From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 248

**TITLE: Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**

**Chapter 147: Have Dinner With Me**

If I had my way, I would carve out a sanctuary for myself—four solid walls, a door that actually closes, and the sweet, sweet sound of silence enveloping me like a warm blanket.

But instead, I find myself trapped in this box. This ridiculous, cramped cubicle where the concept of privacy goes to die, and gossip flourishes like an unwelcome weed. Whoever dreamed up the idea of open offices must have been a sadist, intent on torturing employees with an incessant cacophony of chatter. It feels like a direct assault on our right to a moment’s peace.

Especially today.

Every single employee at Goldberg within a ten-foot radius seemed to be leaning over my desk as if I were holding a golden ticket to paradise.

What was the cause of this sudden interest?

My fiancé was in the building.

Yes, that fiancé. Roman Blackwood—currently the most talked-about man in all of Philadelphia. His mere presence had transformed my coworkers into a buzzing hive of reporters, each one desperate for the latest scoop.

I tried to appear engrossed in my work, my eyes glued to the glowing screen before me, as if the words on the page were more riveting than the whispers swirling around me.

“He’s really here,” Susan exclaimed, twirling a strand of hair around her pen like it was a magic wand. “In our building! Savannah, you lucky, lucky witch.”

Internally, I let out a sigh. If only I could earn a paycheck for every time someone labeled me as ‘lucky.’

“So,” Susan continued, sprawling across my desk in a way that could only be described as theatrical, “you’ve never told us how you managed to snag Mr. Sexy Pants himself.”

I leaned back in my chair, forcing a polite smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Snagged?”

She flashed a grin that could light up a room. “Oh, come on! Don’t play coy with us. We’ve all seen that man strut in here looking like he just stepped out of a fantasy novel. What’s it like waking up next to that?”

I bit my tongue, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes dramatically. “It’s like living with someone who’s twice my size, who lets me steal the blankets every night, forgets to eat, and literally conducts business meetings in his sleep.”

The group of women surrounding me erupted into giggles, convinced I was merely joking.

“Come on,” Grace urged, propping her chin on her palm, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Give us the juicy details! We want tips. I want a rich man too. Who wants to be glued to a desk for the rest of their life? That’s just miserable.”

Their laughter rang out like a chorus, and I smiled sweetly, trying to maintain my composure. “There’s really no secret to it. He’s my best friend. They say to marry your friend, right? I just happened to marry mine.”

Their gasps were exaggerated, almost theatrical in their delivery.

“Aww,” one of them cooed, clasping her hands together as if witnessing a romantic movie unfold. “That’s actually so cute.”

They giggled, whispering amongst themselves, and I exhaled a breath of relief, grateful for the distraction that might allow me to return to my actual work. But then Susan leaned forward again, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Obsessed,” she said, smirking playfully. “Like your fiancé watching you from a distance, obsessed?”

My stomach did a flip. I spun around, and there he was.

Roman.

Standing near the glass conference room with my boss, clad in that perfectly tailored navy blue suit that hugged his shoulders like a second skin. He was mid-conversation, but his eyes were unwaveringly locked onto mine.

And goodness, that look alone could melt an iceberg. The atmosphere around me thickened, the noise—the chatter, the fluorescent lights, the incessant clatter of keyboards—all faded into the background until it was just him and me in our own little world.

His gaze moved slowly, deliberately, tracing a path from my face, down the line of my neck, and lingering at my chest where one of my buttons had come undone, before trailing lower. My skin flushed under his scrutiny, every nerve ending in my body humming like a live wire.

Then, as if he could read the memory flashing through my mind—his voice from a week ago, low and sultry, urging me to sit on his face—he smirked.

That damn smirk.

Heat surged through me, and I instinctively pressed my thighs together. He noticed. Of course, he noticed.