Even in too-big, borrowed boots, business clothes, and dog hair, she’s a force to be reckoned with. And I’m so thankful I can finally, finally see it.

  Chapter 20

  Tiffany

  “Need anything else?” I ask, my lower back aching and my feet feeling raw.

  I look around at all our hard work. The morning customers won’t be able to tell anything was amiss last night. If anything, it looks like we spring cleaned the hell out of the daycare overnight. Once we could see the end in sight, Harper ran out to get lemon-scented floor cleaner and heavy-duty drain cleaner, so now the floor is shiny and smells fresh, and the sink instantly drains without issue.

  Ace scans the daycare critically, his eyes red and bleary but relieved. “I can’t believe we did it, but I think it’s going to be okay. Thanks, Tiff.”

  “Wasn’t just me,” I remind him, “but thanks. That’s what sisters are for.

  “I know. Thanks, Daniel. And Harper, I’ll thank you properly . . . later. Much, much later . . . after a nap.”

  “And a long shower with lots of soap and scrubbing,” she adds with a grimace, her first sign of any negative thought all night.

  “Oh, Harper. I’ll email those bouquet designs to you tomorrow. Or today, I guess,” I correct, looking at the clock on the wall. “Damn.”

  Harper gives me a hug, once again positive despite the hour and her early wakeup call to deal with a classroom full of kids hopped up on Pop-Tarts and chocolate milk. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Daniel says goodbye to Ace, the two having a conversation with their eyes as they shake hands. We’re all equally gross now, so a handshake is nothing, and thankfully, whatever interrogation Ace would normally subject one of my dates to has been thwarted by Daniel’s jumping in to help. It’s kinda hard to accuse a guy of being an asshole after that.

  As we leave, I slump in the passenger seat of Daniel’s car, too tired to tell him where to go, but he drives us to my apartment.

  Without a word, he parks and comes around to open my door. “Come on. Time to clock out, Cinderella.”

  He helps me up and out, and I give him a brave smile. “It’s okay. We have enough time to shower, sleep for a couple of hours, and still be at work on time.”

  Even as I say it, what I truly want is to shower, sleep for a few days, and ignore the world to stay in Daniel’s arms. But that’s a fantasy, not reality, where we’re both needed at the office. He has to deal with Mark and Brandon, and I have deadlines of my own.

  Daniel closes the door, hitting the lock button, and it beeps in the quiet of the night. “Let’s start with the shower.”

  Without a word of argument from me, he scoops me up, an arm around my back and one beneath my knees. I wrap my arms around his neck, hanging on to him and my heels because there was no way I was putting those torture devices back on my angry feet. He carries me confidently in his strong arms, inside and to the elevator, not setting me down until I’ve opened the apartment door and we get into the bathroom.

  He turns on the shower, the hot water quickly warming up the room. “Daniel—”

  “Shhh,” he says, taking my heels from me and setting them aside. “I know what we need.”

  That right there is why I’ve always known Daniel is the man for me. In most of my relationships, I am the one people turn to, like Ace did tonight. I enjoy that, I thrive on it, but sometimes . . . I want to not decide things, not plan everything, not take care of everyone else. As selfish as it might sound, I want someone to take care of me.

  And Daniel does.

  Don’t get it twisted, it’s reciprocal. But even the imbalance where I can sometimes shut down or fall apart or reach the end of my rope and know he’ll be there is powerfully sexy.

  “Thank you,” I say with as much conviction as my exhaustion can muster. I stand with limp arms and half-closed eyes while Daniel undresses me. His movements are sure and efficient, but his eyes trace my skin reverently with every inch he reveals. His touch is bold, claiming my skin until I stand before him nude.

  If I weren’t on the edge of passing out, I’d feel out of my mind horny. As it is, the best I can do is a half-hard nipple and a little tingle in my belly as Daniel quickly sheds his own clothes, leaving them piled on the floor with mine. I think they’re going to need to be burned in an incinerator. They’re definitely not going in my laundry, and I wouldn’t dream of sending them to the dry cleaners with the mix of sweat, drain water, and dog hair. I’d never be able to look Mr. Vince, my dry cleaner, in the eye again.

  Daniel gently guides me into the shower. You’d think I’d be tired of water after the night we’ve had, but the pulsing spray feels like a heavenly massage against my skin, washing away the sore muscles and tension.

  “Good?” Daniel murmurs, his voice low. All I can manage is a moan of agreement in answer. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  He takes my bodywash and gets to work, his hands caressing every inch of my skin. It tickles a little when he washes my armpits, but he’s all business, simply moving on to the next area until he’s turned me into a big bubble monster of lavender-scented suds. He pours a generous handful of shampoo and massages that into my scalp, adding even more soapiness. I must look a mess, like a ragdoll mid-wash in the machine, but Daniel seems content in getting me clean.

  There’s no seduction in his movements, just intense, sweet care. And I sigh with the pleasure that comes from the rare treat of being cared for instead of being the caretaker. I honestly can’t remember the last time I had someone pamper me. Maybe the one-hour massage I got last year, where I shut the world off and let someone rub away the stress? But even then, I’d ended up talking to the massage therapist about her boyfriend troubles, so that probably doesn’t count either. Not like this. Not like being in Daniel’s capable care.

  Daniel rinses everything clean and shuts off the shower, stepping out and grabbing a big towel. He dries me off and then quickly does the same to himself before guiding me to the bedroom. We’re both nude, but that feels right as he pulls back the meticulously smoothed blankets.

  “Climb in,” he says softly, and I sag to the soft surface, my body immediately relaxing in relief. He climbs in behind me, wrapping me in his arms.

  I just decided something monumental. Naked cuddling, with me engulfed in Daniel’s strong arms, is my favorite place on Earth. This replaces any other place I might’ve considered my favorite before, none of which I can actually remember right now because it would require too much brain power. Brain power I do not have when my head is full of cotton fluff.

  I want more, to feel him in my body the way he’s been in my mind. And though I wouldn’t say it aloud, I’m truthful to myself and add . . . the way he’s in my heart. I snuggle back, wiggling against him and arching my back, but he kisses my neck, stopping me.

  “Sleep, Tiffany.”

  I grunt in surprised disappointment that he’s turning me down, even though I’m so tired I can’t even find words.

  Daniel notices and kisses my neck again, whispering into my ear. “It’s not that. I want you, but you need to sleep. So let me take care of you this way.”

  His words are kind, but more so, they’re powerful and unlock something deep in my soul, a quiet need I never give voice to but he instinctively knows I have. In response, I snuggle deeper into the circle of his arms and he murmurs into my hair, “Good girl.”

  He can’t see my face, but I can feel the small smile on my lips as I close my eyes.

  Sleep must come fast, hard, and silently, because what seems like only a moment later but must be hours, I sit up in my bright, morning lit bedroom. I rarely see it in this light, up in the dark of the morning to go to work and home after the sun sets.

  My brain is already clicking through my calendar for the day as guilt blossoms for not already being at the office. What if something happens without me there? It’s okay, I reassure myself. They’re not going to blow up . . . probably.

  Megan and Stephanie are good and have been trained well by the best. Me. But I can’t help reaching for my phone on the nightstand. As I dial, I notice the emptiness of the bed beside me, which is echoed by an emptiness in my belly.

  But I’m not hungry. I’m curious where Daniel has gone because I woke up alone.

  Did he leave?

  Did he head home or into work after telling me to rest?

  Megan picks up, her voice cheery and professional as always. “Thank you for calling Fox Industries. How can I help you?”

  “Hi, Megan,” I reply, “It’s Tiff. Sorry I ghosted this morning. How’s everything going?”

  “Ghosted?” Megan replies, sounding surprised. “Stephanie and I saw your email saying you were taking a personal day. Is everything okay?”

  “Email?” I ask stupidly, and it hits me like a punch in the chest, but maybe a good one?

  Daniel.

  He knew I would worry about work and must’ve emailed my team so I could sleep in after the late night. That’s very kind of him, but I wonder why he didn’t do the same.

  He’s the CEO, Tiffany. He’s not the type of man who can spontaneously blow off work, nor is he one who would.

  He did before.

  That was on a weekend, not a Tuesday morning. And not after finding out that there’s something happening with an acquisition proposal and our internal team.

  “Tiff?”

  “Yeah, uh, everything’s fine. Had some drama at the doggie daycare last night and didn’t crash until a few hours ago. I just woke up, so I guess I forgot about the email.”

  “Oh, no, I get it,” Megan says. “But we’re good. Relax, catch up on your sleep. It’s important.”

  She says it as though sleep is the cure-all for anything and everything that ails you. But I’m pretty sure that’s because Megan has never had body-rocking orgasms that leave you an unconscious jelly blob on the nearest flat surface. Compared to that, sleep is highly overrated.

  “Anything going on that I need to know about?”

  “Like what we talked about yesterday, you mean?” she asks delicately, her voice dropping to a whisper.

  “Yes, like that.” I’m slightly amused that she’s whispering over the phone. This isn’t the CIA, and nobody’s going to sneak up on you, Megan.

  “No, it’s pretty quiet around here. Other than Ricky and Billy stalking around like bodyguards without a body to guard,” Megan says. “Guess they’re bored since Mr. Stryker is out today.”

  “What?” I say too sharply.

  Megan hums, amused. “Yeah. Guess you lucked out with that,” she says lightly. “Can play hooky without worrying about fire from on high and all. Seriously, it’s good for you. I might even follow suit and get some take-backsies around my birthday.”

  I laugh awkwardly as I realize that she’s not alluding to anything between Daniel and me but rather reporting the office goings-on the way I asked. And saying she’s ‘busted’ me, but it’s all good.

  “Tell you what, I’ll forget we had this conversation and you can call in sick. I won’t question a thing, ’kay?” Megan laughs, agreeing. “I’m going to get some breakfast. Call me if you or Stephanie need anything.”

  “Will do. But we’re fine, Boss. I promise.” Megan sounds amused at my worry-wart tendencies.

  “Okay, then . . . well, I guess I’ll talk to you soon. Take care, Megan.”

  “Bye, Tiffany. See you tomorrow.”

  I hang up and look around. If Daniel isn’t at the office and he’s not in bed with me, where is he? I’m about to get out of bed to check when I hear the front door open and then close softly. A grin grows on my face, and I don’t think I could stop it even if I had to.

  He’s here.

  He helped Ace last night, took care of me, and then called in to spend the day with me. Surely, that means I’m special to him? The thought makes me feel inordinately giddy. I want to bound out of bed and greet him by jumping him, but I wait, curious to see how he’ll greet me.

  The bedroom door opens a sliver, and Daniel peeks through, still trying to be ninja stealthy. But when he sees me sitting up, my phone in my lap, he swings the door open the rest of the way and smiles. “Good morning, gorgeous. Just wake up?”

  In a whoosh of horror, I remember that I fell into bed with wet hair. It’s highly likely that it dried into a wild mess of tangled frizz and cowlicks. I tug at my hair, desperately trying to smooth it into some semblance of tameness, but I give up and twist it into a lazy rope and drop it along my back, hoping it stays there until I can pin it up into a half-respectable bun.

  “Is it still morning?” I ask, glancing at the window. “I’m usually not a late sleeper.”

  “Just barely,” he says, glancing at his watch. “I brought you some coffee and a scone from the shop on the corner. I remember Elle saying she liked that place.”

  “Ooh, gimme!” I squeal, and he hands over a warm cup and a small paper bag. I set the bag down and go right for the good stuff—the coffee. Of course I know the shop. Elle and I used to haunt it all the time.

  I take a sip, letting the warmth and caffeine work their magic as I look at Daniel over the lid. “You’re dressed.”

  “I am.”

  I’m stating the obvious, because he didn’t get coffee in the nude, but it’s a question all the same because he’s not wearing the slacks and dress shirt he dropped in my bathroom floor last night. Nor is he wearing the sweats and T-shirt of his I kept like a greedy bitch after that first night.

  He’s wearing a pair of nice jeans and a V-neck T-shirt that look dynamite on him, and he gives me a little pose. “I had Ricky drop off some clothes. Since he supports us, I figured it was safe.”

  “You did?” I ask, touched on multiple levels. “Sounds like you have a plan for today. Are we going to the beach again?”

  “I do, but unfortunately, no,” Daniel admits. “The plan is more professional than personal.”

  Confused, I ask, “What?”

  “Are you sure about this?” I ask, smoothing my skirt over my hips. It’s one of my favorites, red with tiered ruffles and a bow. Since it’s a bit flirtier and fun, I’ve paired it with a crisp white button-up and sky-high black heels to add a touch of classic style. But no matter what I have on, I’m a little nervous about dinner.

  With Daniel.

  A business dinner . . . and I’m going as his . . . what do we call us?

  His girlfriend?

  I’m just fucking confused.

  Daniel, though, seems steady and nods. “I am. Are you?”

  Am I?

  This is a major step, not only for Daniel but for me. We’ve spent the whole afternoon plotting and researching while we discussed options and decided on this plan, with me right at his side offering input and him listening considerately.

  It’s bold and ruthless, just like Daniel.

  But this requires more truth than either of us had considered a mere twelve hours ago. And that has my heart in my throat, but Daniel is rock solid and steady, so when I look into his eyes, I’m at least a little reassured. “Let’s do this.”

  The restaurant is fancy, one of those places I only know about because I’ve booked other peoples’ reservations but I’ve never actually come here myself. Unless you’re somebody, you don’t even try to get reservations at Mori’s.

  Daniel walks in like he has casual brunches here on a weekly basis, totally at ease. Though I put on my best professional demeanor, I take his arm a little tighter as the maître d’ leads us over to a table, where a half-bald man slightly older than Daniel and a woman I assume is his wife are sitting.

  “Paul,” Daniel greets easily, and both get up.

  “Daniel, it’s a pleasure,” Paul says. Noticing me, he gives me a curious smile. “Paul Montgomery, and this is my wife, Gina.”

  “Tiffany Young,” I greet in reply, sticking to the plan and letting Daniel take the lead. I’m used to that. After all, at work, my job is to be mostly invisible. Explaining that to Daniel was a whole hour of revelation to him, and now I get to put it into use here.

  “Paul is the President of TRE,” Daniel explains to me as if we didn’t discuss him at length earlier. He doesn’t offer up an explanation of who I am to Paul and Gina, not girlfriend or friend, but also not a mere work colleague. It’s mysterious and attention getting, and I can see the other couple’s eyes tracking us to figure out how I came to be here.

  Daniel pulls out my chair, and I sit primly. As I do so, Daniel places an intimate hand on my shoulder, communicating wordlessly exactly how important I am to him.

  It’s more than enough, and Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery meet eyes, silently communicating in that way couples who’ve been together for decades do.

  And to me? I can’t help it, I’m melting. He touched me in public. Claimed me.

  I want to stand up in this fancy place and scream out in excitement, likely shocking everyone into dropping their heavy forks and spilling their expensive wine. But I won’t care because I’ll be whooping some more.

  But I refrain like the fucking boss I am. Because that’s the plan. Our plan.

  “Lovely to meet you both. Your brooch is beautiful,” I compliment Mrs. Montgomery. “Is it an heirloom?”

  “It is, and thank you,” she says. “And please, call me Gina.”

  “Of course, Gina. And please, Tiffany for me?”

  She smiles congenially, obviously accustomed to accompanying Paul to business dinners over the years.

  “So I have to ask the story of the brooch,” I quip, smiling lightly as I make small talk. “I mean, once you say it’s an heirloom, you’ve piqued all our interest in the story.”

  Gina laughs quietly, and for the next five minutes, she tells me about her French lineage and how the brooch was passed down through the family, supposedly starting with a court noble for Napoleon III. “Of course, I seriously doubt that,” Gina says as she wraps up her story, “but it’s a nice daydream.”