Page 58 of Forbidden Grumpy Boss

Her words hang in the air long after she’s gone to pack her things.

When we finally get dressed, her in a light blue sweater and jeans, me in a black turtleneck and my favorite leather jacket, we head to the small airstrip outside Paris. It feels colder today, a bite in the air that wasn’t there yesterday. Caleb’s chatting with Leah about something, his excitement barely contained.

I catch sight of Leah’s face, and I know she’s still upset, even though she’s trying her damnedest to hide it from Caleb.

We board, and although she’s seated next to me, there’s a distance between us now. I can feel it, like an invisible wall that wasn’t there before. Caleb, oblivious, is still on a high from yesterday’s impromptu trip to Paris. He’s already talking about our next adventure, asking how far Japan is from New York, but I’m hardly paying attention.

My mind’s on what Leah said last night. And what I didn’t say back.

The flight back to England is smooth, but my thoughts are anything but that. I also notice that Leah is so annoyed with me that her fear of flying is a complete afterthought for her. Well, that’s one problem solved.

As soon as we land in the Caldwell Estate, Caleb bolts off the plane, eager to find Dylan. I turn to Leah, and for a moment, I think about pulling her into a hug, something to close the gap between us.

But instead, I stuff my hands into my pockets as we head toward the mansion.

“You know the filming for my studio’s movie,Darkest Hour, is ongoing in London, right?” I ask, my voice casual, trying to avoid the conversation that’s clawing at the back of my mind.

“Yeah, I know,” she says, her tone clipped. “Why?”

“Well, I’ve got to head there now. I haven’t been to the London set, and it’d be nice to see how it’s coming along.”

Leah stares at me like she expects me to invite her to come along. When I say nothing, her features grow tighter. “That’s fine.”

“I’ll see you back at the estate later.”

“I’ll be waiting,” she says softly. There’s no accusation in her voice, just sadness. And that’s somehow worse.

She stops walking, staring at me. I press a kiss to her lips, quick and perfunctory, then walk away, forcing myself to focus on the tasks at hand. Business. The movie. Anything but Leah’s whisperedI love you.

I can feel her eyes burning into the back of my neck, but I don’t turn around. I can’t. If I look at her, I might break. I might actually tell her the truth—that every second with her terrifies me because I’m falling faster than I ever thought possible.

***

The drive to the set feels longer than it should. I’m restless, my mind jumping between Leah andDarkest Hour. It’s my brother’s dream project, the one thing I promised myself I’d see through after he died. And now it’s finally happening, but I can’t focus on it.

Not fully.

London is bustling when I arrive at the set. The streets hum with life, and the sky is an overcast gray that promises rain but never quite delivers. I can’t wait to be back in New York.

When I arrive on set, it’s a hive of activity. Cameras, crew, actors in military uniforms. It’s chaotic, but in a good way. The kind of chaos that gets things done. I greet the director, Jean Lugard, whose oil-stained jacket and messy hair make him look homeless.

I’m thinking of leaving when I spot Cassian Sterling standing near one of the monitors. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with buzz-cut dark hair that makes him look like a grizzled war veteran. Which, to be fair, he is.

He’s wearing a black tactical jacket and jeans, looking every bit the military consultant I’m sure he’s here to be. The last time I saw Cassian was at my brother’s funeral a few years ago.

I walk up to him, clapping him on the back. “Can I get an autograph, sir?” I say in my best English accent.

Cassian whips around, his brows furrowed. “Who are—”

“Sterling.”

“Silas.” He breaks into a wide smile. “You almost got me.”

Cassian greets me with a firm handshake. His grip is still as strong as ever. We go way back. We met years ago during one of my brother’s crazy escapades in Afghanistan. He was a consultant back then, too, but for real military ops, not movies.

“Shit,” I say, nodding. “It’s been a long time.”

“Too long,” he agrees, clapping me on the back. “How’s life treating you?”

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