Chapter 20
MYA
Worst sixteen hours of my life.
By the time my heels hit solid ground, my legs are jelly and my head feels like it’s still floating somewhere above the clouds. For a split second, I’m tempted to drop to my knees and kiss the tarmac.
The hot Singapore air clings to my skin, and I drag in a shaky breath.
I glance back as my colleagues exit the plane together. Worth is the last to step out, immaculate in his tailored trousers, suit jacket draped over one arm and not a hair out of place. He doesn’t look like he’s just spent sixteen hours in the air. Damn him.
Ethan slides next to me. He was kind on the flight, even after I nearly snapped his head off mid-panic. I apologized, blaming nerves, and he’d laughed it off, handing me two little pills that knocked me out cold for hours.
“How was your sleep?”
“Fine,” I answer with a smile. “Thanks again for the help, and sorry for almost biting your head off.”
His laugh is loud, and it carries back to where Worth trails behind us. The grunt that rumbles from him is audible, even at this distance. My eyes roll so hard it’s a miracle they don’t stick. Ethan doesn’t notice, still chatting, still smiling like nothing is amiss.
After clearing customs, we pile into two town cars; I’m buzzing with nerves and awe.
When we finally pull up to the hotel—a massive glass tower glittering against the skyline—I nearly forget how exhausted I am.
Inside, it’s all marble floors, golden chandeliers that look straight out of a luxury magazine.
W.H.M. really didn’t spare any expenses.
I follow the others to reception. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Worth moving towards the elevators with his usual unbothered stride, phone still pressed to his ear. He doesn’t even glance at me.
After we’ve all checked in, the others gather in the lobby and start tossing around dinner plans.
“You coming with us?” Ethan asks, sounding hopeful.
I hesitate. My first instinct is to decline.
I’m running on fumes, and all I want is a hot shower and twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep, even though it’s not nighttime yet.
My eyelids feel like sandpaper, and every muscle aches from the flight.
Jetlag sucks. My lips part to give him a polite “maybe next time” when Seraya—our lead-technical-engineer-turned-friend—chimes in from across the group.
“Mr. Miller said he’ll join us later. He always comes out with the team the first night of a trip,” she says, slinging her bag over her shoulder like it’s nothing.
My pulse gives a tiny, traitorous kick. Damn it.
“Yeah. Sure. I’ll come,” I answer Ethan. Not because of Worth. Obviously. “I’ll see you in a bit then.”
I barely make it to my hotel room before I’m peeling myself out of my clothes.
The bathroom fills with steam, and the hot water works away some of the stiffness in my legs and back.
I close my eyes under the spray, but the second I do, images of Worth on the plane creep back in—his broad frame beside me, his steady hand wrapped around mine, the way his presence made the fear disappear.
My brain takes me back to the kiss we shared in the mail room and my fingers go straight to my lips where the memory of Worth’s mouth on me won’t stop running in a loop.
I press my hands flat to the slick tile, trying to will the images away, but instead they multiply.
His scent, his low, raspy voice in my ear, the thumb that traced lazy circles on my palm like it was his right.
My chest heaves, and the water cascades over me, hotter, harder, as though it could wash him out of my system.
My fingers drift lower, slipping between my thighs until they find the heat of my center. A jolt rushes through me at the first brush, stealing my breath. I circle my clit in slow strokes, pretending it’s Worth’s hands on me, his body surrounding me.
Every droplet feels like him. His touch ghosting down my spine, his mouth branding the curve of my neck. God—why does thinking of him feel so good when it should feel like the worst idea in the world?
My rhythm quickens, urgency clawing at every nerve.
I tip my head back beneath the spray, teeth sinking into my lip to stifle the needy sound building in my throat.
Pleasure coils tight, threatening to unravel me at the seams. A few more desperate strokes and it snaps, light bursting behind my eyes as a moan tears free, loud and unrestrained.
I stay there, caught between the scalding water and the ache he left behind, knowing I’ll never scrub Worth Miller off me, no matter how hard I try.
Freshly showered and wrapped in the hotel’s plush robe, I flop onto the bed and FaceTime Tiana. She picks up almost instantly, her face filling my screen, hair piled on top of her head and a mischievous grin tugging at her lips.
“I didn’t think you’d pick up,” I say, returning her smile. It’s 1 a.m. on a Sunday in Seattle, so I was expecting my call to go to voicemail.
“Yeah, well… I’m catching up on episodes of Grey’s Anatomy. Might regret it in the morning.”
“Just make sure not to miss opening Willow’s. Mr. Patel might have a panic attack.”
Tiana gasps. “I could never be the reason for that poor man’s stress,” she says, feigning all innocence. We both know that she’s a thorn in Aravind’s side. But he would never replace Tiana, regardless of how crazy she is at times.
“How was the flight? Singapore already looks good on you,” she teases.
I groan. “Sixteen hours of hell. I thought I was going to die during takeoff. And don’t even get me started on the turbulence. I was able to sleep for most of the flight, though.”
“And Worth? How’s he been acting with you?”
I chew on my bottom lip.
Tiana’s eyes narrow. “Spill it, sister.”
“I was panicking—you know, since I’ve never been on a plane before—and he noticed. He came over, buckled my seatbelt, and told me to squeeze his hand if I was scared.”
Her jaw drops. “Hold on. You held his hand for sixteen hours?!”
“God, no. Just for takeoff,” I snap, cheeks heating. “Still. It actually helped.”
Tiana smirks. “MJ, do you hear yourself?”
I bury my face in the pillow and mumble, “It wasn’t like that.”
“Sure. Just like kissing him at the office wasn’t like that either.”
I groan, louder this time. “Why did I even call you?”
“Because you’re obsessed with your boss and need someone to keep your secrets.”
I roll my eyes, though a reluctant smile tugs at my lips. “Am not.”
“Are too!”
We both fall into a giggling fit, and it reminds me of when we were younger and used to tease each other like this all the time.
My phone buzzes, a new message lighting up the screen.
Worth:
Check outside your door.
My breath stutters.
“TJ, I’ll talk to you later,” I rush out, hanging up before she can protest. I’m still in my robe, hair damp, but I scramble to the door anyway, curiosity winning over.
I glance up and down the hall before spotting a black-and-gold package perched neatly on the floor. My pulse trips as I crouch to pick it up. The box alone screams expensive.
Inside is a silk kimono-style robe in midnight blue with delicate embroidery at the hem. It looks like something plucked straight from a luxury boutique. I don’t even want to imagine the price.
A small envelope sits on top. My fingers tremble as I open it.
Mya,
You looked like you were about to collapse getting off the plane. A massage therapist will come by your room in an hour. Wear this.
—W.
I press the card to my chest, heart racing. A mix of outrage and… something warmer coils low in my stomach.
Why is he making this more difficult than it already is?
I stomp back into the room, silk robe draped over my arm, and snatch my phone off the bed.
I can’t accept this.
Worth:
Why not?
Is he serious right now?
Worth. Bosses don’t give their employees robes and massages!!!
Worth:
I’ve definitely gifted employees and clients spa gift certificates.
I scoff out loud.
This is different and you know it.
Worth:
How so?
I growl under my breath. He’s playing dumb, and it’s infuriating.
You’re kidding, right? You just gifted me a silk robe that probably cost more than my entire suitcase and its contents, and you’re sending a massage therapist to my room. And you asked me to marry you just days ago. This is a clear line crossing, Mr. Miller.
Worth:
If the robe is worth more than your clothes, then we need to take you shopping, Ms. Jones.
I bury my face into the pillow and groan.
Besides the point.
Worth:
Just enjoy it, Mya. You were stressed the entire plane ride. I feel bad that you suffered at our expense.
I pause. That’s… almost sweet. Almost.
It’s fine, really. Ethan gave me sleeping pills so I was able to snooze for a few hours.
His next reply takes longer, and when it comes, my stomach drops.
Worth:
He’s fired.
Shit. No, no, no.
I jab at the screen and press his number. He answers on the first ring, irritation already lacing his voice.
“Ms. Jones.”
“Don’t fire him.”
“I do what I want. And right now, I want to fire his punk ass.”
I scoff. “What did he ever do to you? From what I know, he’s a great employee.”
“Yeah, well he’s overstepping.”
“Just like you are?”
The line goes silent, and it stretches so long I almost think he hung up.
“Worth?”
His voice comes back low. “Watch it, Mya.”
I grip the phone tighter, pulse fluttering. “Why? Because I pointed out the hypocrisy? Or because I’m right?”
Another pause. I imagine him sitting somewhere in his perfectly pressed shirt, jaw tight, eyes narrowed the way they do when he’s seconds from snapping.
“You don’t get to compare me to him. Ethan doesn’t get to put his hands where they don’t belong.”
Heat rushes up my neck. “Neither do you.” Though the memory of his hand on mine—of his lips on mine—flashes through me like lightning.
There’s a sharp inhale on the other end of the line. I just poked the dragon.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he says after a beat, voice rougher now. “I know that. But don’t make the mistake of thinking I regret it, Mya.”
My stomach flips violently, my mind torn between indignation and the hot, treacherous pulse low in my belly.
“Enjoy the massage, Ms. Jones. I’ll see you at dinner,” he adds abruptly, as if cutting himself off before he can say more.
The line goes dead.
I lower the phone, staring at the screen.
The massage appointment is still a half hour away, my muscles wound even tighter than before.
What the hell is Worth doing to me?