Page 46 of Best In Class
Initially, Stella and Nova were supposed to come along, butmagically, everyone had something come up.
They are matchmaking, I’m sure of it, despite how innocently Stella said Noah was taking her to Tybee Island for a sex marathon, and Nova claimed that she’dforgotten that she and Anson had date night planned months ago.
Sex marathon? Date night?My ass!
As for Camy, she pushed hard to be included, but Dom shut that down fast. He told her—firmly—that it was too early for interior design input. With Tommy backing Dom up, Camy had no choice but to step aside.
This has disaster written all over it, I think, as I walk through the hallways of Savannah Lace.
Since we started working together, Dom and I have been circling each other.
I could pretend we weren’t. I could pretend—oh, so many things—but the truth is, it’s like we caught each other’s scent and,voilà, now we want…want…want.
Driving together, just the two of us.
Sharing meals…just the two of us.
It’s a powder keg waiting for a spark.
We’re blowing hot and cold. One minute I’m kissing him like I forgot everything he ever did to hurt me, and the next, I’m giving him the cold shoulder during a project review.
I’m confused.
And he’s not helping by playing it straight. He’s steadfast in being a respectful, professional partner. He’s not trying to charm me or crack my shell with clever little lines.
He’s just…working.
And the bastard is still funny, damn him.
We get along so well—on paper, in meetings, on-site.
It’s infuriating.
It’s intoxicating.
We’re building something together.Again.
And God help me, I can’t tell if it’s just a hospital.
Dom drives his Porsche Taycan like he designs—smoothly and annoyingly.
Does he have to be good at everything?
It’s a car he’s driving, Luna! Maybe you’re waxing poetic, and overreacting, ever think of that?
All the fucking time!
I work on my tablet as we head north on I-16, flipping through case studies and schematics while he hums to a classical jazz playlist.
“Do you ever not work?” he asks.
“Do you ever stop being smug?”
He grins. “Not when I’m winning.”
“Winning what?”
He glances over, waves a hand at me. “This.”
