Chapter 23
Chapter 23
Lunch time.
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We were back at the shrink’s office, AKA the official testing ground of my patience, and everything was fine. Chill. Normal.
Until.
The receptionist. Green–haired, glossy–lipped, over–lashed Brenda–with–a–B receptionist, who suddenly blinked thrice per second when Steven wheeled in. Her chair practically squeaked in anticipation. I swear, the woman licked her teeth like he was a Michelin–star meal made of mint chocolate abs and Armani regret.
Excuse me?
Not on my clock, Brenda.
Steven didn’t even notice–typical, oblivious, billionaire–mood swing energy–but me? I clocked her in my peripheral sass–vision. She tilted her head, ran her fingers through her neon ponytail, and said with a voice too sweet to be legal:
“Welcome back, Mr. McLeon.”
I side–eyed her so hard the chair behind her flinched.
“He’s taken,” I said, too brightly, my smile so fake it could be sold at high–end department stores. “Taken by his physical therapy regimen. Daily. Long hours. Lots of sweat.”
Brenda blinked like her lashes were buffering.
Steven smirked but wisely said nothing. Smart man.
But hold on–because life loves chaos–just as I was about to drag Steven into the elevator, we turned a corner and-
Da. Freaking. DÁN.
His ex–manager. Ricardo goddamn De Luca.
Brazilian. Six–foot–something. All suits, cologne, betrayal, and fake designer watch. The man who ghosted Steven after the accident like his career was contagious.
And now?
Standing there like a perfume commercial villain.
Smiling with the fake sincerity of a used car salesman.
“Steven!” he said, arms wide. “Meu irmão, look at you! Standing again, eh? This is good news. Very good. I knew you’d recover.”
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Chapter 23
Oh really?
You knew?
…
:
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Where was that “knowing” when Steven was stuck alone in a dark penthouse with nothing but depressing soup and an attitude problem?
I stepped forward before Steven could respond.
“Oh hey! Ricardo, right?” I said, extending my hand and giving him the warmest fake b*tch energy I could summon. “You’re the manager who ran faster than Steven’s Ferrari when things got hard, right?”
His smile twitched. “I had no choice. Sponsors-”
“Yeah, yeah,” I cut in sweetly. “It’s always the sponsors. Just like how it’s always the weather’s fault when men go bald early.”
Steven coughed a laugh. I continued.
“Well, good news. You don’t need to worry about ‘managing‘ anymore. We’ve got it handled.”
Ricardo tried to smile again, but this time it looked like his teeth were arguing with each other.
“I’m just saying, Steven, when you’re ready to talk business again—”
“Oh, he’s ready,” I said, leaning in. “Ready to cut ties, heal, and get back in the driver’s seat of his own life. Without anyone who dipped the moment things weren’t perfect.”
Then I gave him my PT smile–the one I save for men who think they can do two pushups and call it a
workout.
“Bye–bye now.”
I grabbed Steven’s wheelchair handle like I was escorting royalty and rolled us out of there.
The silence between us was electric.
Then he muttered, “You just murdered him with your words.”
I grinned. “He had it coming.”
Steven looked up at me, his eyes warm. “You always have my back.”
I tilted my chin. “Always. Unless you hide the last mango float again. Then it’s war.”
He laughed, real and deep.
And suddenly, it didn’t matter how chaotic the day was.
Because I was here.
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Chapter 23
:
By his side. Shielding him with sass, sarcasm, and the subtle threat of emotional violence.
Just how love should be.
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That night… something shifted. I mean, I didn’t expect anything. Really. I just thought we’d do what we usually do: argue over dinner menus, fight over who gets the last bite of dessert, and throw sarcasm like grenades across the penthouse.
But no. Steven McLeon, Brooding Billionaire, apparently took a crash course in Romantic Plot Twists.
It started with the smell. Steak. Garlic. Butter. Fresh herbs.
—
I blinked. There, in the dining room–which we never actually use the long table was set. Real plates, not takeout boxes. Candlelight. Real candlelight, not one of those electric IKEA ones I found under the sink.
There were even flowers.
Flowers, people. Actual petals. In a vase. That man hates plants.
I walked in, slowly, still wearing my Gucci hoodie and yoga pants. I looked around like I’d stepped into the wrong reality show.
“What’s this?” I asked, voice full sass, heart slightly fluttery.
Steven, in a dark button–down shirt, sleeves rolled up to show those unfair forearms, smirked from his chair. “Dinner,” he said. “To celebrate. You’ve been… a miracle. I figured miracles deserve steak.”
“And candlelight?” I arched a brow.
He tilted his head. “Maybe I like seeing your sass glow in soft lighting.”
Oh.
Oh.
Sir. That was illegal.
We sat. We ate. He didn’t even complain about how medium–rare the steak was. I made a joke about his overpriced fork. He smirked like I hung the stars.
The wine kicked in softly. The candles flickered like they knew they were witnessing something important. Something changing.
Halfway through dessert (chocolate lava cake, duh), I noticed it.
That look again. The one that didn’t tease. The one that didn’t challenge.
The one that adored.
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Chapter 23
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“I used to think my life ended in Dubai,” he said, voice low. “But now… sometimes, I think that accident was the beginning of something better.”
I swallowed. Hard. “Like meeting me?” I joked, trying to keep it light.
But he didn’t smile.
“Exactly.”
The world quieted. The candle flame danced between us. I leaned forward slightly, not even realizing it.
And then-
The kiss. It wasn’t like the first time, all tangled limbs and accidental lips. No. This was slower. Intentional.
His hand cupped my jaw like I was made of something he didn’t want to break. His lips touched mine with a softness that demanded attention, and then–heat.
Real. Messy. Perfect. I melted. Like the lava cake. Like my walls. Like every ounce of “this–is–strictly- professional” left in my soul.
When we finally pulled apart, I looked at him–really looked–and whispered, “That didn’t feel accidental.”
He smiled, brushing a thumb over my cheek.
“It wasn’t.”
I tried to sass, tried to joke, tried to find a sarcastic quip to throw like a life preserver in the rising tide of feelings.
But instead?
I just whispered back, “About damn time.”
And for once–I didn’t need to win. Because love had already claimed victory.
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11:32 Thu, Sep 18
Chapter 24
Chapter 24
