Page 53 of Sweet Sinners
I’m not ready to lose that.
So I swallow down everything I could say. Every scar, every fight, every thing I did just to make it out alive. Instead, I force a smirk and lean against the counter, shrugging like it’s nothing.
“Beats me,” I lie, shifting just enough to steer her away from that train of thought. “Find anyone yet who makes your gut twist?”
"One person stands out, but I haven't met everyone yet. There are two VPs who always seem just out of reach, making it hard to get a read on them. I don’t want to jump to conclusions without the full picture." Her voice is steady, certain. "I'm not about taking shortcuts."
I watch her for a second, the way her jaw sets, the determination threading through her words. It’s fucking admirable—how she refuses to cut corners, even when she has every excuse to.
"If you give me a list with their details, I can dig deeper into their backgrounds—check their social media, get a sense of who they really are," I offer. It’s not much, but it’s something. And I hate that all I can give her is dinner and a few suggestions when she’s carrying the weight of an entire company on her shoulders. I can’t even step foot in that office to throw my weight around.
Not that she’d need it, especially with the way she’s been hitting the gym.
Her shoulders sag, just a little. "That wouldn't be right," she murmurs, hesitation creeping into her voice.
"It’s fine," I argue. "You’re the CEO. Think of me as a consultant. You’re hunting for a problem within the company, not prying into personal lives. I’ll stick to what’s relevant."
She shakes her head. "No. If I hand over an employee roster, that’s confidential information. Even if it’s just names, it’s a line I can’t cross."
Fuck. I slump against the kitchen island. "Then how can I help?"
"Tonight’s movie night," she announces, voice firm with finality. "Because it’s Friday, and your job is to make sure I’m so distracted I forget work even exists." She points at me like she’s laying down a challenge.
I smirk. "Got any movie preferences?"
She purses her lips, thinking. "Not big on car chases or action-heavy plots. A psychological thriller, I don't know something with depth and not just jump scares. And definitely no romantic movies."
"Noted." I extend my hand. "But we’re gonna need pizza and beer to make this a proper movie night."
"And popcorn," she adds, eyes glinting with amusement.
I grin. "How could I forget the popcorn?"
She pauses, considering my words, her gaze sweeping over me one more time before she nods and heads upstairs. I know she’s going to change, but that doesn’t stop the way my stomach tightens. I drag my hands down my jeans, as if I can smooth out the nerves that shouldn’t even be there in the first place.
We’ve got a top-notch home theater, perfect for movie nights. Big screen, surround sound, plush-ass seating—the kind of setup people would kill for. But I already know I won’t be able to focus, not with Cali sitting right next to me. Her presence alone is enough to distract me more than anything on the screen ever could.
Dark room. Horror movies. Yeah, I’m definitely pulling that card. The enveloping silence, the anticipation—it could set the stage for something I don’t need to be thinking about. I take a deep breath, shaking it off, and head to my room to change into pajamas. Something comfortable. Something to remind myself this isn’t anything more than what it is.
I move through the motions—checking the beer, getting the popcorn ready—but my mind drifts somewhere else entirely.
Nights like this used to be my favorite. Back when life was simple. Back when my mom would put on a movie, curl up on the couch with me, and we’d just be. I remember the way she smelled—something faintly floral, but mostly just warm, familiar. She’d run her fingers through my hair absentmindedly, the way moms do when their kid is close. That kind of touch. Safe. Thoughtless. And the sound of her laughter—soft but full, like it had weight to it. It’s been years since I heard it, but some part of me still remembers. Some part of me aches for it.
This is what I’m chasing. This is the kind of normalcy I need.
"It’ll help," I murmur under my breath, thinking of Cali. She carries too much, and if my job tonight is to make her forget about all of it for a little while, then I’ll do it. That, I can handle.
But then she walks into the kitchen.
The air shifts.
Loose tank top, dipping just low enough to draw my eyes exactly where they shouldn’t go. No bra. And those tiny cotton shorts—the kind that ride up a little when she moves—aren’t helping.
Suddenly, I don’t want to distract her with a movie.
I want to distract her in every way that’s going to get me in trouble.
Chapter twenty-six
