Page 45 of Crossing Lines

“All the shapes are boxy, and the designs are shit and can’t be used outside of a game day or be used as layers. Let’s not even talk about the drab, masculine colors and designs, and cheap fabrics that are such a turnoff. Where is the size inclusivity? The options for women besides a shirt that won’t fit right or look cute on any woman’s body?”

“Can you show me specifically what you mean?” He pushes his chair so that he’s sitting right next to me. “What is boxy?”

I flip to a page that has a shirt on it and point to it. “These are probably made for men, but a woman’s shirt needs to be cut differently or else it’ll look like a literal box on us.”

I go on to explain and show what I mean, and he takes notes on his phone. When we finish, he sits back in his chair in shock.

“Shit,” he says. “The entire line needs to be revamped.”

“Most definitely.”

“Thank you.” He looks me dead in the eye. “Seriously, thank you.”

I shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is. I just need to figure out if the design team can do better.”

“Give them the feedback and I’d be happy to look at some of their new designs to see if they’re on the right track.” I’m not sure why I offer that, especially when I technically only agreed to help him right now. Maybe it’s because he’s looking at me like I’m someone special, like I’m smart—something I’ve never been told before. And yet, here’s a billionaire businessman, and he needsmefor my brain. No man has ever been attracted to my personality or my smart mouth. It was purely physical and only stayed on a hookup level. But in this moment, I feel powerful, like we’re almost equals.

“Thank you.” Surprise flickers across his face before he hides it. “Please let me compensate you for your time.”

“Ew, don’t make it gross and add money into the picture. Me consulting on this is my thank-you for the table.”

“As you wish.”

I narrow my eyes at him.

“What?” he asks.

“You accepted too easily,” I say. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” I give him a hard stare, as if willing him to crack.

He stares back, steadily and confidently. He’s like a magnet, pulling me not only toward him but also up to a new height. When I look at him, all my worries become quiet, and it’s terrifying. I’m so used to carrying around the burden that is life, that I don’t know what to do with a little extra breathing room. I feel lighter than I ever have before, bordering on weightless.

I don’t know what’s going on, or what’s between us, but there’s a surge in the air, palpable and intense. Every forbidden thought and feeling I’ve ever had rushes to the surface,desperate for release, desperate for him. But thoughts of Mom dash it all. If she ever found out I was not only staying with a billionaire, but sleeping with one too…

I shudder, a cold chill creeping across my skin at the thought.

“Thanks for dinner,” I say, standing so suddenly my chair scrapes across the floor. I need some fresh air, air that’s not being shared with Evren and air that doesn’t tempt me with every breath I take.

“No. You don’t get to leave like this. Sit back down.”

“Leave like what?” I ask. Normally, I would defy him, but something about his authority is intoxicating. It’s a forbidden attraction, a thrill I can’t resist, for someone to take control and let me not be the strong one for once.

“Like you’re running away,” he says.

“I’m not running. I just know when to leave before things turn messy.”

“Because keeping your distance is easier than admitting you feel something.”

I glare in response to that correct observation, hating that he sees through my defenses so easily. Glaring at him is better than showing any other feeling or vulnerability. A glare is my natural reaction when someone I don’t trust or know tries to take care of me. It’s the safest way to live life, to be over the top and push people away. Scaring people away is part of my personality. That way, no one gets to know the real me. I’m too much for anyone, no matter how much I wish it weren’t true.

“I don’t care how many glares you throw my way,” he says, plopping some more of the lamb on my plate. I don’t even want to begin to guess how he knows that’s my favorite. “Your eyes are gorgeous, and I’ll take it.”

“You’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met and?—”

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