Page 25 of The Billionaire's Secret Desire
"For you." He places our food and drinks down with a flourish.
I take a bite of grilled conch with citrus glaze and moan. "Oh my God, this sauce. I want to bathe in it. Or bottle it and sell it. Or maybe both."
Sawyer laughs, the sound low and amused as he lifts his glass toward me. "Noted. I’ll have my legal team draw up the patent for Charli's Sauce of Sin," he says, his eyes crinkling with warmth and a spark of playful admiration that makes my stomach flutter.
I nearly choke on a sip of my drink, laughing as I set the glass down. "That sounds like a whole other kind of business," I say, my voice laced with amusement and something softer underneath—like maybe I’m starting to believe that someone backing me up, someone being in my corner, might not be such a bad thing after all.
Sawyer raises his hands in mock defense, grinning. "Hey, I'm just here to support your empire-building.""
We're both still laughing when I suddenly freeze, mid-bite. "Shit! Shit, shit, shit!"
Sawyer sets down his glass, his expression calm, cool, and collected—like a man who could fix anything, anytime, anywhere. "What? What’s wrong?" he asks, his voice steady, unfazed by my sudden panic.
"I... I never told Carl I quit. I got so excited about the trip and then, with the consulting thing and packing and everything else, I totally forgot to actually tell Carl that I quit. Shit."
Sawyer leans back in his chair, one brow raised. "You didn’t tell Carl?"
I cover my face with both hands. "I didn’t. Ugh. I feel like a jerk. I mean, he deserved it, sure, but still. I should've at least sent a text or something."
"Don’t worry," Sawyer says, clearly enjoying this way too much. "I took care of it."
I blink at him. "What do you mean, you took care of it? Carl is still alive, right?" I ask in mock fear. Sawyer is a billionaire, after all.
"I called Ian this morning before you were up and told him about Carl. Told him to make it official with Carl so he couldn’t pull anything shady while we were gone."
My jaw drops. "Wait. You quit my job for me?"
He grins. "No. I ended your toxic employment situation with extreme prejudice. Ian will handle it. You've got nothing to worry about."
I stare at him for a long second. "You’re serious?"
"Very. And according to Ian, Carl is now pulling doubles all weekend. Karma’s a real bitch."
I burst out laughing, leaning back so hard my chair nearly tips. "Oh, my God. That’s the most satisfying thing I’ve ever heard." The laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it, part genuine amusement, part dizzy relief. Because even though mymind had been spiraling, Sawyer’s unshakable calm and quiet efficiency somehow made it all okay.
I don’t know how to handle that—the way he steps in, handles things, fixes what feels unfixable. It shakes something loose inside me, something I've tried hard to keep locked down. And while part of me wants to shove it aside, the other part... the louder part... wants to lean in, just a little more.
Sawyer clinks his glass gently against mine, which has been suspiciously full no matter how many sips I take. "To fresh starts. And making sure jerks like Carl work every shift they tried to dump on you."
I smile at him, my chest warm in a way that has nothing to do with all the alcohol.
"To fresh starts," I echo, taping my glass to his a bit too hard and some of my mojito spills over the rim. "Oops."
Under the stars, with the sound of waves, the warmth of the drinks, and the hum of laughter, it really does feel like a new beginning.
By the time we get back to the hotel, I’m tipsy in the best way—giddy and flushed, my laughter a little louder, my steps a little less graceful. Sawyer walks beside me, steady as ever, one hand lightly touching the small of my back, guiding me across the lobby with quiet confidence.
We reach my door, and I stop, fumbling in my bag for the stupid key card. “Why do hotel keys always hide?” I mutter, giggling as I finally fish it out and hold it up in triumph. "Found it."
Sawyer chuckles, leaning his shoulder against the door frame, arms crossed as he watches me with that calm, collectedair he wears like a second skin. "Maybe it knows you’ve had one too many mojitos."
I roll my eyes and swat lightly at his arm. “I’m perfectly fine.” I straighten, suddenly aware of how close we are, how quiet it is between us now that the door is right next to us.
The tension that’s been humming under the surface all night sharpens, pulling tight. My breath catches as I look up at him, his face half-lit by the soft hallway light, eyes locked on mine. Neither of us moves. I don’t know who leans in first—maybe we both do—but suddenly my mouth is on his in a soft, uncertain kiss.
And then he’s kissing me back, deep and hungry, his hands bracing my hips as my fingers tangle in the front of his shirt. It’s heat and want and something far more dangerous—all the things we haven’t said poured into a kiss that feels inevitable. My back hits the door, and I let out a breathless sound, lost in the way he touches me like he already knows every part of me.
He pulls back just enough to search my face, his voice rumbles low. "You sure about this, Charli?"
