Page 211 of The Re-Proposal

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THE HEART REVEAL

CODY

Hell is life without Clarissa.I keep torturing myself with thoughts of her. Her sweet smile. Her brown skin. Her hands reaching for me, moaning my name in that way I like.

I miss her.

But I can’t even dream of her.

Somehow, even my subconscious knows I don’t deserve to.

“How long are you going to stay here staring creepily?” Vargas asks, peering at me through the rear-view mirror.

I keep my eyes trained across the street where people are moving in and out of the co-op. Through the door, I see a hint of colorful banners and well-crafted kiosks.

I had the booths torn down and remade into stalls with more space, shelving and fans to cool the women down.

Vargas licks his lips. “Bolton, you can’t keep doing this. We’re so behind on our next project that our research team is asking if we’re going broke.”

“We’re not going broke,” I mutter.

“We will if you keep spending all that marketing on this co-op,” Vargas grumbles in response.

I ignore him.

Clarissa is gone, but she would want the foundation to be successful.

And yes, I know that’s not what shereallywants from me. She made that clear.

But it’s the most I can do right now.

“Bolton,” Vargas insists.

“Any movement from Winifred?”

“The answer hasn’t changed since the last time you asked me.”

That earns him a dark glare.

We’re moving too slowly.

I need to crack down on my anti-fan group and rip the masks off all the nameless threats. That’s the only way I can bring Clarissa back. It’s the only way I can keep her safe.

I don’t plan on being a lovesick CEO, pining over the woman that he lost—twice—forever. And I sure as hell can’t keep running the company with a brain that’s too grieved to function.

I’m skating by on a prayer.

Ironically, our stocks are up. My image is that of a single man with a sick foster kid. And it’s raking in the pity points.

People think they can trust me. They’re wrong. Without the woman who’s responsible for this coal of a heart beating again, I’m nothing but a monster.

A tired monster.

I’m barely making it through the day. I can’t stand my office. Every time I see my desk, I think of Ris—her glorious body clinging to mine, silky skin under my fingers, legs wrapped around me, hot cords of heat binding us as I burrowed into her. The taste of her is etched in my head, no longer a distant ten year memory, but a living, present haunting.

That’s what she is. A ghost.

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