I can’t help but laugh at how the kid turns his business moniker into the most uncool word in the universe.
“I see he’s got your back,” I say, pulling at his collar and then smoothing it back into place.
Mag kisses my cheek, then my lips, sweeping a hand down to my butt for a not-so-subtle squeeze.
“Good help is hard to find, and your asshat boss requires your assistance at home. He’ll fire you, if you don’t assist,” he rumbles in my ear.
“Bad news: I’ve figured out my asshat boss’ bark is worse than his bite, and he’d be lost without me.”
Mag sets the coffee on the counter. His other arm closes around me.
“Yes, he would. However, his beautiful pain-in-the-ass EA would be marooned without this.”
He kisses me so freaking hard I melt on the spot.
God. Some of the things he says makes my heart want to burst like a worn drum. I frame his face with my hands, bringing his lips to mine.
All the better to give back what I get.
First I devour his bottom lip, outside first, then move deeper until I hear his breath thicken. I taste his tongue and let out a sigh.
He pulls away and leans down.
“Save it for tonight.” He straightens up. “It’s almost Valentine’s, after all.”
My face goes hot for so many reasons.
The promise of a mind-blowing horizontal tango.
The rush of so much teasing to come.
The fact that I’m bedding my underwear model boss for V-day, and not sharing ice cream and wine with Paige in loveless solidarity.
“Brina?” His voice is low.
“Yes?”
He whispers, so Jordan won’t hear, “It’s been over a month and I still love how you blush every damn time I hint what I’ll do to you.”
He’s too good at this. My face feels like a glowing stove.
“So that’s why you waste so much time on talk when you could just do it?” I tease.
He snorts. “I did tell you not to leave.”
I take a step back. I have to before I can’t.
“Goodbye, Mag.” I stop near the door and blow him a kiss.
“You’re still going into that damn office?” he growls, his brow falling in the most grumpalicious way ever.
“I’m going to see Paige for a few hours, and then I’m coming back,” I say, trying not to add holy crap because he makes the office—previously his favorite place in the world—sound like a dungeon.
His face brightens and he steps forward, handing me my coffee.
“Don’t forget this. Have fun with Paige, sweetheart.”
I take it. “I’ll be ho—back soon!”
Uh-oh.
I almost said home.
I was t-minus two seconds from telling Magnus Heron I’d be home soon.
He doesn’t seem to notice, but I sure do. The realization shakes me to my core the whole ride to my apartment.
Paige is in the kitchen, drinking a Coke when Armstrong drops me off and I go in. She puts her drink down, throws her hands in the air, and screams, bounding over as she tugs on her hair.
“What’s with you?” I ask, straightening before she bowls me over.
“Oh my God. Oh-my-God!” She covers her mouth. “I’ve seen a ghost! My phantom roommate. Where the hell have you been? Do I need to book an appointment now if I want to see you? Is that how you roll now?”
I’m about to tell her that’s crazy, but she’s right. She freaked out over text when I asked her to brunch, too.
“Sorry. It definitely gets crazy filling in for Mag at work meetings, and it’s busier than usual.”
“Wait—you’re covering for the CEO? I hope you got a pay raise. It’s a ginormous step up from EA to CEO.” She quirks an eyebrow. “You better dish, lady. You’ve been sending me nothing but crumbs for weeks. Not that I mind you paying last month’s rent for both of us, or having the extra space to work on my pretties without you around...”
She steps aside, revealing a...thinking cat sculpture?
It’s the only way I can describe it.
A big chubby life-sized meower sits on its haunches, one paw held up human-like to its head, pondering the meaning of life—or maybe just what’s for dinner.
“I see you’ve been busy,” I say flatly. “Glad you’ve taken up the mantle of crazy cat lady art, though, since I couldn’t carry the torch.”
Paige walks over and rubs the statue’s head with a maniacal grin.
Oof. I hope she’s not losing it for real since I started spending so much time away.
“Enough about me. I want to hear about you and Heron,” she whips out, bouncing back over.
“It’s a long story. I’ll explain, but I need carbs first.”
“Italiano?” Paige asks.
“Hell yes.”
Half an hour later, we pull up to Mattarello’s Italiano.
“We should invest in this place,” Paige says as we get out of the car. “Although we don’t come here as much as we should.”
“And I suppose that’s the Phantom Roommate’s fault?”
“I don’t know who else’s fault it could be.” Paige laughs.