Chapter 10

Mira

I force my eyes open, and memories from the night before fade in and out. And the realization of whose bed I’m waking up in hits me.

I look over at the other side of the bed, and I’m met with a faded imprint. Where’s Owen?

Shit, I must’ve fallen asleep. Ugh…

I roll my eyes, feeling annoyed with myself. I’m pissed that nothing happened and that I didn’t make a more forward move as I laid next to him in his bed. Every part of me wanted to fuck him—and still does—despite everything that happened.

I want that twelve-inch cock in me. And I almost had him. But nope…of course, I would fall asleep.

My ears perk up, hoping to hear some movement in the master bathroom or sounds of pots and pans in the kitchen. But there’s only silence.

I peel my legs out from under the thick covers and onto the cool wood floor and drag my feet over to the bathroom. I peek inside, thinking that he might be in there, even though I know he isn’t—the door’s wide open. I was just hoping that I’d be greeted by a naked and freshly showered Owen.

I splash some water on my face and square my shoulders at the reflection in front of me.

I’m impressed. I still look good after the cluster fuck that was last night. I sigh, feeling the sexual tension still lingering in my muscles. I twist my neck and stretch my arms, hoping to loosen them.

I notice a bottle of cologne in the middle of the large granite vanity. I pick it up to smell it, and my body tingles.

It smells of him, and it’s damn intoxicating. It’s a warm woodsy smell with hints of sweet spices. It feels like I’m drinking a rich scotch.

And I do love my scotch, mostly when it slowly slides down my body.

It makes me want to search him down, find him, and pounce. Force him underneath me and take him for the ride of his life.

I chuckle to myself, enjoying how that’d look and imagining how it would feel. My fingers know how to get the job done, but I know that him and that cock of his will go above and beyond what’s required.

I put the bottle back where it was, not wanting to get caught snooping, and walk through the bedroom and out towards the kitchen.

I look around, thinking I’ll find him somewhere in this massive penthouse, but no luck.

I beeline to his coffeemaker, needing some caffeine, and search through his cabinets until I find the Italian roast coffee.

Ahh, yes! I’ll take a hot cup of coffee on the side of a steaming hot man, please and thank you! Waking up to that every morning would be a dream.

I rummage through his fridge, looking for something to eat, and find some Greek yogurt and fresh berries. I guess this will do.

I’d rather have a hearty, more pleasurable breakfast, but there isn’t much in this house, surprisingly. I bet he has a housekeeper who shops for him and a cook who makes his meals.

I would hate that. Like everything else in my life, I like to have control, especially over what food I buy, cook, and eat.

I arrange a simple parfait and pour myself a cup of coffee. I sit on one of the barstools in the center island and begin to seriously contemplate his whereabouts.

Where in the hell is he?

It’s his place, after all; he couldn’t have just left me here alone. I might be a part of his family, ugh, but I’m still a stranger. And everyone tells you to not trust a stranger in your house, even though I am harmless.

Um…harmless to an extent. Apparently, there are many things in harm’s way with me just being here. It’s really fucking annoying, and everything in me just wants to say fuck it.

Hell, that’s what I’ve been doing so far.

I hear the front door slam, and I yelp, not expecting it.

Owen storms in, fuming. He briefly stares at me and throws a box of Danishes on the counter. He then slaps down the latest issue of The Capitalist Chronicle.

Shit. That’s never good. I’m sure Lis Langley has a thing or two to say about the wedding last night.

“What’s Lis up to now?” I ask him as I reach for the box. I open it and am greeted to the sugary smell of almond and chocolate croissants, raspberry tarts, and an assortment of scones and muffins. My mouth immediately salivates looking at them.

They almost look as good as the man glaring at me…almost.

He leans over the counter, with one hand holding him up and the other squeezing his toned bicep.

“She has fucking eyes everywhere. We’ve almost been outed.” He runs his hands through his hair in exasperation, and I watch as the muscles in his arms tense and twitch. I bite my lip, wanting to calm my hunger.

I shake my head and laugh. “She’s a reporter, they always have their ways—informants, sources. Blah, blah,” I wave my hand in the air carelessly, ignoring the severity in his voice.

This isn’t news to me. I expected that I’d be in the spotlight more, given my position as CEO and as the daughter of Mrs. Westbrook.

“This isn’t funny, Mira,” he yells.

I reflexively lean against the back of the chair, almost as if his voice pushed me. I fold my arms against my chest in defense and straighten my shoulders. “I know it’s not funny, Owen. But what else are we going to do about it?”

“There’s one big thing we should do.” He points to me. “Whatever this is, needs to be dropped. I don’t even know why I brought you here in the first place.”

The last part stings a little, and I try to cover my wince by reaching for my coffee and taking a large gulp. He starts to talk, but I interrupt him.

“I’m well-aware of the repercussions of this. It was made quite clear last night. But in all honesty, I don’t give a damn. I don’t want to live my life according to someone else’s definition. Especially my gold-digging mother and her meal ticket. I’m going to live my life how I damn well please, and I will do it while fucking whoever I choose to.”

He’s gotten under my skin. In more ways than one.

“Is that so? You really think you have a shot against Lis Langley, the stock market, your customers, and your family?” He cocks an eyebrow, challenging me.

“I can take them all on. Dare me.” I lift my chin up to him and reach for a croissant, taking a dramatic bite out of it.

“Please. People like us have no chance in hell against them. They have us all by the balls.”

I tilt my head, confused by his sudden vulnerability. It was cute when he was playing coy last night, but now, it’s discomforting.

He continues, his voice low and rough. “Usually, I don’t fucking care. I play their game with my own rules. But when it comes to another person’s livelihood, I have to be smart.”

I stare at him, my gaze watching his chest rise up and down rapidly, his fingers tapping the counter, and his jaw tensing every so often. Every part of him is so enticing, and I can tell he’s really trying to control and refrain himself against my advances.

“Why can’t we be smart and a still play by our own rules? No one has to know.” I smirk at him, learning forward while placing my elbows on the counter. It does wonders for my cleavage.

His eyes wonder down, stopping briefly at the view, and he pushes himself back to lean against the fridge. “Because that’s fucking stupid.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not calling you stupid. It’s just that that plan is idiotic. It’ll never work.”

“That’s not any better. I’m surprised. A man of your means should know how to defend himself.”

I start to get up from my seat and walk away from him, not needing this shit right now.

“Don’t,” he pleads, and I hear a trace of remorse in his voice, though his eyes burn into me. “I know damn well how to defend myself. I’m honestly just concerned about you. And how this scandal will affect your company.”

He reaches over to the paper and flips it open to a different article that discusses me and my Wilder Lingerie company. It goes into detail about when we’ll be going public, and it has some projections regarding our profitability.

I then read over Lis’ article and her speculations. My stomach drops.

“This is what you need to pay attention to.” He jabs his finger onto the glossy pages.

His expression goes from anger to sincerity, and I stare at him, listening intently.

I might want many things—one of them being right in front of me—but the number one thing that I truly care about and have been working my ass off for is this company and this line.

Blood, sweat, and tears are sewn into each piece, and my heart and soul has been laid bare as I make every decision. So, I’ll do anything in my power to make it what it deserves to be.

I re-read the previous piece on my company and feel a sense of pride overwhelm me—that’s me they’re talking about.

“People will find out about us. And this step-uncle, step-niece thing will be blown out of proportion. They’ll spin this narrative out to sell paper’s and increase ratings. It’ll be an explosive scandal. That’s a fact.” He’s talking to me as someone who’s experienced and knows his shit.

I swallow his words, and I continue to stare at the pages in front of me, not wanting to look away, but they start to become a blur once the reality sinks in.

He continues. “The scandal will ruin you before you even begin. And Mira.” He pauses, and the intensity in his voice pulls my gaze to meet his. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let that happen.”

It goes silent for what feels like an hour, though its only really a few seconds. We stare at each other, and the air around us becomes thick and heavy with anticipation.

I hate to admit it, but he’s right. I can’t let whatever this is get in the way of what I’ve worked so hard for.

“Okay,” I mumble.

“What?”

“Okay, I get it.” I say louder, looking directly at him. “This will not happen.”

“This can never happen. Ever,” he repeats, more sternly and louder this time.

I nod my head and toss the Chronicle between us, making direct eye contact as I declare my promise. “Nothing will ever happen between us. Ever.”