Page 66 of The Unplanned Wedding

“Do I have to spell everything out for you, Knox Davenport?”

Why do I feel like I’m five and am being reprimanded for something I’ve done?Only Mary could make me feel like a truant child, for God knows, my own mother never did care enough to scold me when I acted out.

When I stay silent, her features soften. “You’re a good man, Knox. You just need to not hide that from yourself… Or from her.”

I scoff.

“You know what you have to do, don’t you?”

She holds my gaze until I look away. Then squeeze the bridge of my nose. “I suppose, I don’t have much choice but to call off this sham of an engagement with Priscilla?”

As I say it aloud, I know I’m right. I knew I couldn’t go through with this marriage when Arthur first raised it with me. It took me losing July to realize how much I cannot see her with anyone else. Ergo, I need to find a way to keep her close to me.

Mary nods. "After which, will you have the balls to apologize to June and ask her to come back?”

26

June

It was cowardly of me to email my resignation to HR instead of sending it to my boss. But needs must. I need to get on with my life, and the only way forward is to put him behind me and move on. I stare out of the window of my studio apartment.

I did the right thing, I know that.

No way, am I going to risk going into the office and seeing him with his fiancée-to-be. No way, am I risking the sparks between me and my boss, knowing he’s going to be marrying someone else. It’s so wrong and yet, I can’t stop thinking of him. Good thing, I don’t have to see him face to face.

If I did, there’s no telling what would happen. I can’t seem to control myself around him. One glare from those aquamarine eyes of his, one command in that rough voice and I’ll do anything he wants. Best not to put myself in that situation again. Best not to tempt myself, which is what happens whenever I see him.

I’m doing the right thing. I am.At least, I’m able to leave the job with a clear conscience. Of course, there’s the matter of those three orgasms hepromised me…Oh, the look on his face when I told him I'd get them somewhere else! Ha! I wish I had a picture of that. Of course, I'd rather get them from him but—I shove the thought out of my mind. It doesn’t matter. That wasbeforehe said he was going to get married, and I refuse to be the other woman. Now, I don’t have anything to do with him.I don’t.

My intercom buzzes. I stand up from my sofa and head toward it. I pick up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Let me in, June,” his deep dark voice growls.

Instantly, I’m wet.Ohmigod. He called me by my name, and not my full name but my first name.And he may not have meant the double entendre but tell that to my body and the way it interpreted it. I stare at the receiver, knowing I need to do something.But what?My arms and legs seem unable to move.

"June, open the door," he orders. He lowers his voice to a hush—"Now"—and the command in his tone sends a thrill down my spine. A part of my brain and body recognizes that he’s in charge, and I respond. I depress the button to buzz him in, then place the receiver back in the cradle. I unlock the door, hear his footsteps coming up the stairs and take a step back. Then another.

It’s not that I’m afraid of him… Okay, maybe a little. But mostly because I know I should have called him or emailed him directly to tell him I was resigning. When the backs of my knees hit the settee in the living room, I realize I’ve shifted to the center of the area. The door is pushed open, and he steps in. His broad shoulders fill my line of sight. He seems bigger than I remember, taller and broader, and more intimidating than ever.

He takes a step forward and his mere presence seems to suck up all of the oxygen in the room. I draw in a breath, and my lungs burn. A shiver grips me. My knees knock together, and I grab hold of the back of the sofa for support.

He slowly closes the door behind him and locks it. The click is so loud in the space, it seems to ricochet off the corners of my mind. The air around me thickens and pushes down on my chest. The silence stretches. He continues to glare at me, and my nerve-endings tighten.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" My voice trembles, and I clear my throat.I did not do anything wrong. So why am I so scared that he’s here?

He prowls forward, his gait slow, measured, and so purposeful. And he never takes his gaze off of me. I feel pinned down by the force of his intent. He comes to a stop in front of me, and my tiny apartment feels like it’s shrunk in size.

"Why are you here?" I ask again. "Shouldn’t you be at the office in a meeting with the sales team about now?"

His eyes flicker. It’s the only tell that he recognizes I have his schedule memorized. Not that I tried to do so, but I'll admit, I glanced over it this morning. Force of habit, of course. It's not because I wished I were at my desk outside his office where I could glimpse him as he left his office. Then, I cursed myself for being pathetic and logged out of the calendar app.

"Your phone." He holds out his hand.

"Excuse me?"

"Your phone was given to you by the office. I need it back."

Oh, right. I resigned my role, so I should return the office equipment. I pull it out of the pocket of my pajama pants and hand it over.

---