Page 69 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

I understand better than anyone that no one can truly know what goes on in someone else’s marriage. We all put on some degree of a show depending on the company we’re in. For example, the picture I painted for Christian in Rome of mine and Marianne’s was a vague outline at best. Missing was this sick little partnership of ours where I do whatever she asks of me because of my guilt and unwillingness to rock the boat of her stability. Her safety is essential to my own peace of mind. And nothing says Marianne is feeling safe and secure like asking me to blackmail a government official.

My head is fucking killing me. I close my eyes to block out the light.

I wake up to typing. Lifting my head, my eyes land on Christian, reclined in his seat, his laptop resting on his thighs, his pretty fingers dancing over the keyboard. I check the time. Three forty-one. Shit.

My movement catches his eye, and he glances my way. “Don’t worry,” he says. “You didn’t miss anything important.”

I want to tell him to get over here and put his arms around me. Kiss me even though I’ve been asleep. “You should have woken me.”

“I was about to. You have a conference call in fifteen minutes.”

“Right.” Sitting up, I rub my face, especially my eyes, and try to put my hair back in order. When I look over at him again, he’s no longer typing. He’s watching me the way I was watching him earlier.If I snapped my fingers, would he come?

I’m determined not to sexually harass him during working hours. It would be too easy.

I should make a rule never to touch him when he’s in a suit. That should help.

He takes notes during the conference call where I make suremy team is ready to move on a property in Brooklyn. At the end of the meeting, I introduce everyone to Christian and tell them he’ll be doing some of my communications in the future, but they can always count on me for planning sessions like this one.

He does fairly well with the spotlight on him, though I notice some pink creeping into his cheeks while he’s on camera. He has a doorman’s charm. Aloof but friendly. Pleasant without overdoing it. And of course, there’s the way he looks.

Fucking sinful.

It’s about five ’til five when we wrap up the meeting. He checks his watch and looks at me. “That’s it,” I assure him. “I won’t keep you.”

“Meaning I’m off the clock?”

“Ah. Yes.”

“Do you remember what we talked about last night?”

“There’s nothing I don’t remember about last night,” I assure him.

He gives me half a grin. “Same.”

“Is there a time that works for you?”

“Whatever works for you,” he says.

“Mm. Always such a good boy.”

He makes a soft sound, and I suppress my own grin. “Shall we flip a coin? Heads sooner, tails later?”

“Sooner,” he says.

“Seven then. Meet me in The Penthouse. Wash yourself well.”

He raises his brows. “Like…how well?”

In for penny…“Assume anything could happen.”

21

CHRISTIAN

“Itold you to go with the enema.”

“I don’t need a fucking enema, Drew—I’m super regular, and I always go in the mornings.”

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