Page 15 of Heated (Burned, Inc.)
“Yes,” he murmurs. “Me too.”
Beestings of ... of ... dammit, no. I refuse to label the prickles of heat in my chest. But whatever they are, they’re inappropriate. Have no business there. But as sore as my sternum is, I’m thankful forthe unidentified hurt. Those pinpricks are just the reminders I need. Reminders that the only connection he and I share is Valerie Summers, his ex. The same ex who hired me to break up with him.
This dinner ... it was a mistake. I shouldn’t have allowed him to sit down. Shouldn’t have indulged in a conversation with him. Shouldn’t have been selfish and stolen his time from him for my own personal gain. My desires.
Mouth dry, I reach for my glass and take one last sip of wine. But the fruity flavor can’t drown out the grimy grit of shame. Or wash down the lump of guilt.
Cyrus Hart is a client’s ex.
And though I didn’t have a hand in the downward spiral of their relationship—lack of communication, inattention, and cheating contributed to that—I did aid in the actual dissolution of it. Was paid to end them as a couple.
Being here with him is a conflict of interest and a violation of Val’s trust.
Cyrus’s too.
I need to end this. Now.
“Well, thank you for paying for a dinner that you didn’t even get to enjoy.” I summon up a smile and, after picking up my clutch from next to my hip, rise to my feet. “It was nice officially meeting you. Have a good evening, Cyrus. And I wish you all the best.”
Not risking the chance of saying anything more or giving him the opportunity to—because part of me isn’t 100 percent certain I won’t sit my ass right back down regardless of my resolve—I walk from the restaurant without a backward glance.
Not that I need one.
Cyrus Hart is not a man you forget.
Ever.
Doesn’t mean I’m not going to give it one hell of a try.
