Page 157 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

That’s what I’m guessing he wants to say.

“I don’t know. I might need a little more convincing before I upend my entire life.”

He shifts, shooting a glare at me.

I grin. “I have a plan, and it’s gonna be a few days. But being here is gonna drive me crazy.”

“Yeah, I get it. Me too.”

“You okay?” I ask him, checking in again.

“I trust you,” he says, which isn’t entirely reassuring, but I’ll take it.

“You can, you know?” I ask, kissing the corner of his mouth with my fingers still swimming inside him. “I promise.”

44

CHRISTIAN

If I got the opportunity to choose between Larry’s house in the Hamptons and Gibson’s, I’d probably go with Larry’s. Gibson’s is huge and modern with every amenity imaginable, and it’s closer to the beach, but Larry’s is just—warmer. More like a home. Gibson’s is like a really nice resort where he’s forced to make his own food.

Not that we don’t have a good weekend or I hate it or anything. And I have no complaints about any of the beds. Or the pool. The kitchen island, or the lounge chair on the pool deck. The shower, though—with its multiple jets in all the fun places—that’s the best part.

It sucks waking up Monday morning, though, knowing I have a shift at the door, and he’ll be home in his office all day.

We crashed in my apartment last night after getting back to the city late, and he played dirty trying to get me to stay an extra half hour in bed with him.

“It’s not like you’ll get fired for being late.”

“Spoken like someone who never worked a night shift in his life.”

I gave him ten minutes, skipped shaving, and made it in time to relieve Teddy.

It’s a busy Monday morning, full of deliveries and phone calls. We’ve got two move-ins scheduled. One for the morning and one this afternoon.

With everything going on, I would have missed Gibson if he weren’t knocking on my desk while I’m on the phone with the Romanian model in 1706—the first move-in of the day. She’s freaking out about her couch not fitting on the service elevator.

I meet Gibson’s eyes and hold up a finger to indicate he should give me a second. Into the phone, I say, “We can take a look at it later if you want to have them leave it in the loading area.”

“Can’t you speak with them? I know it fits. I measured.”

“If it fits, we’ll make sure it gets to your apartment,” I tell her.

“I’m not paying for a crane,” she warns.

“Let me go check, and I’ll call you back.” I hang up before she says anything else. You give any of these people an inch and they’ll go for the whole mile. “Hey,” I say to my…boss.

“Do I need to call my mover to figure it out?” he asks.

“I’ll handle it. I saw the couch. It should fit. What’s up? Where are you headed?”

“Lunch,” he says. “With Avery Lawther.”

I frown. “Why?”

“Because annulments require proof if they’re contested.”

My heart sinks about a foot. “Is this about her cheating?” I don’t like his fixation on Marianne and Avery’s supposed relationship. It makes him seem jealous, and it’s got nothing to do with me, which I realize makes me selfish, but he just spent the entire weekend convincing me I was the best thing that ever happened to him, and we’re right back here again, obsessing over the one who got away, and yet, is still firmly standing inmyway.

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