Summer flinches.

Diego steps forward.

Me, I sadly shake my head and meet Kamal’s glazed eyes. “It’s a really depressing world you live in, man. This world where everybody’s a gold digger, where everybody’s using each other, or competing against each other. This world where two people can’t be together because they might love each other.” I chuckle darkly. “Honestly? I’m glad you’re not giving me the job. I’d rather be out on the street than work for someone like you. I don’t even want to know what kind of toxic working environment you create for your employees.”

I think Kamal tries to keep arguing, but I tune him out. Besides, Diego and his “associates” are prompt in escorting the drunk and belligerent billionaire out of the Heather Ballroom. I don’t know what that means for the leukemia fundraising, but as much as I support the cause, I don’t care to stay a second longer at this stuffy, shitty event.

In unspoken agreement, Summer and I leave the ballroom. I can tell she’s upset because her teeth are digging into her bottom lip, but she doesn’t say a word. Not a single word, at least not until we’re riding the private elevator up to the penthouse.

The moment the doors ding open, Summer fixes me with a miserable look and says, “I’m breaking up with you.”

29

Fitz

I gape at her slender back as she stalks out of the elevator and into the marble-laden foyer.

Did she just say she’s breaking up with me?

“Like hell you are!” I roar.

Her stilettos echo loudly on the marble, and she stops to kick them off. I take advantage of the brief pause in her strides by charging forward to grab her arm. “Summer. What the hell.”

She doesn’t answer. Shrugging my hand off, she sets her small silver clutch on the mahogany credenza. Then she removes the clip from her hair. Somehow the hairstyle stays intact, and I realize it’s being held up by a dozen tiny pins. She starts taking the pins out, one by one, as I watch in astonishment. She won’t even look at me.

“What the hell is going on?” I demand.

Finally, she meets my confused eyes. “I cost you that job.”

I blink. “What?”

“You didn’t get the job because of me,” she mutters. “Obviously that jackass had a bad experience with a pretty girl who turned him down.”

“I’m sure he did, but I guarantee he also had a bad experience with some jock who beat him up. This had nothing to do with you.”

“It had everything to do with me. You heard the way he was talking to me! The night would’ve gone smoothly if I hadn’t come with you. But that’s what happens when I go places, Fitz. I attract drama. I don’t mean to, but it just frigging happens.” She puffs out a bleak breath. “You hate drama and you hate attention and you just had an entire ballroom full of people staring at you because of me, because you were defending me. And the same thing happened at Malone’s last month.”

I rub the bridge of my nose. What the hell is she talking about? I defended her—and myself—because Kamal was out of line. I say as much, but she stubbornly shakes her head

“I’m not doing this anymore, okay, Fitz? You prefer to remain invisible. Well, look what happened down there—the most visible thing ever!”

She’s right. When Kamal had been screaming and cackling and acting like an overall jackass, I’d felt as if there were a bright spotlight shining on me. I’d sensed the nosy stares and heard the hushed whispers.

But when I told him off, I didn’t care that the whole room was watching and listening. I only cared that Kamal was being rude to Summer, and that was unacceptable to me.

“Do you really want to talk about drama?” I ask her. “Because you’re being a drama queen right now, babe.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re overreacting. Going from zero to breakup without even talking about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. You don’t want to be in the spotlight. I invite it. Sometimes intentionally, but most times not.” She makes a frustrated noise. “That job was important to you.”

“It was.” But you’re more important. I don’t say it out loud. Not because keeping my emotions under lock and key is a habit of mine, but because Summer is marching off again, heading for the winding staircase that leads upstairs. The penthouse has three floors—don’t get me started—and her bedroom is on the third.

I hurry after her. “Stop,” I command.

“No.” She keeps going.

“You’re such a brat.”

“You’re such a bully,” she retorts. “I want to be alone. We’re broken up.”

“We’re not broken up!” I yell.

Jesus, I don’t think I’ve raised my voice more than ten times my entire life, and now a couple of months with Summer and I’m on my way to yelling myself hoarse. She brings out a growly, primal side of me I hadn’t known existed until she showed up and started driving me batshit crazy.

And…I frickin’ love it.

I’ve spent years fighting so hard to avoid conflict. I let my folks spew their poison about each other because it’s easier than the arguments and guilt trips that ensue if I try to make them see the light. I avoid social situations because I don’t want any attention on me.

I date chicks who are as introverted as I am, because then they don’t expect me to cut loose at parties or attend extravagant events like leukemia charity galas.

I didn’t mind that existence. It’s been nice and comfortable. Conflict-free.

But I never felt truly alive until Summer.

I don’t want to be with a woman who hides in the shadows with me, because that enables me to keep hiding. And that’s what I’ve done for years—hidden pieces of myself from my parents, my friends, chicks, the world. I want someone who encourages me to step out of my comfort zone, and Summer is that someone.

She drives me nuts. She does crazy shit like pull a girl’s hair at a bar for calling her a slut. She feels up half-naked football players in our living room. She does cute little ballet jumps when she’s making breakfast in our kitchen.

And yes, she makes me lose my temper sometimes, but I make her lose hers.

It’s part of the fun.

“I’m going upstairs, Fitz. You can sleep on the couch or in Dean’s room or any of the other rooms. But not mine, because we’re broken up.”

“Say that one more time. I fucking dare you.”

She stops at the foot of the staircase and turns around. Her green eyes glitter with fortitude. “We’re brok—”

I lunge forward.

She throws up her hands. “Don’t you dare!”

Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. I grab her by the waist and heave her wriggling body over my shoulder, clamping a hand over her ass. “We’re going to sit down and talk about this,” I growl, spinning toward the living room.

“There’s nothing to talk about! Put me down!” She manages to wrench herself free, her bare feet slapping the marble floor when they make contact with it.

“Would you listen to me? We’re not breaking up. It’s not happening, Summer. I don’t give a shit about the job at Orcus Games. I give a shit about you. That bastard was rude to you. He was rude to both of us, and I refuse to work for someone who treats people with disrespect or behaves that way in public. I put him in his place, and if I had the choice, I’d do it all over again, you hear me? Because he was a jackass to you, and I love you.”

Summer’s breath catches. “That’s…” She gulps. “That’s the first time you’ve ever said that.”

“Well, it’s true. I love you. You’re my girlfriend—”

“Was your girlfriend.”

“Are.”

“Was.”

I wrap my arms around her waist and tug her against me. When she gasps, I know she feels the erection pressing into her belly. “You can argue till you’re blue in the face, but we both know we’re not breaking up.” My hand slides under her dress to caress her smooth thigh. “And we both know you love me too.”

Her eyes narrow as she studies my face. “You’re different,”

She’s right. I am. My patience is thin, and my nerves are shot. I’m still pissed at Kamal. Still pissed at Summer. Yet at the same time, I want to fuck her like I’ve never wanted to fuck her before.

Groaning softly, I cup the warm heaven between her legs. When I encounter her bare pussy, I shudder with desire. “You weren’t wearing panties this entire time?” I croak.

“No. This dress can’t handle panty lines. I’d never do that to Vera.”

“Who’s Ve— You know what, forget it.”

“Fitz.” She swallows again. “I’m sorry I cost you the job.”

I shake my head at her. “You still don’t get it, do you? You didn’t cost me a job. Kamal Jain cost himself an employee. I’m a good designer. I’ll find something else, I promise. But I’ll never find another you.”

Her lips part in wonder. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”