Page 149 of Revenge Puck

“You okay?” she asks softly.

Okay?

I let out a disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand down my face.

“You are…” I shake my head, still trying to find oxygen. “Unreal.”

If I were a smart man, I would have been more careful.

If I were a smart man, I wouldn’t have been this reckless with my emotions.

But apparently, I’m a fucking moron, because for the first time since I caught Declan in bed with Bailey, I don’t feel like winning.

I feel like staying.

I feel like…

Shit.

I might have fucked up.

TWENTY-FIVE

JULIETTE

“—so, if we keep the silent auction structure the same, we’ll need at least three new high-end items. And I’d love to raise the starting bids this year.”

Whitney’s voice barely registers in my brain as she stands at the front of the conference room near the projector screen in a tailored cream blazer, clicker in hand, scanning our faces to make sure we’re listening.

I am, in fact, barely listening.

I am physically present at this meeting. I am seated upright. I have a notebook open in front of me. I am even holding a pen.

Mentally?

Far, far away. Aaron Bishop is whispering sweet words into my hairline to wake me up before sliding out of my bed and showering in my bathroom.

It was different having a man get ready in my apartment, out of the norm and a bit unnerving. But as I lay there listening to the shower sluice over his body, I couldn’t help basking in the domesticity of it. He’d made coffee and brought me a cup.

Kissed my forehead before walking out the door.

I call that progress.

I shift in my seat, ashamed that I’m unable to focus. I mean, seriously, this is a work meeting and my thoughts are inappropriate. We’re here to discuss donors and budgets for the gala—not daydream about water pouring down Aaron’s hot body.

Speaking of the gala…

If he and I aren’t technically supposed to be dating, would I be able to show up with him?

It’s months away, plenty of time for this to implode. But that does not stop my mind from betraying me with the image of Aaron in a tux. Standing beside me. One hand resting low on my back as we greet his teammates and notable guests.

Him leaning down to murmur something wicked and flirty into my ear while Declan pretends not to notice…

Would that be allowed? Would we arrive separately? Leave separately?

This is absurd.

I’m future-tripping hypothetical scenarios and can barely sit through a forty-five-minute meeting without mentally undressing a man I should not be involved with.