Page 81 of My Totally Unfair Deal

“With all due respect, Mr. Jones,” I say coldly, “I have work to do.”

“I fucking miss you,” he says, voice fraying. “This past month has been the worst stretch of my life. I can’t stop thinking about you. And instead of wondering what you’re doing or who you’re with, I want to be with you.”

My throat tightens. I don’t want to cry in front of him again. But his voice is raw in a way I’ve never heard before.

“For what it’s worth,” he adds, “you never needed to change a damn thing. I did.”

I take a shaky breath. “Apology still unaccepted.” My voice cracks. “I will call security, Harrison. I’m not kidding.”

“I’m not done.” He brushes a strand of hair from my cheek and tucks it behind my ear—so soft, so gentle, I forget how to breathe.

“I can’t sleep without you.” His voice drops. “My bed’s too cold, my place too quiet. Everything reminds me of you, and I can’t take it anymore.”

I swallow hard.

“I want to be where you are, Eliza. I want to move here to Tennessee…Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be. And I would’ve come here a lot sooner to tell you this, but your brother beat my ass when he picked me up from the airport and… I needed to recover for a few days before I came to see you.”

My chest tightens, and a soft laugh escapes my lips.

“You’d leave the city?”

“I’d leave it all,” he says. “The penthouse, the skyline, the clients—I don’t care. None of it matters without you. I need you.”

“What about your penthouse? Your clients? Your city life?”

“I’ll rent it. Or sell it.”

“We don’t offer permanent residence here.”

“How rude of you toassume.” He grins faintly, then leans in and kisses me—quick and hot and completely infuriating. “I can afford to buy a house.”

“Well, I just?—”

“I love you.”

I blink. “What?”

“I love you.” His eyes don’t waver.

The air leaves my lungs. “I love you too.”

He exhales, relieved. “Are you really working right now, or just picking fights with weeds until you stop thinking about me?”

“Who’s assuming now?”

“I’ll take that as an answer.” He kisses me again, and this time, I kiss him back.

He wraps me in his arms, lifting me just enough to knock the air from my lungs. The kiss deepens—slow, searing, like Manhattan never ended. Then, with one last glance over his shoulder, he opens the town car door and guides me inside.

We don’t speak on the drive up to the main house.

He parks, circles around, and opens my door like we’re back in New York. Then he takes my hand and leads me straight to my bedroom.

“We have a month to make up for,” he says, shutting the door behind me. “Where do you want to start?”

He doesn’t wait for my answer.

His mouth crashes into mine with a kind of desperate reverence. His hands are everywhere—my waist, my hair, my hips—gripping me like he’s terrified I’ll vanish again.

---