Chapter 27
COSMIC. CORPORATE. CONNED.
NOLAN
Rorie Adams is going to be the death of me.
And I’ll probably thank her for my untimely end while she steps over my corpse in five inch heels.
The office scurries outside my door, phones ringing, emails pinging, someone in accounting laughing too loud at something that definitely isn’t funny.
Normally, this rhythm fuels me. Today, the noise presses against my skull. Because I can’t stop thinking about Rorie.
Not just her—us.
That tight body grinding against mine, needy and breathless. Rorie dragging herself across my cock, so starved for it. The burn of her skin. The broken sounds she gave me, like secrets too hot to hold.
And the way she sank into me as though her body had been waiting for this, for me
I fucked my hand three times last night.
Shower. Kitchen. Living room.
Each time, I was chasing the same high—reaching for echoes of a moment I couldn’t recreate, a feeling I couldn’t catch no matter how hard I tried.
And somehow, in all that intensity… and with Maya walking in, I forgot to ask for her number.
I mean, technically, I could have Tammy get it for me. But I don’t want it that way. I want her to give it to me. Voluntarily. Directly. I want Rorie to take that next step, beyond the kiss, beyond the bathroom, beyond the night we nearly combusted in a single solitary moment.
I want it to mean something—something she chose to give me.
Not something I stole because I could. Like the backstory I pulled on her.
Speaking of stolen things, that flash drive of Rorie’s life is still a loaded weapon sitting in my briefcase. Untouched. Burning a hole through the leather. I haven’t opened it. I don’t want to read about her.
I want her to tell me. Herself.
Fresh out of a relationship, deadline breathing down my neck, and my brain’s stuck on Rorie riding me like it was her full-time job.
The door swings open. Jackson strolls in. Fucking hell.
“You know what Chloe said to me this morning?” he says, flopping into the chair across from me as though I want him there.
“That she regrets moving in with you?” I mutter without looking up.
“She said, and I quote, ‘Jackson, if you were a spice, you’d be flour.’”
That makes me glance up. “Flour’s not a spice.”
“Exactly!” He throws up his hands, completely outraged. “She said I lack flavor! Me!”
I rub my temples. I hate this guy.
Jackson backstabbed me in literally the worst way possible, but there’s something almost childlike about him. Like a Labrador who got too big too fast and still thinks he can fit on your lap. None of that changes that he’s dumb as shit, and fucking an asshole though.
Good luck with that, Chloe.
That’s what she needed all along. Someone she could mold. Control. Keep beneath her heel. With Jackson, she gets to be the prize. The pedestal. The adult in the room. She could never have that with me. I was never going to bow to her, beg for attention, play small.
We were equals.
Chloe didn’t want an equal—she wanted someone to raise.
And me? I wanted a partner.
Which brings me back to Rorie.
Everything about her flips a switch in me I didn’t know was there. Lust, yeah, but not the shallow kind. It’s something else. It’s bigger. Scarier.
Sure, I want to ravage her in so many creative ways. Pin her against every surface and leave her questioning reality, like the world only makes sense when we’re skin to skin.
But I respect her. And I want to protect her.
Also hand her the damn world and watch her light it on fire.
She’s not casual. Not even close.
And the terrifying part?
I could see myself dating her.
I didn’t plan on thinking that. Ever. But it’s there. Itching at the back of my mind like a splinter refusing to be ignored.
Jackson props his feet up on the corner of my desk. “Speaking of spice… who’s got you all twisted up like a pretzel? You’ve been staring at that screen like it killed your dog.”
“Get out,” I say.
“Can’t. Too invested now.” He leans back and folds his arms behind his head. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with that woman from the other night, would it?”
I don’t answer.
He grins. “The one who hijacked your moment?”
My jaw ticks.
Jackson whistles low. “Damn, man. She’s got you by the balls?”
Understatement.
Yeah, it’s true. I haven’t stopped reeling over Rorie Adams.
And I won’t. Not until I have her again.
Until she’s under me.
Over me.
On me.
Wrapped around me.
Moaning my name like it’s a mantra, and the one thing keeping her grounded while I drive her higher.
Because whatever this thing is between us?
It’s not cooling off.
And I don’t want it to.
Jackson watches me a beat longer, then says quietly, “For what it’s worth, I’m happy for you, man. I know what Chloe and I did was messed up. I won’t apologize for loving her, but the deception was wrong. You didn’t deserve that.”
He stands, brushing imaginary lint off his pants. “So yeah. Hope this thing with Rorie works out for you in all the best ways.”
And then he walks out.
No smirk. No dig.
Just truth.
Weird.
“Nolan!”
Tammy’s voice yanks me out of my head like a hook to the spine. She’s standing in the doorway, clutching a binder and wearing her signature sunbeam grin that usually makes the world manageable.
Not today. I have too much in my head to truly appreciate it.
“Meeting room in five.” She breezes in and slaps the binder down on my desk. “You and the team. Cross prep.”
Fantastic. More pressure. Just what I need.
“You okay? You look like you spent the night trying to decode a woman and lost the will to live halfway through.”
“Close.” I rub my eyes. “Just need caffeine. A lot of it.”
“I’ll grab you some.”
She turns to go, but I stop her. “Tam?”
She swivels back, eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”
“Send an email to Bone Dust. A polite exit from their campaign. Tell them Rorie Adams from The Laurel Group is better suited.”
Tammy eyes me wearily.
I lean back in my chair and exhale hard. “Oh, and I need you to send Rorie something.”
Tammy’s brows shoot up. “Why, exactly?”
Nodding, I rub the back of my neck.
“Okay, what happened?”
I glance up at her, deadpan. “Nothing.”
“Oh, come on.” She steps closer. She’s about to drag the details out of me by force.
“You never pull out of campaigns because other firms are better suited, especially not million dollar ones. And you never ask me to send gifts unless it’s to thank a client, apologize to a board member, or—holy shit. ” Her eyes widen. “You slept with her?”
“I didn’t.” I say it firmly, but not fast enough.
Tammy narrows her eyes. “But something happened.”
I sigh. “Define something.”
She crosses her arms. “You’re giving brooding statue with a side of unresolved tension vibes. So either you didn’t sleep, orrrr you slept in a tangle of emotional consequences.”
I swipe a hand over my face. “You’re confusing this early in the morning.”
“You deflect too well for someone who’s obviously spinning.”
“I’m not in the mood for a debrief right now.”
She tilts her head, studying me like I’m an alien in a Nolan suit. “I don’t care. You have that look.”
“What look?”
“The I-just-got-hit-by-a-truck-and-loved-it look. You’re smitten.”
I smirk despite myself. “If a truck wore red lipstick and smelled like orchids and trouble.”
“Nolan…this is–”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I still have all my faculties. I’m not writing her name in my will. Or tattooing it on my chest.”
She huffs. “Yet.”
“Just send the gift. And make it good.”
“Flowers?”
“No. Not her style.” Two fingers clutch my chin. “Something different. Something smart. Something... her.”
She smirks. “You want her to swoon?”
“I want her to feel.” I gesture vaguely, like that explains anything. “Just… make it count.”
She taps her pen against her planner, thoughtful. “Something that says I can’t stop thinking about you without screaming Hi, I’ve lost all grip on reality.”
An idea strikes. I open the calendar on my phone, lean forward, adrenaline humming. “A framed star map. For this date.” I show her my phone. “The night sky as it was when—”
Tammy’s head tilts.
“When everything cracked open for us,” I finish.
She blinks. “You want to gift her… the cosmic alignment for–”
“Tams.” My voice drops. “Please. No more questions.”
Tammy blinks again, but this time, the teasing fades from her eyes.
“I want it to tell her I remember,” I add quietly, “without saying a word.”
Her pen stills. The air shifts.
“Nolan…” Her voice softens, and suddenly she’s not my assistant—she’s my friend. The kind who’s been through it with me. The kind who’s scared right alongside me. “Are you sure about this?”
“What are you asking?”
She closes her planner slowly, folding her hands over the cover. “I’m asking if this is you, or if it’s the whiplash from Chloe.”
My chest tightens.
She presses gently, “You’ve barely started to unpack that fallout. And now you’re… here. Planning constellations for someone you’ve known for what? A week? Two?”
I exhale, defensive. “Jesus, Tam. I’m not planning a proposal.”
“I didn’t say you were,” she says evenly. “But you don’t give anyone pieces of yourself, Nolan. And now you’re handing them to a stranger wrapped in velvet and stardust.”
“She’s not a stranger.”
Tammy gives me a long, level look. “She’s not Chloe, either. And that’s why you’re so drawn to her. But don’t mistake different for safe.”
“I’m not.”
“Aren’t you?” she says quietly. “Because right now, she looks like a lifeboat.”
Her words cut deep. But instead of snapping, I sit with it. Turn it over. Taste the truth in it.
“I don’t know what this is,” I admit, voice rough. “But in that moment—she—happened. And I get you think it’s impulsive, or too fast, and maybe a goddamn disaster waiting to explode. But I’m done playing it safe. I’m doing this.”
Tammy’s eyes review me, like she’s searching for holes. Then she exhales, “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She stands. “Cosmic star map it is.”
I grin, standing too. “Thanks, Tam.”