“I wonder if we have room in the budget for an on-site chef.”
“I don’t know. Now that I’m here, we just might.”
“Arrogant much?”
“Confident.”
Six months ago, I never thought he’d be a fixture in my life again. Six months ago, he came into my life when I least expected it. Six months ago, everything changed.
“We need to talk about our office arrangement.” I glance around the expansive room, which is anchored by his offensively large walnut desk.
“We do?”
“Yes. Since my commute is a bit longer now—”
“You can take the subway.”
“Let me finish.” A smirk glides across my lips. This is what we do. We negotiate. It’s fun. “I think you can throw me a bone and switch me offices. You’ve had this one long enough, don’t you think? I bet you’re tired of this view.”
“I could never be tired of this view.”
“Everything’s negotiable, so . . .?”
“Perhaps we should’ve discussed the office arrangement before you signed on as partner?”
“My designated office is two hundred eleven square feet. Yours is approximately thirty percent larger. My walk to work is now approximately fifty percent longer,” I glance up at the ceiling, recalling my figures. “The way I see it, that means—”
“Oh, here we go.” Xavier rises, sliding me off his lap. “You and your numbers.”
“I suppose you’re going to try to use your gift of persuasion to talk me out of this now?”
He takes my head in his hands, depositing a kiss on top of my head like he thinks I’m cute.
I’m not finished. “You won’t be able to sweet talk your way out of this, just so you know. I’m pretty set. I’ve done the math, and I’m prepared to present a pretty compelling argument that I think you’ll—”
Xavier crushes my mouth with his, his tongue gliding between my lips. Every kiss from him grounds me in ways I never thought possible. He’s my anchor. The last two years, I was caught in a freefall with nothing to cling to.
Who knew the entire time, I was circling back to him?
“Magnolia.” He holds my face, the tip of his nose brushing mine. His hands drag down my arms, resting on the dip above my hips. “There’s an industrial loft about two blocks from here. You should live there. Five-minute commute.”
My throat dries. Is he asking what I think he’s asking?
“Xavier . . .”
“Move in with me.”
“It’s kind of soon. We’ve only been together six months.”
“You’re doubting us already?” His jaw sets. “Timing’s a little off, don’t you think? We’re partners now. I thought we were in it for the long haul.”
“We are,” I say. “Professionally.”
“You still think I’m going to hurt you.” His accusation stings more than he knows.
“I don’t think you’ll hurt me.” Truth: ninety-nine point nine percent of me doesn’t think he’ll hurt me. “I just feel certain things don’t need to be rushed.”
“We’re together seven days a week. You stay over most nights of the week. We practically live together now. Why not make it official?”
His eyes search mine, and his fingers dig into my flesh just enough to tell me he’s not going anywhere. I know Xavier. When he wants something, he won’t let up about it, and right now, he wants me.
“You really want me to live with you?”
“Absolutely.” He scratches the back of his neck, exhaling loudly. “You find that difficult to believe?”
The words that might properly convey the way I feel escape me, and maybe that’s because I’m not sure how I feel. It’s a cocktail of every emotion on the spectrum, high and low, good and bad.
“I love you, Magnolia Grantham.” His jaw tightens. “Two years without speaking couldn’t change that. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here, loving you, fighting for us, and convincing you that every word coming out of my mouth is genuine. It wasn’t enough to be your best friend, and I’m not even sure it’s enough to be your boyfriend.”
My heart sputters before quickening. It pounds so hard, I’m sure he can hear it.
“I intend to spend the rest of my life with you,” he says. “But for now, you’re moving in with me, because that’s where you belong. With me.”
He isn’t asking.
“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Fox. But fine. I accept your offer. My lease is up the end of next month. I’ll move in then.”
“A forty-five day close.”
The tension in the room dissipates. Xavier’s the only person in the world I can be silly with and still command respect from during professional situations.
“I’ve got appointments all afternoon.” He kisses my forehead before reaching across the desk for his phone and keys.
“See you tonight then. Your place?”
“Our place.”
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Wall Street Journal bestselling author Winter Renshaw recently celebrated her third 29th birthday. By day, she wrangles kids and dogs, and by night, she wrangles words. She loves peonies, lipstick, and balmy summer days. Chips and salsa are her jam, and so is cruising down the highway with the windows down and the air blasting while 80s rock blares from the speakers of her Mom-UV.
She would describe her writing style as sexy, conflicted, and laced with heart. Her heroes are always alpha, and her heroines are always smart and independent. HEA guaranteed.
You can friend Winter here: www.facebook.com/winterrenshawauthor
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Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Books By Winter Renshaw
Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
About the Author
Bitter Rivals: a novella Page 7
