Billionaire, I Am Not Your Wife! novel Chapter 105

*Lucian has no idea-*

*If Boss catches them in a compromising position-*

I kept walking. I kept my face entirely neutral, which required more effort than it should have, which was itself information I catalogued and set aside as I tried not to dwell on those words.

Third: the door to my office, which was not fully closed, from behind which came the sound of another voice-lighter, female, the particular pitch of someone performing a kind of attention that was aware of its own performance.

I opened the door.

The scene arranged itself in the way of things that had been in motion a moment before and had adjusted for an audience but not quite fast enough. Lyra Cheng-twenty-eight, events coordinator, someone who had been finding increasingly frequent reasons to be on the executive floor for the past three months especially when she had no business on this side of the building and her workload focused on the western aspect of the building and nothing in particular concerned her with my PA, because my PA only activities was to make sure that my schedule for the day was arranged in a way that made me tackle them effectively-was seated on the edge of my desk.

Not on a chair near my desk. On the desk itself,

Her hand was in the process of unbuttoning Lucian’s shirt.

Lucian was in my chair. Lucian, who I paid to manage my schedule and my correspondence and the various moving pieces of my professional life, was sitting in my chair with his face doing something complicated and red that I recognized as the specific expression of a person who’d been in the middle of

<Caught In The het.

something they’d convinced themselves was harmless and had just understood that it wasn’t.

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

Clary

The room was very quiet for a moment when they registered my presence but was still processing it.

“Miss Cheng,” I said. My voice came out exactly as I intended it to-level, clean, containing nothing that would give either of them anything to work with “Give us the room.”

Lyra Cheng was not, whatever else could be said about her, slow. She was off the desk and collecting herself before I’d finished the sentence. She didn’t speak-which was, I noted, the correct choice-and was through the door in a matter of seconds.

I waited until her footsteps had faded.

Comments

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify