Page 78 of Worth the Fall

Her response is immediate, raw. “You. All of you.”

I grip her thighs tighter, pulling her closer as I give her exactly what she’s begging for. Her cries grow louder, filling the room as I lose myself in her. There’s no teasing now, no holding back—just the two of us, tangled in the heat of each other, every breath, every touch, every sound building to a crescendo that leaves us both undone.

When she collapses onto the bed, trembling and breathless, I follow, wrapping her in my arms and pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. “Still hate me?” I tease, my voice soft now, filled with satisfaction.

She laughs weakly, rolling over to face me. “I hate how much I love you.”

“Good,” I say, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Because I’m never letting you go.”

I laugh as she runs down the hall, and I chase after her, landing a playful smack on her butt as the night closes in around us, warm and perfect.

CHAPTER 17

Mia

The bathroom mirror reflects a version of me I barely recognize. A sharp navy suit, tailored to perfection, hugs my frame, while my strawberry-blond hair is twisted into an elegant chignon. It’s the kind of outfit that’s supposed to exude confidence, but my red-rimmed eyes betray the sleepless night I’ve spent obsessing over every detail of today.

My cue cards tremble in my hands as I mutter, "You’ve got this." I force a smile at my reflection, one that feels more like a grimace. "You’re smart, prepared, and you’ve literally argued cases in front of federal judges. What’s a room full of partners?"

But it’s not just any room. It’s the senior partners of Harrison & Brooks. The ones who decide the future of the firm—and whether or not I’ll finally land the partner track I’ve been clawing my way toward for years. My stomach twists with every thought of what’s at stake. This isn’t just about a title or a bigger office; it’s about proving to myself that I’m more than the woman who let her life be consumed by Cameron’s shadow for over a decade.

The door creaks open behind me, and I jump, spinning around to see Miguel leaning casually against the frame. Barefoot, with sweatpants slung low on his hips and a gray T-shirt clinging to his chest, he looks like he just stepped out of my dreams—or a Calvin Klein ad. His curls are messy, his face still soft from sleep, and his smile, as always, is devastating.

"You’ve been in here for a while," he teases, his voice rough with the remnants of sleep. "What are you doing? Coaching yourself through a trial?"

I groan, clutching the cue cards to my chest like a lifeline. "I’m practicing for my presentation. It’s important."

Miguel’s smile softens as he steps into the bathroom, leaning a hip against the counter. "Important, huh? And you’re practicing… in front of the toothpaste?"

"It’s not funny," I say, glaring half-heartedly. "This presentation could make or break my career. I can’t mess it up."

He plucks the cue cards from my hand with infuriating ease, flipping through them as though they’re a casual magazine. "Let’s see… Ah, here’s the part where you dazzle them with your analysis of market trends. Riveting."

"Miguel!" I snap, lunging for the cards, but he holds them above his head, grinning like a schoolboy.

"You need to relax," he says, tossing the cards onto the counter. He steps closer, his hands sliding up to cup my face. The warmth of his touch stills my racing thoughts as his dark eyes lock on mine. "Mia, listen to me. You’re going to kill it. You’re smart, you’re prepared, and you’ve worked harder than anyone to get here. If they don’t see that, they’re idiots—and frankly, you’re too good to waste your time on idiots."

His voice is steady, calm, and annoyingly convincing. I feel a lump rise in my throat, and I blink quickly to keep the tears at bay. "Thank you," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "But what if?—"

Before I can spiral into another wave of self-doubt, his lips brush against mine. Soft at first, tentative, like he’s testing the waters. But the moment I lean into him, it deepens. Hishands move to my waist, pulling me closer, and I lose myself in the sensation. The worries and fears that had consumed me moments ago melt away, replaced by the heady warmth of his kiss.

By the time we pull apart, I’m breathless. His forehead rests against mine, his grin lazy and satisfied. "There," he says softly. "Now you’ve got your lucky charm."

A laugh bubbles up before I can stop it. "That’s your big plan? Kiss me into confidence?"

He shrugs, his hands lingering on my waist. "It worked, didn’t it?"

I swat his chest, my cheeks warm. "I need to finish getting ready."

He steps back, holding his hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine. But just remember—you’re a badass, Mia Mason. Don’t let them forget it."

As he walks out, I turn back to the mirror. The woman staring back at me isn’t the trembling, self-doubting mess I was moments ago. She looks strong, capable—and maybe just a little bit in love.

By the time Linda pounds on my apartment door, I’ve almost convinced myself that I’ve shaken off the worst of my nerves. The hum of preparation—double-checking cue cards, smoothing my suit for the millionth time—has kept my anxiety manageable, or so I think. That is, until the sharp, insistentbang,bang,bangof her knock rattles through the apartment like a gavel calling court to session.

Before I can even make it to the door, Miguel is there. He opens it with his usual calm, his rumpled gray T-shirt and sweatpants a stark contrast to the whirlwind about to barrel through the threshold.

"Linda," he says, blinking at the sight of her, "it’s… early."

---