interpret his remark as judging, reprimanding, but the proud look in his eyes just shows me he’s telling me because he wants to acknowledge my intellect. To tell me that I’m too smart to fail my classes.

Can I trust him?

I want to tell him everything because my heart thinks that out of all people, he won’t judge me. He will wrap his arms around me, telling me it will be fine. But the shame is overwhelming, making me chicken out like a little girl every single time.

“Thank you,” I reply, then place my hand on his arm. “I will tell you.” I pause. “When I’m ready, okay?”

He leans in to cup my cheek, close enough for me to feel his breath roam over my cheek.

“You don’t have to tell me, baby. Just know that I’m here if you want to talk to anyone. I’m here for you.” I feel tears form in my eyes, but before I have to swallow them away, he pulls me into his chest, giving me the opportunity to hide my emotion as he flips the channel. “Let’s watch a movie, okay?”

I smile, sucking in a lungful of air that comes with a content feeling.

---