Page 44 of Escorting the CEO
“It can’t be helped,” I said, finally. “The situation is what it is—my brother and father designed these rules, not me. I’m doing my best to follow them to preserve my family’s legacy and take care of my nephew. You’re here because you needed to help your family, and you’re doing that. Neither one of us is doing anything wrong.”
Even though it felt wrong.
She nodded, but she didn’t look convinced.
“Five years is a long time. We can figure out how to make this work—and do what’s best for Luke.” I held her gaze. “Don’t let Miranda get in your head. She’s only ever been out for herself.”
Rory nodded, but she looked like she was in pain. “That little boy needs a lot of love.”
Her sincerity pierced me. “Then let’s give it to him.”
“Okay,” Rory said, sounding more hopeful.
“Moving on, I wanted to show you what we’re planning for the ceremony…” I walked her through the layout the wedding planner had sent that morning, but my mind was elsewhere. Specifically, it was on Rory. The way she bobbed her head, her scent, the way the sunlight hit her hair. How crushed she was at the idea of hurting my nephew.
Alan’s words rang in my head.
Don’t get in over your head with this girl.
Abigail Furst said you looked ‘whipped.’
Remember that this is a business transaction, one that’s designed to protect your legacy.
I knew he was right—because he was only echoing what I’d said myself. I’d had zero intention of getting personally involved with this girl.
But I couldn’t stop staring at her, noticing her, thinking about her. Having her this close to me was starting to make my head swim.
“How about we finish this up later?” I asked abruptly.
“What?” Rory looked confused. “I just got here.”
“I know, but I forgot I had a call with the board. I’ll see you at dinner tonight—and it’s actually formal, so you’ll need a gown. I’ll send Philips to help you later.”
“Does this mean I can go back and play with Luke?” she asked.
“Yes—go.”
Looking slightly baffled, she fled.
And then I immediately went to jerk off, because I couldn’t stop picturing Rory naked. What it would be like to take that sweatshirt off over her head. To run my hands through her hair, to touch her incredible skin…
To be the first one to take her. To make her mine. To make her scream my name.
Fuck.I was not whipped—Rhodes Barrington did not get whipped—but I was absofuckinglutely in over my head.
BUBBLY
RORY
Philips knockedon my door at precisely five p.m. “I have your gown, Miss,” he said, formally dropping into a bow.
“Thank you.”
He hustled inside the room, carrying a garment bag.
“What happened to Francesca, the maid?”
“She was terminated,” Philips said matter-of-factly. “Not following protocol.”
