Page 81 of Sexting the Billionaire

He accepts the deflection with a knowing look. We're both still learning how to navigate these moments of raw honesty without retreating behind our respective walls.

"Speaking of exceptional," he says, smoothly changing the subject, "are you ready for tomorrow's presentation?"

And just like that, we're back on safer ground—the familiar territory of work and professional ambition. "As ready as I'll ever be. Though I'm still not convinced the board will go for it."

Tomorrow marks my official pitch for the independent brand division Roman proposed—my own line under the Elysian umbrella. It's the opportunity of a lifetime, terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.

"They'd be fools not to," Roman says with that absolute confidence I both envy and admire. "Your concept is revolutionary."

"Says the man who's sleeping with me," I tease, though the nerves are real beneath my light tone.

"Says the CEO who recognizes exceptional talent when he sees it." His expression turns serious. "I meant what I said, Cassie. This opportunity is yours regardless of our personal relationship. Your work stands on its own merits."

"I know," I say, though part of me still wonders if the board will see it that way. If they'll view me as the Creative Director who slept her way into a major opportunity. "I just want tobe sure I've thought of everything. The material sourcing, the production timeline, the marketing strategy?—"

"Stop," Roman interrupts gently. "You're overthinking again."

"That's rich coming from you," I counter. "Mr. I-review-every-document-three-times."

"That's different. That's thoroughness."

"And what am I doing?"

"Spiraling," he says, coming around the counter to stand before me. "There's a difference between careful preparation and second-guessing yourself into paralysis."

"This from the man who sent back the Lumière presentation draft four times for revisions," I remind him, though I lean into his touch as he brushes a strand of hair behind my ear.

"That was before I knew how brilliant you are when you trust your instincts," he admits. "I've learned a few things since then."

"Such as?"

"Such as sometimes perfectionism is just fear in disguise." His fingers trace the line of my jaw. "And sometimes the most exceptional results come from letting go of control."

"Now you sound like my sister," I say with a small laugh. "Mia's always telling me to 'trust the creative process' instead of overthinking every design choice."

"Smart woman, your sister." He presses a kiss to my forehead. "You should listen to her."

"I'll remember that next time you criticize one of my presentation slides."

"That's different," he insists, his hands settling on my waist. "That's constructive feedback."

"Mmm-hmm." I loop my arms around his neck, enjoying the solid warmth of him. "And this right here is constructive distraction."

"Is it working?" His mouth hovers just above mine, his breath warm against my lips.

"Ask me again in an hour," I murmur, closing the distance between us.

We never do make it back to discussing my presentation. Instead, we spend the morning in a pleasant haze of physical connection and lazy conversation, the kind of Sunday indulgence neither of us would have allowed ourselves a few months ago.

It's only when my phone buzzes insistently from the bedroom that real life intrudes on our private bubble. I reluctantly disentangle myself from Roman's embrace on the couch where we've been watching an art documentary he swears will inspire my brand aesthetic.

"It's probably Mia," I say, padding toward the bedroom. "She's been texting about her internship interview I told her she should hear something from the program coordinator soon.”

But the name on my screen isn't my sister's. It's Olivia, and the message makes my blood run cold.

SOS. Camden just cornered me at Bloom. Asking about you. Says he's going to be at Elysian tomorrow to "make things right." Whatever that means. Call me.

I stare at the text, a mixture of anger and anxiety churning in my stomach. Camden. The man who broke my heart at our anniversary dinner, then slept with someone else in our bed the very next day. The catalyst for the accidental text that changed everything. The last person I want to see at a professional event where I need to be at my sharpest.

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