Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“You made me trust you without even trying, Raina. And when everything went wrong yesterday, I just… lost it. I convinced myself the past was repeating itself. That I’d put my faith in the wrong person again.” His grip tightened slightly, his voice dropping. “Even while I was saying those things to you, it felt wrong. But I was so lost in my own fear that I convinced myself I was justified.”
He lifted my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against my knuckles. The gesture was so tender, so at odds with the cold fury I’d faced yesterday, that my heart clenched painfully.
“I was wrong,” he said against my skin. “I was so wrong, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the things I said, for the way I made you feel, for not giving you even a moment to explain. You deserve so much better.”
The apology hit differently this time. Not just words thrown out to end an argument, but something deeper. Something that cost him to say. I felt the last of my anger beginning to soften, the rigid walls around my heart developing cracks.
“It wasn’t fair,” I said quietly. “To punish me for other people’s mistakes.”
“I know.” His easy agreement doused what remained of my indignation. “It wasn’t fair, and it won’t happen again. I swear to you, Raina. I will never let my past poison what we have again.”
I wanted to stay angry. Part of me thought I should, that forgiveness shouldn’t come this easily after the kind of hurt he’d inflicted. But the truth was, my feelings for him hadn’t disappeared in that parking lot. They’d been battered and bruised, but they were still there. Still stubbornly, inconveniently alive.
I wasn’t the type to hold grudges, especially not when someone was so clearly, genuinely sorry. And Simon… Simon was laying himself bare in a way I suspected he’d never done for anyone. The proud, controlled man I knew was sitting on my coffee table, holding my hand like it was something precious, admitting fault in a way that clearly didn’t come naturally to him.
It wasn’t nothing. It was, maybe, everything.
He brought one hand to my face, cupping my cheek with a gentleness that made my eyes sting. I leaned into the touch despite myself, craving the warmth of his palm against my skin.
“I need you to come back,” he murmured. “You’re the only person I trust.”
My heart stuttered. “You want me to keep working for you?”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Small but real, transforming his exhausted features into something approaching hope. “I want you to be my girl first. More than anything. But yes, if you’re willing, I’d also like you to come back to work for me.”
I should make him wait. Tell him I needed time to think about it, that forgiveness couldn’t be granted so quickly. But Simon had stripped away every layer of armor, shown me the fears and failures he’d spent years hiding from the world. He’d trusted me with the parts of himself he liked least.
That kind of vulnerability deserved to be met with honesty.
“I think my five minutes are up,” Simon said, uncertainty creeping into his voice. For the first time since he’d arrived, he looked nervous and genuinely unsure of what I would say. “So… what do you think?”
I let him wait a beat longer, watching the anxiety flicker across his features. Then I allowed myself a small smirk. “I want a raise.”
Simon’s face split into a wide, beaming grin that crinkled the skin around his eyes. He looked relieved and happy and hopeful. Everything I was feeling too, bubbling up beneath the surface of my carefully maintained composure.
“I think that can be arranged,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
Then his hand slid from my cheek to the back of my neck, drawing me toward him, and his lips found mine.
The kiss started soft. Tentative, almost, as if he was giving me one last chance to pull away. But I didn’t want to pull away. I wanted to sink into him, to let the warmth of his mouth chase away the cold ache that had been living inside me since yesterday.
I reached for him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, and the kiss deepened. His free hand found my waist, drawing me closer until I was sitting on his lap and pressed against him with nothing but fabric and forgiveness between us.
This was real. We were real.
Not perfect—God knew we weren’t perfect. We’d hurt each other, would probably do so again in smaller ways as we figured out how to navigate this thing between us. But we’d also found our way back. Through the fear and the anger and the devastating words, we’d found each other again.
That had to mean something.