Page 35 of Promise Me Forever

“I don’t think so, Constantine. Not this time.”

I glance through the open door, quashing the vague schoolgirl hope that Drake is actually sitting in there waiting for me.

“Please, miss. He didn’t want you taking the subway alone so late at night.”

It is late, and I am tired, but I always take the subway home. It’s perfectly safe, and I don’t need Drake’s car. As if sensing my indecision, Constantine smiles at me. “My life won’t be worth living if I don’t take you home, Miss Ryder. And if I don’t get home within the next hour, my wife will watch the next episode ofBridgertonwithout me. So cut me some slack here.”

The plush leather seats will be comfortable and warm, and getting back to my apartment will be much quicker and easier if I say yes. But this feels off—like Drake is trying to apologize for ending our evening the way he did but doesn’t have the decency to actually do it in person.

“How will Mr. James get home?”

“He expressed the desire to walk,” Constantine replies, gesturing at the open car door once more. “He really will be upset with me if you don’t get into this car, Miss Ryder.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, you already told me that. Your life won’t be worth living, right?”

“He’ll make it absolute hell,” he replies, grinning. I don’t buy it for a second. I, of all people, know Drake can be a demandingboss, but Constantine doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would allow anyone to make his life hell.

He arches an eyebrow, his gray eyes twinkling. “So?”

“Fine. But only for you,” I say with a smile.

He places his hand over his heart. “Gracias, mademoiselle.”

“You’re such a charmer, and multilingual as well.” I climb into the car with Constantine’s low laugh in my ears. Sitting back against the supple leather seat, I rub my temples. It’s been a long day, and I have to admit, this is a lot nicer than spending an hour on the subway. I get my phone out of my purse and go to my messages. There’s one from my mom saying she’s fine and turning in for the night and one from Kimmy asking how I’m doing. I tap out quick replies to both of them, then chew my lip as I stare at the screen. It’s only polite to thank Drake for the use of his car.

Thank you for the ride. I’ll see you tomorrow.

I contemplate putting a kiss at the end like I do for most of my text message conversations, even my dentist, but for Drake, that would be too much. He is my boss, after all. A boss I have history with. I stare at the screen, contemplating whether to press send or delete.

Without any more overthinking, I press send. My pulse spikes immediately, and I’m flooded with nerves as my message wings off into cyberspace. I see the little icon appear that tells me he’s received the message and also read it. I hold my breath while I wait for a response with no idea what I’m hoping for, but I’m definitely hoping for something. No matter how hard I stare at the screen, willing him to reply, nothing lands. I don’t suppose it was really the kind of message that needed a response, but it would have been nice. It would have stopped my worries aboutwhether I crossed a line or not. But then he crossed a line tonight too, and we both know it.

After dropping my phone back into my purse, I lean back against the seat and look out the window. New York flies by in a blur of light, the river twinkling in the distance. So what if he hasn’t replied? Maybe it’s for the best.

I will choose to focus on the good stuff, not the anxiety-inducing stuff. We worked well together. We made a good team, and I helped him with his case. All of that is solidly placed in the win column.

That’s not what I’ll really remember about tonight, though, I know. What I’ll really remember is the way his lips felt pressed against my ear and the words he whispered to me. Holy exploding donut balls, that man makes me melt.

Chapter

Fifteen

DRAKE

“Fuck!” I yell, throwing my glass of Scotch at the wall of the penthouse. The tumbler shatters, and amber liquid splashes all over the paint. It’s a mess, but I don’t give a shit right now. Everything else is a mess too.

What the hell was I thinking, agreeing to let her stay late and work with me? I never let anyone do that. I don’t care how many law degrees they have or how much experience, I prefer to go it alone. Not even Nathan has been invited to help me prep for trial. I have a process, and it’s never let me down.

And if I’m being reasonable about it, I have to admit that it didn’t let me down this time. I adjusted my process to include Amelia, and without her, I might have been up all night getting those phone logs in order. I have faith that I would have gotten there in the end, but she certainly made it quicker and easier.

As she said, she’s my secretary—the whole point of her job is to help me—so why do I feel so messed up about it all? How did I let it get to the stage it did, with the goddamn exploding donut balls and the way she described them like she was in a porno? I know she didn’t mean it like that, that she was innocently discussing a dessert, but nobody told my dick that. In fact, theinnocent look on her face as she went on about an “explosion of sweet heavenly cream in your mouth” only made my cock harder.

Jesus fuck. How am I going to get through this whole shitstorm without bending her over my desk and fucking her? From the minute she walked through my office door, it was all I could think about. She was wearing that damn wrap dress again, the one I always want to untie, and even worse, pearls. Pearls that were done in a little knot around her throat! The contrast between the demure look and the filthy thoughts running through my depraved mind was just too much. I should have followed my instincts and sent her straight home.

Except I didn’t. And we worked well together. She has brains as well as beauty, and a big heart to complete the set. I don’t talk about my mom to anybody outside the family, and even with them, I’m guarded. But Amelia seems to have this instinctive way of unraveling me. It’s absolutely fucking terrifying.

Now, here I am, the night before the first day of trial on a major case, and all I can think about is her. The little sighing sounds she made when she was eating, how she giggled when I dropped a spring roll on my lap.

The stone-cold fury I felt when she mentioned her neighbor and I assumed Kris with a K was a guy. For fuck’s sake, what is wrong with me? She’s allowed to have neighbors who are men. She’s allowed to havemen, period. What do I want from the woman? I can’t expect her to live the rest of her life as a born-again virgin just because I can’t have her.

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