Page 44 of Regards, Mia

“You’re really selling me.” He selects another bottle and shows it to me. “How about this one? Is it more than decent, too?”

“Yum. This is one of my favorites.”

Jay puts it in the cart.

“It’s pricey,” I say, choosing another bottle. “This one is a better deal.”

Jay’s dark eyes narrow on me. “You have this preconceived notion of me that I can’t afford wine.” He takes the bottlefrom my hands and puts it in the cart. “But the truth is, I can afford more than one bottle.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t afford wine. It’s just a better deal for the money.”

Jay walks ahead of me a few steps. “I don’t always care about the better deal,” he says, turning around to let his gaze drop over me. “Sometimes I just want what tastes good.”

A shiver runs through me from head to toe. I know exactly what he means.

CHAPTER 18

Hard To Believe

At Mia’s condo parking lot, there is no sign of the suspicious black Lexus, but I get the feeling that danger is lurking around the corner.

There have been no further threats since I came on board to watch over Mia, which raises a red flag for me. I don’t trust the quiet.

If I’m right, the man hasn’t given up; he’s planning.

When Mia pulls into her spot and cuts the engine, I’m there to open her door. “Let’s get inside.”

“Can I at least grab the groceries?”

I shake my head and haul her out of the car. “I’ll come back for the groceries.”

She begins to protest, but smothers the urge and allows me to escort her to the door. I know she thinks everything I do is overkill, but that doesn’t stop me from ordering her to wait inside her locked front door while I do a full sweep of the entire condo, including the balcony.

When I’m sure everything is secure, I go back outside to get the groceries. The parking lot is quiet, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

“Everything okay?” Mia asks, reading my expression.

We’ve spent enough time together over the past few weeks that we are beginning to communicate without saying a word. I know when Mia’s had a bad day or slept poorly. Or when she’s had a satisfying day at work.

“Stay inside,” I tell her, slipping out the back door to the small patio to give it a quick inspection.

When I come back, Mia is opening a bottle of wine. She has kicked off her high heels and shed her blazer, looking more relaxed than I’ve seen her since our first night together.

“You’ll join me for a glass,” she says, popping the cork.

“Is that an order?”

She quirks a brow at me, pouring two glasses of wine. “I am technically your boss, right?”

“No. You’re my client.”

She raises her glass to mine. “Drink, Jay.”

I raise my glass to hers then to my mouth. She’s right, it’s delicious. I shouldn’t have gotten so uptight at the store about affording the wine. But after the way she judged me for my tattoo, I couldn’t help jumping to conclusions.

Maybe I judged Mia a little bit too. Her condo isn’t anything like the lavish home I pictured her living in. It’s a small place, practical and neat. There is a tiny living room, a galley kitchen, and an office. Her furniture is high quality, but completely devoid of personality. The walls are painted builder’s beige, and the hardwood floors are bare.

“Did you just move in?”

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