Page 41 of Mob Boss's Second Chance

I accused her of being a spy. I kissed her. I had sex with her. I had sex with the same woman I accused of being a spy.

“God, Ethan,” I groan as I run my hand through my hair. My shirt is still on the floor, and my pants are hanging loosely around my waist. I shouldhatethat I slept with Natalie Monroe, but the only regrets I have are for accusing her of being a spy.

If I had any sense ofanythingat all, I’d go out there and offer her a proper apology.

And say what, though?

That I’m sorry I thought she was out to get the Cross family? I should’ve thought of doing a background check on her before tabling my suspicions. At this point, it’s less embarrassing to pretend like it never happened.

The sound of something hitting my door snaps me out of my thoughts. My instincts kick in, and I stride toward it, keeping my steps light in case it’s her. Pressing my ear to the wood, I hear muffled words—a voice—her voice.

Natalie.

This is your chance, Ethan.

I hesitate for a fraction of a second, torn between doing the right thing and letting her figure this out on her own. I could choose to be less of an asshole, or I could lean into the version of me everyone expects.

Before I can second-guess myself, I yank the door open with more force than necessary.

Her small gasp fills the air as she stumbles forward, arms flailing, and falls right into my space, landing on the ground at my feet.

Her wide eyes look up at me in shock, her cheeks flushed,

“This is the kitchen scenario all over again,” she mutters. I don’t have to ask—I deliberately didn’t help when she almost fell in the kitchen because I was holding myself back.

“No,” I reply, extending my hand out to her. She looks at it with distrust, and I shake my head with a quiet sigh. “I’m not going to offer you a hand and then snatch it away when you’re reaching out. That’s childish.”

“And yet you have no problem explaining the scenario in detail,” she says with some sass. Rejecting my offer, Natalie presses her hands to the floor, pushes her back out, and struggles to her feet.

She makes it, but it leaves her huffing and heaving. “How did you know I was there?” She asks after spending a minute to catch her breath. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, by the way. I just—I hadsomething to do.”

I know it’s not true, but I’m not about to call her out on a lie when I just acted like an asshole. “I didn’t,” Ilie.“I was leaving. But—” I hold out my hand when she tries to leave, “now that you’re here, I—I have something to talk to you about.”

Her eyebrow arches higher as she folds her arms, her stance firm. “What? I told you that you didn’t have to say anything. It didn’t mean anything to either of us. Unless you’re still stuck on your suspicions? Fine.” She shrugs dramatically. “I’ll entertain it. You think I’m a—”

“No,” I cut her off sharply, my tone brooking no argument as I reach for the door, pulling it closed with a snap.

Her voice is getting louder, and the last thing I need is for Anthony or anyone else to overhear this conversation.

“Why don’t we sit down?” I say, gesturing toward my desk, my tone clipped and formal. Without waiting for her response, I stride across the room and settle behind my desk, carefully arranging my features into a neutral expression.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of the mess still scattered on the floor from earlier—papers, a coffee-stained folder, food, and the remnants of my earlier need to have her.

Natalie notices it, too, her gaze lingering. I see the tension in her shoulders and the subtle twitch of her fingers, as though it’s physically painful for her not to stoop down and fix it.

Her restraint is admirable—if a little irritating. I lean back, my hands clasped on the desk, and wait for her to speak.

“You think I’m a spy because I’ve been around your cousin, Mr. Cross, a little too much.”

“I’ve dismissed that notion,” I say with a wave of the hand. “It’s not like me to come to such conclusions without enough evidence. But,” I add because I want tohearwhat she has to say, “if you’re willing to exonerateyourself, then I’ll listen.”

“Such big words for the clumsy spy,” she teases me, and my lips curl into a flighty smirk.

“Okay.” Natalie leans back, her arms on either end of the chair. “I’ll plead my case. Your cousin—and I mean this in the best way possible—is eccentric. He’s the kind of person to have a fixation and not let it go. I’m sure you’ve experienced it too?”

I nod tightly.

She purses her lips. “Good.”

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