Page 29 of Save Me the Trouble
She’d left after that, but not without the weight of her implication still hanging over me.
Was she right? Had I delayed for a different reason?
Because I didn’t want to share him.
Groaning, I sat at my desk.What was happening to me? Why did this success feel like such a loss?
I tried to focus on my screen and the other tasks I had for the day, but I kept going back to Killian’s profile dashboard, the status set to “In Discovery” as the system worked its magic. Soon, the empty “Match” section would start to fill with profiles of women—smart, wealthy, independent women whose personalities would fit with his.
This was supposed to be a good thing—a successful profile. A successful match. A satisfied client. And a generous commission that wouldn’t make me so dependent on Darcy.
But all I could feel was this gnawing sadness in the pit of my stomach.
I knew it was ridiculous. I barely knew him when it came to time. Three weeks was nothing in the grand scheme of things…but when that three weeks were entirely dedicated to getting to know every nook and cranny of a person? And when that person demanded answers to those same questions?
I took a swift inhale and dropped my head into my hands. What was this…feeling? Jealous? Disappointment? Probably both.
The rational part of me kept reminding myself that Killian was off-limits. He was a client, and worse, he was a man who lived in a world so far removed from mine that it might as well be a different planet. But the irrational part of me, the part that kept replaying the way he’d looked at me this morning when he said he was looking forward to the exhibit tonight, didn’t care about any of that.
This was exactly why I had to keep my distance. The last time I got involved with a man like Killian, I didn’t just get burned—I ended up scorched, my entire life going up in ashes. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t make that mistake again, that I’d be smarter, more careful. And yet, here I was, staring at the photo in his profile. The still I’d captured in the middle of filming him that first day. His tie gone, his collar unbuttoned, and anunrestrained smile on his face. It was as rare as a glimpse of sunlight from behind Seattle’s cool, collected, and ever-present clouds.
And the ache in my chest warned I was right back where I’d started.
Just as I was about to close the tab, a knock on the side of my cubicle jolted me out of my thoughts. I looked up to see a delivery man standing there, holding a large package wrapped in elegant brown paper.
“Grace Johnson?” he asked, confirming my name before setting the box on my desk. “This is for you.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled, my mind struggling to catch up. I wasn’t expecting anything.
He nodded, giving me a polite smile before walking away, leaving me staring at the package in bewilderment. There was no address, only my name, which meant that wasn’t a delivery man but a courier who’d been told exactly where to find me.
And there was only one man who’d do that.
I hesitated for a moment before tearing open the paper, revealing a sleek black box. Inside, nestled in soft tissue paper, was the most stunning dress I’d ever seen—deep emerald silk that shimmered in the light, underneath a pair of strappy gold stilettos with a very expensive red bottom and a set of delicate gold jewelry.
My breath caught in my throat as I realized who this was from.
“Grace—whoa, what is that?” Darcy’s voice suddenly piped up from behind me.
I jumped and turned to see her wide-eyed expression as she leaned over my desk to get a better look. “Holy moly, that is gorgeous. What did you get this for? And oh my god, those shoes—” She broke off when she saw their soles. “Oh no.” Her voice plummeted into concern. “This is from him, isn’t it?”
“Just for the exhibit tonight,” I said, trying to make the truth sound as professional as possible even though my heart fluttered wildly in my chest.
Darcy let out a long exhale. “Grace…you can’t…”
“I know,” I muttered, my mind racing. “Trust me, I know.” I swallowed over the lump in my throat. “Tonight’s the last night—my last night working with Kill—Mr. Crown. Diane pushed his profile onto the server this morning, so this is just…business.” I tried to sound convincing, but the truth was, the line between professional and personal had blurred a long time ago, and that scared me.
Darcy shot me a skeptical look, crossing her arms over her chest. “Grace, you are the most overqualified person for this job, so please, don’t try to make me believe you think this is all still business.”
“It is?—”
“The early morning runs. The late nights at his office,” she pressed, lowering her voice, her eyes swinging around the office to make sure no one heard her. “I know you need this job—need the commission from this client, so I haven’t said much, but this…I’m pulling out the safety net.”
I sucked in a breath.Safety netwas the equivalent of a safe word. After what happened to me, I told—begged—Darcy to be my voice of reason if I ever ended up in over my head again. I’d told her I needed her to be my safety net. To be my voice of reason if I got too close. Too tangled up. And I promised her, if that ever happened, I’d listen and do whatever she said, regardless of how I felt in the moment.
“He needs to marry someone the program picks, not continue to explore”—she gestured toward me and the dress—“this.”
“I know.” Resignation hit me like a bag of bricks straight to the chest.
