Reid
The kiss had been a mistake.
At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
It didn’t matter that I could still taste her — that my hands still remembered the shape of her waist, the softness of her skin. It didn’t matter that every time I closed my eyes, I saw the way she’d looked at me — surprised, wanting, wrecked.
None of it mattered because his wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
So I did what I always did when things got too complicated. I worked.
The Prescott merger was close to finalizing, and there were still a dozen things to handle before the deal went through. Financial reports. Staffing plans. Restructuring.
The kind of work that demanded my full attention.
That’s what I told myself, anyway.
But no matter how many hours I buried myself in meetings and spreadsheets, I coul
