Page 22 of Restrained

Not for me.

“Fucking and sleeping.”

I smile, liking the word “fucking” coming from her mouth way too much. “Yup.”

She walks across the floor, surprising me when she joins me on the bed, crossing her ankles. “Desk in the living room area then?”

She looks through the doorway as if she’s already trying to imagine the desk out there.

“No.”

She groans, lifting her hands to cover her face and slowly dragging them down to sit in her lap. She turns to look at me. “No desk at all? You really feel that strongly about it? You and I both know that desk or no desk, a workaholic is going to work.”

I shrug. “So they will. I won’t encourage it though.”

“You’re infuriating.”

For whatever reason, that makes me laugh, a sound I haven’t heard coming from myself for a while. And it makes her smile.

Lola’s smile is dangerous. It’s as beautiful as she is with her bright white teeth and full lips, and it lights up her already beautiful face.

She was made for smiling.

“I’m a workaholic, but I want a place I can relax.”

“So you’re spending millions of dollars just to find a place where you can relax?” Her eyebrow is lifted, and she’s wearing a proud smirk.

“Well, if you can’t find it, build it.”

“Perfect motto.”

I smile, and it’s a real smile, one I feel deep down, one that’s trying to connect with hers.

Her eyes are fixed on mine, and the connection has been made. I could lean over and kiss her right now, and we’d both be powerless to stop it.

But I don’t.

And she doesn’t.

“Workaholics don’t usually promote relaxation.”

“I’ll be thirty in three days. It’s not supposed to be old.” My voice is quiet even if no one else is in the hotel. The construction crew left an hour ago. “But I'm so fucking tired.”

I watch her delicate throat as she swallows, and I swear she has unshed tears in her eyes as she studies me. “I know exactly what you mean.” Her voice is also quiet, and I know she does.

I want her to be a spoiled princess, the type I hate. But she has something deep under her surface.

The loss of her brother?

Maybe.

“Why did you leave your father’s company? You had it made there, I'm sure.”

She flinches at my blunt question and then straightens her back like the professional she is. “I didn’t want to be just Mr. Sterling’s daughter. I wanted to find out who I am without him.”

Fuuuck... I hate how perfect that answer is.

“That’s brave.”

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