“How was work?” He tucked my hair behind one ear, then the other, the pads of his fingers brushing my cheeks. I resisted the urge to nuzzle his palms. I knew how persuasive those hands could be, and I wasn’t in the mood.

“Fine. Good.”

“Yeah?” He stroked my neck and I shivered.

“Uh, yeah. Look at this.” I shifted my purse between us and displayed the Tiffany pen. Of course I’d Googled the pen in the privacy of my office. It cost nearly two hundred dollars and sold as a “writing instrument.” An instrument! How luxurious. But the high price and fancy name meant nothing to me. To me, the pen was priceless. It seemed to embody the elegance and professionalism I associated with Pam and Laura, and when I slid it across a page for the first time, writing my name in smooth blue script, I felt the beginnings of a story inside me.

My story.

“How chic,” Matt murmured. “Is Pam trying to seduce you away from me?”

“She promoted me. I’m … an associate agent.” My voice sounded dreary. I knew my expression matched. This should have been exciting news—we should have celebrated—but everything felt wrong. Matt isn’t sure he wants to spend the rest of his life with me. That was the essence of his announcement on Friday, no matter how I looked at it.

And I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.

I wanted him more than he wanted me.

I winced as that knowledge cut into me again.

“Babe, that’s fantastic news.” He wrapped me into a hug, crushing my body against his. I stood still for a while, perplexed by his tone, and then I leaned back and eyed him.

“Did you already know?”

“Hm?” He trained his dark green eyes on a cabinet. After a beat, he disentangled himself and wandered over to inspect the knob.

I huffed. This, I forced myself to remember, was progress: Matt acting like a child instead of immediately resorting to lies.

“So you already knew,” I prompted.

“Pam and I go way back.” He opened the cabinet and pretended to tighten the knob. “You know, she called to ask—to tell me. Sure, she mentioned it in passing.”

“She asked you?” Ouch. That took me down a notch.

“Told, asked. I don’t know.” Matt turned and gave me a dour look—one I was starting to recognize. The I’m about to tell you a hard truth look. “Baby bird, when it comes to the agency, you need to think of me as a majority shareholder, okay? Yes, I’m your boyfriend.” A smile tugged at his lips. “But I’m also M. Pierce. Please remember how you got this job.”

I glared at him. “You got me this job. What has that got to do with anything?”

“Pam and I just want to make sure everything is aboveboard, okay? Things get a little complicated when you have an author dating his agent’s assistant, the assistant becoming an agent and working with new authors.” Matt gestured vaguely. “We want everything to work.”

“I don’t see the problem.” I clutched my new pen.

“That’s because there is no problem. Darling…” He returned to me, taking my face between his hands. This time, I pulled away.

“I wish you’d told me, that’s all. I feel stupid.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise for you.” He gave me an anguished look. “And it’s great news. We should—” He stepped toward me, I stepped back, and his voice faded.

“I have a ton of work to do.” I walk-jogged to the bedroom, my pride stinging. Matt sure was good at making me feel dumb lately—first with the fake TV engagement, now with my job. The job he got me, to be exact. Just when I was starting to feel confident …

I curled up on our bed and opened my MacBook. Maybe I’d catch up on The Vampire Diaries. Yeah, I had a ton of work to do.

My breath hitched when I heard Matt moving down the hall. I half-hoped he would come in, but the shadow of his feet passed.

*   *   *

“Bird?”

A strong hand moved my shoulder.

“Nngh.”

“Love, you fell asleep.”

The hand slid down my side, over my hip, onto my thigh. I sighed happily. A familiar form settled behind me. I nestled into that shape where I fit, shoulder to shoulder, back to chest, my rump finding an expected hardness and nuzzling it.

“Mm, fuck. Hannah…”

My eyes opened a crack. A button on my blouse—the shirt I’d worn to work—dug into my side. The room was dark.

“Hm?” I mumbled.

“I’ve missed you. God damn.” Matt climbed over me, his narrow waist parting my thighs. My skirt slid up until he pressed against my panties. His breath tickled at my ear. “I’ve missed your tight little pussy.”

In that groggy space between dreams and wakefulness, I forgot my hurt and savored his touch. The firm shape of him ground between my legs. He kissed my throat and my body arched to meet his. Home.

My eyes opened fully.

Matt, his expression dazed with desire, hovered over me. I actually pitied him for a moment. It would have been easy to give him what he wanted, because his longing was simple. My longing was difficult, extensive, and unsatisfied.

“Stop,” I said with a sigh. I wriggled away. He let me go, dropping onto his back and scrubbing his face.

“Jesus, Hannah.”

“S—” I clenched my teeth. No, I didn’t owe him an apology for not wanting sex.