Page 42 of Wolfish Player
“What about the advance on the office romance?”
“I still expect that book from you, too…” He pauses, his eyes softening, just for a second. “But I think you’re in a much better headspace to write it now, correct?”
“I’m halfway finished.”
“Good to know.”
“I’m not sleeping with you again,” I say, finding the last scraps of my backbone. “I meant that.”
“I thought you only meant it if we weren’t in a relationship.”
“Seeing as though that’s ‘not your thing,’ then?—”
“I would like to be with you,” he interrupts, his hand squeezing at my waist. “That’s why I don’t want you to work under me anymore.”
I blink, stunned. “I’m not trying to be your first relationship project.”
“Then be my first girlfriend,” he says, voice sharp but eyes almost pleading. “And please stop making this difficult.”
I stare, throat dry, unable to form words.
“If you’re waiting for me to beg you, I will.” His jaw flexes. “I’ve really missed you, and it’s not just the sex.”
“I’ll take you on dates, Heather,” he adds, softer now. “Not because you asked for them, but because you deserve them.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes. His finger presses against my lips, silencing me.
“I meant what I said about being sorry.” His grip tightens, possessive at my waist. “Give me another chance and I promise you won’t regret it.”
Silence.
“Heather, I’m fucking trying here…” His voice is hoarse. “Can you say something?”
“I’m still processing the ‘girlfriend’ part.” My lips curve into a shaky smile. “I haven’t really heard anything else.”
He lets out a low laugh, the sound rough with relief, and pulls me against him, his lips crushing mine. The kiss is urgent, claiming, and it drags every memory of what I’ve missed straight back to the surface. My knees weaken as I melt into him, and when he finally pulls back, his breath still mingling with mine, I’m left trembling, undone.
“I’m serious about the edits on theWildwoodbook,” he says, voice rough. “I’m offering you a seven figure deal on that one…”
“You want me to work on it tonight?”
“You can start this weekend.” He tugs me against his side, already steering me toward the door. “We’re spending tonight making up for lost time.”
—The End?—
—
EPILOGUE
HEATHER
Several Months Later
The rooftop of Grey Wolf Publishing is louder than I expected—champagne popping, readers waving books in the air, cameras flashing against the skyline.
It’s my release party, though it feels more like a whirlwind. Everywhere I look, someone’s clutchingThe Final Terms—the contemporary office romance that started all of this.
It doesn’t seem real, not when I remember how close I came to never finishing it.
