Page 122 of Diego

Or his life.

I drop my forehead lightly against the steering wheel.

“Stop.”

Thinking about that is absolutely useless.

I have known since the inspection cleared that today would come quickly, but knowing and actually sitting in the parking garage with a closing scheduled upstairs are two different things.

Diego has spent weeks waiting for the professional barrier between us to disappear. He practically announced his intentions during the inspection. Once I've closed on this penthouse, you won't have any more excuses.

He has no idea.

The thought makes nausea climb up my throat.

I lift my head, breathe in once more, and reach for my briefcase.

A sharp knock against the driver’s window makes me scream.

My hand flies to my chest as I whip around.

Diego is bent slightly at the waist on the other side of the glass, grinning at me.

Of course.

I stare at him through the window while my heart tries to escape through my ribs.

He lifts one hand in greeting.

I close my eyes for one second.

I am going to kill him.

I grab my briefcase, push open the door, and step out. “What the hell are you doing down here?”

Diego straightens, looking entirely too pleased with himself in a dark suit that fits him so damn well. “Good afternoon to you too.”

“You scared the life out of me.”

“I knocked. That is generally how one gets the attention of someone sitting inside a car.”

I shut the door harder than necessary and turn toward him. “You’re supposed to be upstairs.”

His gaze slides over me in that slow, completely inappropriate way I have become far too familiar with, and I feel heat climb my neck despite every effort to stop it.

Then he smiles that wicked smile.

The one that makes it very clear his thoughts have absolutely nothing to do with title documents.

“We’re a team,” he says.

I stare at him.

It takes me a moment to remember my question.

He gestures toward the elevators. “I thought we would walk up together. Me and my soon-to-be-former broker.”

He is thinking about the closing.