Page 35 of Sweet Nothings

“Rings.” I clear my throat. “We didn’t discuss the rings.”

“Right.” He nods. A smile cracks along his mouth. “You leave that part to me.”

We sit in silence and stare at one another. I can’t explain the million thoughts running through my mind. Lennon is anything but predictable. Here I was, thinking I was waltzing into this conference room, assuming it would be like any other business meeting I’ve attended. But somehow I feel like Lennon hasmanaged to rip open my chest in the sweetest way, pick apart my soul, and sew it back together again, even going so far as to place a gentle kiss on the healing wound to make it all better.

Wearing a satisfied grin, he dismisses Olivia. She rushes off to get to work on the tasks Lennon’s given her just as quickly as she arrived.

When I turn my attention back to my fiancé, he’s sliding a credit card in my direction.

“No.” I hold my hands up. “I don’t want it.” It feels wrong to take his credit card.

He laughs. “You’ll need it for all the shopping you’re about to do.”

I sigh. “I can’t take your credit card, Lennon. Doesn’t feel right.”

He grabs my hand and turns it over. Slapping the card in my open palm, he folds my fingers closed over it. “You’re going to be wife, Laurel. You can,” he whispers.

I roll my eyes and sweep my tongue across my lips. His eyes fall to my mouth, but I can’t stop thinking about his hands holding mine. His skin is warm, the sensation sliding all the way up my arm like silk.

I slowly and reluctantly pull my hand away, dropping the card into my black bag.

My heart hammers inside my chest as he drags the toe of his shoe down the center of my stiletto. He stops on the backside of my heel, using his shoe to pry it off my foot. With a muted clunk, it lands on the floor.

“What are you doing?” I ask, working my voice around my pounding heart.

“I like our business meetings better when you’re like this.” His eyes darken.

“What, shoeless?”

“No. Comfortable.”

I can’t help but smile.

And I don’t know what’s worse. The fact I’m marrying Lennon under the pretense that I won’t completely fall for him, or if it’s getting married to him, knowing I already have.

ELEVEN

It's happened again.

My hands are clammy, and my muscles seize under my bed sheets. I wake in a cold sweat as heat pumps through my veins. I force myself to calm my shallow breathing, focusing on counting each breath. The blood in my veins feels like it’s been injected with a straight shot of adrenaline.

Concentrated breathing usually helps, but it never erases the same nightmare from my brain. Sitting up, I drive the heels of my hands into my eyes and want to scream. I fucking hate this bullshit. It’s been six years, and somehow, I still haven’t moved on.

I roll out of bed and head straight for the shower to let the scorching hot water run down the length of my back, washing away the memory of my nightmare. For the first few years after her death, I saw a therapist after finding myself waking up in a panic more nights out of the weekend than not.

She’d given me medicine to help me sleep longer and harder, but it didn’t work. After a year of trying, I stopped altogether. Then she’d wanted to try some hypnotic therapy, and after the first session, I decided it simply wasn’t for me. I was too freaked out to do it more than once. So, instead of solving the problemor searching for another solution, I’ve been suffering from the same nightmare for the past six years. Without fail. Some weeks are worse than others. Sometimes the dream only appears once. If I’m lucky.

It's become a part of me; a sliver from my life I choose to ignore. At least, of course, until I wake up again, feeling as if I’ve been pushed off the edge of a cliff and plummeted to my death.

My tense muscles relax under the hot water, and I’m thankful for the relief it brings. I try everything I can to get my mind off my dream. I think about the wedding and how in five days, Harding Holdings will finally be in my control. With a daunting task and client list ahead of me, I think of all the money I’m going to be raking in once I’m able to close all the deals I have lined up. Erik Larsson’s being one of them. The closer we reach the thirty-day deadline, the more I understand my father’s reasoning. At first, I thought he was foolish for putting the company in jeopardy, considering how thirsty for power and hungry for money he was. But even though I haven’t been able to close any deals and deposit money into our accounts, we haven’t even made a dent in our capital. Harding Holdings has been built to sustain itself for quite some time.

After my shower, I head for my large walk-in closet, opting to wear my usual black button down and black suit. I’m closing a cufflink when my phone vibrates on top of my dresser.

My heart pounds in my chest when I see Laurel’s name flash across the screen. Only five days until we’re married and she’s mine.

I’ve tried to tone down the way I react when I do or say anything that involves her, but I can’t. Maybe it’s nerves or maybe it’s the weight of what we’re about to do finally hitting me. But I won’t deny the way she effortlessly pulls a reaction out of me.

I sit on the edge of my bed, sliding my feet into my shoes as I open her text.

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