Page 37 of Strictly Business

My thumb hovers over the reply button, but I can’t bring myself to type anything.

The lie feels too big, too tangled, and I don’t know how to get myself out of this.

I swipe all the messages away and set the phone down.

I know I’m avoiding the inevitable conversation. I’ll have to talk to them eventually.

But not today.

Today, I’m going to pretend I don’t have to deal with any of it.

At least, until I go to work.

I shuffle out of bed, dragging the covers with me, and head straight for the wall of windows hidden behind thin curtains. My eyes widen at the sight in front of me, the entire city sprawled out below me. I’ve lived in New York for over five years, but I’ve never seen it like this.

How the hell did this even happen?

Last night, I was on the arm of a billionaire, announcing to the world that we’re engaged. And today? My entire world has flipped on its head in less than twenty-four hours, all thanks to my boss. The man who casually told me to move in here like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like he wasn’t offering me a place big enough to fit my entire childhood home.

“I need coffee,” I mutter, dragging myself away from the stunning view before my brain starts spiraling.

First order of business? Shower. Second? Caffeine.

I shuffle toward the bathroom, my eyes widening when I enter the bathroom. It’s insane, like something out of a luxury magazine. Double sinks, a massive mirror, and a shower that looks like it belongs in a five-star spa.

The shower in my apartment had the worst water pressure known to man, not to mention it was crusted with limescale. But this? This is what dreams are made of.

I can’t wait to step into this thing.

I strip out of my pajamas, letting them pool on the marble floor, and step inside the glass-walled shower. Reaching out, I twist the sleek gold knob, anticipation building as I imagine the warm water hitting my skin.

Nothing happens.

“Huh?” I twist it the other way, frowning.

Still nothing.

I jiggle the knob, giving it an extra push this time. Not a single drop of water.

“No, no, no…” I mutter, twisting it again with a bit more desperation. I press my palm against the wall for leverage and give the damn thing one final turn.

Still. Nothing.

“Are you kidding me?” I groan, dropping my head against the cool glass door.

All I wanted was a nice, hot shower to clear my head and maybe wash away the insanity of the past twenty-four hours.

“This cannot be happening,” I mutter, my forehead still pressed against the glass.

Grabbing a fresh, white towel, I wrap it tightly around myself and head for the door. Maybe there’s someone around whocan help. Nicholas mentioned he had a maid who came in the mornings. Maybe she’ll know how to fix the shower.

With one hand clutching the towel and the other reaching for the door handle, I pull it open and—

Wham.

I slam right into a solid, very male chest.

“What the—”

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