“Of course not,” I lie. “I’m just your assistant, remember? Here to make sure things run smoothly.”
“Is that all you are?”
I look out the window rather than answer. The city lights blur past, each one a bright, burning reminder of how far out of my league Vince Akopov really is.
Of course I’m jealous. I’m drowning in it.
I’ve been trying to tell myself that what happened between us was just s*x. Just the inevitable explosion of five years of pent-up fantasy finally finding release.
And now, I have to sit here and watch him court the woman who might actually become his wife.
I think I might be sick.
“Showtime,” Vince announces as the car slows to a stop.
I draw in a deep breath, center myself, and step into my role. Professional. Detached. Completely unaffected by the way his cologn
