Page 102 of Broken Deal

Max strides into my cubicle, making himself at home as he perches on the edge of my desk, crossing one ankle overhis knee. “Are my eyes deceiving me? I can’t believe you’re here.”

I keep the eye roll I want to throw him in check. “Yeah, sorry about that. Had a family emergency.”

“I don’t care.” He rolls his eyes. “Tell me, how’s the article going? And the gossip column?”

I look around, and the office is pretty empty. This is my chance to tell him the truth.

“The article is almost done, only needs some editing, which I’m currently working on, but the gossip column…not so much. I can’t write something like that, Max. It’s not my style, and you know it.” I lift my chin slightly, keeping my voice as even as possible. I won’t back down. Not on this.

“Let’s go to my office to talk some more,” he grits out, tilting his head.

Once we enter and he shuts his door, his real colors show, as always. “I don’t give a fuck if it’s your style or not, Sophia. You get paid to write. Are you incapable of following simple instructions?”

Something inside me snaps as I hear the words come out of his mouth. Anger. Annoyance. But overall, I’mfed up.I’m tired of being the good little Sophia who lets people eat away at the kindness of my heart. With everything that went down with Amelia, a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

I’m done being pushed around.

“It’s funny you say that. Because you get paid to be editor in chief, and yet, I do all the work for you.”

His face turns bright red, his eyes bulging in shock. “What did you just say?” He stalks toward me, eating the distance between us. He’s a tall man, sure. Not as tall as Lorenzo, though, and honestly, it doesn’t intimidate me in the least.

“I’m tired of playing your puppet, Max. I’m not writing the gossip column, and I’m done doing your job.”

“I will make your life a living hell if you don’t comply.”

“I would love to see you try,” I reply in defiance. “The emails are there. All the evidence that you’ve been dumping the work on my lap for years. I wonder how the VP will react if she ever finds out?”

Taking a stand after being taken advantage of for so long feels like a fever dream. My heart is beating like crazy, knowing this confrontation will probably bring horrible consequences. But I can make it work, I always do. Even if he decides to fire me right now, I can pack up my things and move back to Kentucky, get a two-bedroom apartment, and live with Mom. Get a waitressing job, or anything to survive in the meantime. Everything is cheaper in Kentucky, anyway.

Why is the thought of moving to Kentucky so depressing, then?

My life is here. My friends.Lorenzo. The idea of walking away from him kills me. My heart aches at the thought.

Max’s nose flares in annoyance as he holds my gaze, but I don’t quiver. “Very well. You better bring the article of the lifetime, Sophia. Otherwise, you won’t like the consequences.”

That’s it? He’s not going to fire me?

This is a win. Take it and run away!

Something’s not right. Out of all the scenarios I’ve cooked in my head, this wasn’t one of them.

Don’t overthink it.

I simply nod and walk away, feeling more confident than ever.

Lorenzo’s article is done.

A sense of relief washes through me as I stare at the completed work. The first thing I’ll do tonight is show it to him. If he hates it, I’ll have to figure something else out. But I think I did good. I feel good about it, and my gut is rarely wrong when it comes to this sort of thing.

As I’m printing the article to give a physical copy to Lorenzo, I hear the door of the office open and steps getting closer to me. The hair on the back of my neck prickles in anticipation, and I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. Lorenzo has such a specific, commanding presence that can take the air out of my lungs and make my skin fill with goosebumps with his proximity. I turn around and find Lorenzo leaning against the wall, arms casually behind him, dressed in black pants and a burgundy short-sleeve knit top that shows off most of his ink. I’ve never been drawn to tattoos before, but that’s only because I’ve never seen someone like Lorenzo wear them the way he does. I can’t picture him without them—they suit him perfectly. The small golden chain I love to tug sits around his neck, gleaming against the fabric of his shirt. When my eyes meet his, the intensity of his gaze—hungry and electrifying—makes my thighs clench with need.

“Hi, Blue,” he rasps, a small but killer smile playing on his lips.

I swallow hard, trying to find words. “Hi, Ace.”

He closes the small gap between us, arms still tucked behind his back. When he stands in front of me, a smallbouquet of purple Madagascar periwinkles appears between us—the same flowers that decorated the villa in Panamá. The same flower he tucked behind my ear that night.

I look up, tilting my head. “For me?”

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