Page 85 of Unleashed

His expression darkened, guilt flickering in his eyes. "You should’ve said something about the harassment. Why didn’t you?"

"You know why," I snapped. "I didn’t want to make waves."

He shook his head. "But you put up with so much crap. It’s not right. It’s illegal."

"Right or wrong, it happens," I replied, my voice softening just a fraction. "To women in every industry. Just look at Samantha Stone. She got slapped with a harassment suit last year."

"That was different," Slade countered, his tone firm. "They said she was harassing men, taking advantage. The argument was that she hated men."

I threw my hands up in frustration. "That’s exactly the problem. When a woman’s strong and holds people accountable, suddenly, she hates men. It’s bullshit."

Slade stood and crossed the room, his gaze softening as he faced me. "I don’t think that. I never have," he murmured, his voice low and sincere.

I reached out, cupping his scruffy chin in my palm. “I know you don’t. The world would be a better place if more men werelike you.” My thumb grazed over the roughness of his stubble, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath.

With a gentle tug, Slade pulled me closer, nestling his head against my stomach as he wrapped his arms around my waist. His embrace was firm, his fingers resting possessively on my hips. I threaded my fingers through his thick hair, fluffing it gently. The memory of how I had been pulling at it only an hour earlier—when he gave me that mind-blowing orgasm—brought a smile to my lips.

His hands slid lower, cupping my ass. "I love you," he whispered, his voice muffled against my body. "Do you know that?"

I sighed, my fingers pausing in his hair. It wasn’t that I didn’t love him; I did. In the past few days, I’d felt those familiar flutters in my stomach whenever he called or showed up unexpectedly. That sensation, rare for me, had only happened a few times before—once in college, once with Michael, and now, Slade. But the deeper I got with both of them, the more precarious it felt. Right now, Slade was winning. Michael, in his current distant, brooding phase, wasn’t doing himself any favors.

“I know,” I said softly.

Slade looked up, his expression vulnerable. "When will you say it back?" His tone was almost pleading, a rare crack in his usual confident demeanor.

“Slade, please,” I replied, stepping back slightly to create some space. “I’m just... not ready.”

His brows furrowed, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flash of hurt in his eyes. “I’ve loved you forever, you know that? I had a little crush on you the first minute we met—over six years ago.”

I smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “Oh yeah? And when did that turn to love?”

He leaned back against the bed, crossing his arms as if thinking it over. "Not long after that. But you were always so focused, so out of reach."

“So why didn’t you ask me out?” I teased, tossing a couple of shirts into my suitcase.

“Because I’m a vice president. It would’ve been inappropriate.”

The irony of his statement hit me hard. I almost laughed, thinking about how I was currently involved with the CEO of my new job, Michael Elliott. If Slade thought dating his subordinate was inappropriate, he had no idea just how far beyond “inappropriate” my relationship with Michael had gone. The things Michael asked me to do in his office were... pushing boundaries, to say the least. But thinking of Michael only reminded me of his recent distance, and the thought made me step out of Slade’s embrace entirely.

“Something I said?” Slade asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“No,” I replied quickly, heading back to the dresser. “I just want to finish packing.”

He watched me for a moment, his eyes following my every movement. “Bring a dress,” he suggested. “I might want to take you out to dinner.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Might?”

“Okay, I do,” he said with a grin. “How about lobster or crab? We can make it a fancy night.”

I shook my head with a small smile. “You don’t have to go through all that trouble. I can cook at the house.”

His eyes lit up. “You’d cook for me?”

I turned and laughed softly, walking over to the closet. “Seriously? I cooked for you last night.”

“That you did.” He nodded appreciatively. “And it was delicious.”

Just as I tossed another pair of jeans into my suitcase, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I glanced at it, surprised to see Michael’s name flash across the screen.

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