Page 97 of Forbidden Billionaire
And it’s not enough. It will never be enough.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Xavier
I push open the glass door to my office, expecting the silence I’ve grown used to on a Saturday. Instead, the light’s already on, and Seraphina’s already at her desk.
She’s curled over her laptop, a high-powered to-go coffee clutched like a lifeline. Her hair’s in a haphazard bun, and her blazer’s draped over the back of the chair like it’s been there for hours. It probably has.
I remain standing there, but she doesn’t even look up.
Finally I clear my throat. “Morning.”
Blinking, she looks up. “Xavier.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
She blows out a breath and reaches for the coffee. Then she twirls the cup and frowns.
It’s already empty? Before seven a.m.? What the hell time had she gotten here?
“Why are you here so early?”
The delicate skin beneath her cornflower blue eyes is bruised, as if she hasn’t rested at all. Part of that is probably my fault. I’ve kept her up late a lot of nights with my insatiable need for her. But we’ve been logging a lot of hours on the Lockhart deal, in addition to other corporate demands on her time.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I finally gave up the battle.”
“Something bothering you?”
“Yeah. It is.”
That doesn’t bode well.
She taps her fingers against the empty cup. “We need to talk.”
Dread slams into me, fast and hard. How many times, and from how many women, have I heard that line before?
Is this the where do we stand landmine, with all its emotional shrapnel?
But Seraphina isn’t an ordinary woman.
And she’d never bring something like that up, not when we’re two days away from the board meeting where I have to announce the findings of our due diligence and recommend we move forward on the Lockhart deal. Or we pull the plug.
Though, if I’m honest, if she doesn’t open a conversation about our personal relationship, I will. Next week. Maybe as early as Tuesday. Because yesterday—the way she looked at me, saw me, after Celeste left and gave me every damn thing I needed—I realized something.
I don’t want her Seraphina as just my assistant.
I want her as my wife.
Unless I can claim her, possess her, brand her as mine in every way that counts, I’ll lose my ever-loving mind.
And she has no clue that she wrings me out emotionally.
“I need your eyes on this, Xavier. Because maybe I’ve got it all wrong.” She scowls at her empty cup. “I hope I have it all wrong.”
She spins her laptop toward me and drags a stack of printed spreadsheets to the edge of the desk. Her voice is steady, but frustration is brewing behind her composure.
“Let’s grab coffee.”
