Page 103 of Forgot to Tell You Something

Ispend the next couple of days trying not to envision what Owen may or may not be doing with his ex-fiancée. I hate Charlotte’s beauty, how she’s the complete opposite of me. I hate that Owen gave her a ring and planned to spend his life at her side.

But the worst part? That they might reconcile and live out a perfect life in their ivory tower.

I get it. I do. Charlotte is worth more money than I can earn in ten lifetimes. Her family owns properties around the world, villas in Monaco and bungalows in Fiji. They have private jets and can finance a few third-world countries, should the desire arise.

How do I know this? In my downtime, I replaced my fedora with an inspector’s cap. I’ve been digging, not that it’s hard to find information on the Auerback family. Their lives are the stuff of legends.

With them, Owen is set. He’ll live a jet-set lifestyle, hobnobbing with celebrities and royalty.

Why would he ever settle for a normal woman like me?

Granted, I guarantee I’m a hell of a lot more fun than Charlotte—in and out of the sack.

I groan aloud. I didn’t want that visual.Sorry, Nugget.

“Are you okay?”

I shift in my seat, nodding at Owen’s concerned expression. In his defense, I groaned audibly in the conference room at Memorial. But I need him to stop being so caring. I can’t ever get over him if he continues to be nice to me. “Yeah, I forgot to do something for work.”

“Is this seat taken?” he motions at the chair next to me. There are empty spots all around the table. Why must he take the one next to me?

My mind is furious with the man, but my body is hot as hell for him. Just hearing his voice makes me flush with desire. I shake my head, catching the faint whiff of his cologne as he settles into the chair.

Pulling my braid to one side, I fiddle with the end. It’s a nervous habit, but I have to focus on something. Namely, because my mind wants to scream at him, and my body wants to rip his clothes off.

I need professional help.

Then I feel it. His fingers move along my neckline, stirring up every nerve ending.

“Your tag was sticking out,” he murmurs, his hand lingering against my skin.

“Funny. The scrub top is tagless,” I volley back, maintaining a focused gaze on my laptop.

Owen chuckles, but he doesn’t move his hand. “Caught me. I needed to touch you, Darlin. Even for a second.”

Damn these pregnancy hormones. My eyes fill with tears, which I blink back.I will maintain focus and control. I will maintain focus and control.

Then he speaks again, cutting into my internal mantra. “How are you feeling? How’s your stomach?”

“Fine.”

“No more stomach virus?”

I shrug, but I don’t look at him. I can’t. If I meet his gaze, it’s all over. I’ll cave. Again. “All better.”

“Glad to hear it. We should grab a drink after work. Celebrate.”

My stomach flips. “What are we celebrating?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You feeling better. Unless,” his fingers are back on my nape again, “there’s something else you’d like to share. Something exciting we can celebrate together.”

The nerve of this man. Damn him for being so intuitive. I open my mouth to retort, throw out some zinger about celebrating the return of his illustrious fiancée, but Dr. Watts strolls in, signaling the start of the meeting.

“Is that a yes?”

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