Page 15 of Knotting on Heaven's Door

“No.”

I raised my hands.

“NO!” she said again, louder, pointing her straw at me like it was a weapon. “ADA. TELL ME YOU DIDNOTSLEEP WITH—”

“Shhh!” I hissed, jumping up to close the blinds to my office and half tackle her across the desk. “Do you want the whole building to hear?!”

Mila scrambled back, practically flailing. “I can’t—I need a minute—you slept with Sebastian Laurente?!The guy I just hired?! The guy who made the orgasmic duck confit?!”

“It wasn’t on purpose!”

“How do youaccidentallysleep with someone?”

“I didn’t know who he was!” I hissed.

Mila opened her mouth, but I beat her to it.

“I knew he was Karl’s cousin, okay? But he said something about Paris—Geneva, too—I thought he was in town only for the ceremony. Just visiting. Flirting for fun. And to be honest…” I dragged a hand down my face, cheeks burning with shame and caffeine-fueled frustration, “I was pretty tipsy by the time we got to his hotel room, and I didn’t care anymore.”

Mila stared.

“I had no idea he was even on our candidates list,” I continued. “This family hasloadsof money. What is he even doing working?”

She leaned forward like we were gossiping in a high school bathroom, eyes sparkling. “Okay, so… I heard something. I didn’t ask during the interview because, duh,not my business,but word in the pack is that his rich daddy cut him off.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course. He’s, what—thirty-two and still living offpapa’smoney until daddy snapped?”

“Thirty-six,” Mila corrected smugly. “And yeah, no idea what he did to piss off the Laurente empire, but the man needed a job. And, to be fair, he’s really good at it. Charming, skilled, smart—he didn’t walk in like an entitled prick. Just a guy who wanted to cook.”

I slumped back in my chair, utterly done with all of it. “I slapped him when I left his hotel room.”

Mila froze.

Then exploded into laughter. Full-on, head-thrown-back, snort-between-giggles laughter.

“Youslappedhim?”

“He said something smug. It was warranted.”

She doubled over, nearly spilling her drink. “Oh my gods, this is better than reality TV. We need a camera crew in here.”

“Ihateyou.”

“No, you don’t,” she wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes.

Mila leaned back on the couch, one leg swinging, the last of her frappuccino now just ice and syrup. “So... do you think it would be wise to speak with Susan in HR? Just in case?”

I gave her a look that could cut steel. “No. Absolutely not. Thelesspeople who know about this mess, the better. You know Susan—she can’t even keep her own mating status private. She’d have this all over the office by lunch.”

Mila winced, acknowledging the point. “Right. No HR. Got it.”

I rubbed my temples, eyes squeezed shut. “Gods, I need an aspirin. My head is pounding like hell.”

Mila grinned. That evil, knowing grin that only eight years of friendship could make borderline affectionate.

“So,” she said, voice pitched in exaggerated innocence. “Wasit at leastgood?”

I opened one eye and rolled it.

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