Page 53 of Unleashed

"How will you get there?"

I blinked, surprised by his concern. "I’ll rent a car. I’ve got my license."

"I could drive you," he offered, stepping closer. The air between us thickened, and I noticed that most of the office had emptied out, leaving us almost alone.

I raised my brows, forcing a small smile. "That’s nice of you, but I’ve got it covered."

"Are you sure?" He didn’t back away, his voice soft but insistent. I could feel his eyes on me, and the tension in my body ratcheted up another notch.

"Positive," I said firmly. "Besides, what would you do while I visited my parents?"

"I’d visit with you," he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "I’d love to meet the people who raised such an amazing woman."

That was it—something was definitely up. My heart started to pound, and I couldn’t tell if it was from discomfort or the possibility that Michael Elliott, of all people, might have a crush on me.

"Michael, I don’t think that’s necessary?—"

He cut me off with a charming grin. "Come on, it’s just dinner. We can celebrate your first week."

"It’s really not necessary," I protested, but he wasn’t hearing me.

"I insist," he said, his smile unwavering.

I stared at him, suspicion gnawing at me.What’s your angle, Michael?He was acting too familiar, too eager. My mind raced through the possibilities—did he hire me because of my skills, or was it something else?

Against my better judgment, I found myself nodding. "Fine. Dinner."

"Is something wrong?" he asked, tilting his head. "Did I say something to offend you?"

I stood up, shouldering my bag, and shook my head. "No, let’s just get this over with."

As we walked out, I could feel Michael's presence beside me, a little too close. We rode in his private car, the silence thick between us. I stared out the window, watching the blur of city lights and the crowds of people on the sidewalks. I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that there was more going on beneath the surface.

His hand touched my arm, and I nearly jumped. "Morgan?"

I took a breath and blurted out, "Do you like me?"

He blinked, his expression unreadable. "Of course I like you. What kind of question is that?"

I bit my lip, pressing. "Not as a colleague. As more."

Michael’s eyes flicked over my face, but he didn’t answer immediately. "Let’s talk about this over dinner."

"Just tell me now," I insisted, my voice low and tense.

"Dinner," he repeated, more firmly this time.

Before I could argue, his phone rang. He held up a finger, signaling me to wait as he answered. I clenched my fists, anxiety swirling inside me. What was I even doing? Why had I agreed to this? I glanced at his profile as he spoke, catching fragments ofhis conversation about a garden party. It sounded personal, not business.

We pulled up to The Blue Room, and Michael continued his call, not bothering to hang up as Winston, his driver, opened the door for me. I climbed out, my movements stiff with unease. By the time we were seated in a private dining room upstairs, my stomach was in knots.

Rey, the waiter, handed us menus. "Vodka rocks with a twist of lime for me," Michael said, his gaze never leaving me. "And for you, Morgan?"

"Martini. Three olives."

I needed something strong to brace myself for whatever this conversation would reveal. After Rey left, Michael leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him.

"Ask," he said simply.

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