Never Say Yes To Your Boss: An Arranged Marriage Rom Com by Hart Lindsey

Author:Hart, Lindsey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Passion House Publishing
Published: 2024-10-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter eleven

Darius

Igave up on the idea of sleep after trying for a few hours. My shoulder was locked up, which was uncomfortable, and no matter what position I tried, I couldn’t drift off to sleep. There were better things to do than lay there, frustrated beyond belief, though. Things like hitting the gym at four in the morning to do some punishing cardio followed by enough shoulder exercises to loosen the bastard up a little, showering and pointedly not jacking myself off to get rid of the damn erection I couldn’t get under control, or telling myself in the said shower that the lesser of two evils was to take care of the problem instead of walking around with a tent in my pants all day.

I could have gone to the office and started work early, dealing with yesterday’s problems that I didn’t attend to because I was busy with Everleigh and her family. And I will be busy again today. But instead, I chose to roll into the nearly empty garage at half past five.

I flick on the lights and stare down at a sea of empty bays and endless concrete. It’s pretty much immaculate in here because I own zero vehicles. I’ve been meaning to get Hans something to drive, but he keeps telling me he doesn’t need anything. There isn’t anything that can’t be delivered here for an extra cost. I assumed he’d want to do some shopping or something in the city, but he always said he had everything here that he needed. So it’s just me, two huge empty bays, and the third one containing one cherry red convertible.

My feet take me there slowly, my leather shoes scuffling over the concrete until I’m there, standing right to the side of the beast. My breathing is already hitched up, and I try to push it out, but it comes out in spurts like a faulty sprinkler system.

Shh. Shh. Shhhhhhh. Shhhhhhhh. Shh-shhhh-hhhhhhhhhh.

Instead of panting here like I need one of those barf bags that Hans carries around, which, for the record, I don’t actually freaking use that often, I open the door, my hands vibrating like a tuning fork while the rest of me is the messed up music. I leave slippery fingerprints on the door handle because my palms are soaked. Then, I force my ass into the passenger seat and just sit with the door cracked open and one foot on the ground outside. This is okay. I can deal with this. It’s when I swing my foot in and shut the door with a dull bang that things get squirrelly. My lungs lock up and draw themselves up, shriveling to the size of one of those nasty nuts at the bottom of the container that doesn’t look like the others and sure as hell doesn’t taste like them either.

I drop my head in my hands and don’t even attempt reaching for the seatbelt. I didn’t bring my phone to serve as a timer or Hans to rescue me from here if shit gets bad.

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