Page 73 of Miss Understood

“Freshly fucked.” I grin at her, and a smile crawls across her cheeks.

“You’re going to have to keep those dirty smirks to yourself this morning, Mr. Davis. I have a date with my girlfriends in a little over an hour, and I’d like to have unfucked hair by the time I see them.” She takes a sip of her coffee and flinches as it burns her tongue.

“That’s what you get,” I tease, and she sticks her tongue out at me.

“Watch yourself,” I warn her, my dick getting heavy in my pants, “or I’ll put that tongue to good use.”

She snaps it back into her mouth and rolls her eyes, but the flush on her creamy skin gives her away.

“You got a delivery,” I say, tipping my head to a manila folder that was delivered last night. She worked late, and by the time she came in the door I was stripping off her clothes before she had a chance to set her purse down.

I forgot about the envelope until I saw it again this morning, reminding me there are still odd boundaries we haven’t talked about.

Luce uncrosses her legs and gets up to open the folder. The afterglow fades from her eyes the moment she realizes what she’s looking at.

“Everything all right?”

I don’t have to ask to know the answer. There’s a sudden tension in the room, and it’s one tug away from snapping.

“Yes,” she says, pushing the papers back into the envelope and setting it on the counter. “It’s a contract.” She pauses. “For employment.”

It takes my brain a second to catch up.

Why would I care about a contract?

Why is she tugging at the hem of her shirt like she always does when she’s nervous?

Why is her voice an octave too high?

All the answers come together at once and hit me like a fucking train.

“You’re leaving,” I say.

We both know I’m talking about Price & Davis, but the weight of the words carries a heck of a lot more.

“The firm, yes. I think it’s for the best.” Luce nods. “We talked about this.”

“Once,” I snap, trying to keep the thoughts that are swimming in my head above water. “You said you were thinking about it, and that was it. How was I supposed to know you were working behind my back this entire time? We just won the Marchetto case, and you’re bailing. On the firm. On us.”

“Not on us,” she says. But her arms are crossed over her chest, and there’s a defensive tinge to her tone. I know her walls are coming up.

“You working for the competition is a conflict of interest,” I say.

“Thisis a conflict of interest, Jesse. You’re my boss.”

I already feel out of breath from this conversation. There’s a point in arguments when you know it’s all downhill from here, and we’re crossing it.

“How is this going to look? My wife working for my top competitor?” I’m standing now, pacing the room like I’m drawing the energy out of it. “That’s what this is, right? You’re going to work for Troy?”

“It won’t look any worse than if I continue working for you,” Luce says. “This is business. I’ve worked too hard to throw everything away and be some pregnant wife cooking in the kitchen.”

“I’m not asking you to do that.”

“You’re not asking me much of anything,” she snaps. Her voice is sharp, her fists balled at her sides. “We don’t have the hard conversations, not really. We went from being pretend married to dating, but nothing has actually changed. What are we doing here? Me living in your apartment—”

“Our apartment,” I say.

“And what about mine?”

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