Chapter 162

Grace's POV:

The morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the ballet company's administrative office, casting geometric patterns across the polished hardwood floors as I settled into my desk chair with a cup of coffee that had already gone lukewarm during the commute.

My body ached in that specific, telling way that made heat creep up my neck whenever I shifted position—a constant reminder of Maverick's insatiable presence in my life these past weeks, ever since that night I'd asked him to stay and he'd taken it as an irrevocable invitation to never leave.

Not that I'm complaining, I thought, suppressing a smile as I powered on my computer and watched the screen flicker to life. Mostly.

After two years apart, Maverick approached our rekindled physical relationship with an intensity that bordered on desperate.

"You have no idea what it was like," he'd murmured against my skin just last night, his voice rough with need as his hands mapped territories they'd once known by heart. "Two years of nothing but your photograph to keep me company, and then even that was taken from me. Two years of wanting you so badly, I thought I'd lose my mind."

The memory sent another wave of heat through my core, and I pressed my thighs together beneath my desk, trying to focus on the schedule spreadsheet that had just loaded on my screen.

My body had adjusted to his demands—had even begun to crave them with an urgency that sometimes surprised me—but there were mornings like this when I felt thoroughly, deliciously wrecked, every muscle singing with the evidence of his possession.

"Grace, do you have the Tchaikovsky performance notes from—" Emma Rodriguez's voice cut off abruptly as she rounded the corner of my cubicle, her dark eyes widening with unmistakable recognition. "Oh my God."

I looked up from my computer, confusion furrowing my brow. "What?"

"Your neck." Emma leaned against the partition, a slow grin spreading across her face as she gestured vaguely at my throat. "Girl, you need to have a serious conversation with your scarf collection, because that turtleneck is not doing its job."

My hand flew to my neck instinctively, fingers finding the edge of fabric that I'd thought—apparently mistakenly—had been high enough to conceal the evidence of Maverick's enthusiasm.

The mirror in his bathroom this morning had shown a landscape of marks blooming across my skin like dark flowers, and I'd spent fifteen minutes arranging my collar just so, convinced I'd managed adequate coverage.

"It's not that obvious," I protested weakly, even as Emma's expression told me otherwise.

"Honey, I can see at least three from here, and I'm guessing there's a whole garden under that sweater." She pulled up the spare chair from the neighboring desk, settling in with the air of someone prepared for a lengthy interrogation.

"So. Spill. Who's the mystery man who's been keeping you so thoroughly occupied?"

I hesitated, weighing the implications of confirmation against the futility of denial.

Emma had been with me since the very beginning. She'd been there through every stumbling step of my professional debut, every moment of self-doubt, every small victory that had slowly rebuilt my confidence.

More than a colleague, she'd become a genuine friend, one of the few people in my life who'd earned my complete trust.

And besides, she'd already met Maverick. Twice, actually—once when he'd shown up unannounced at the theater three weeks ago to take me to dinner, and again last week when he'd arrived early to pick me up and ended up charming half the administrative staff while he waited.

Emma had watched those interactions with knowing eyes, her gaze darting between us with barely concealed curiosity, clearly sensing there was far more to our dynamic than casual dating.

There was no point in hiding what she'd already half-figured out on her own.

"Maverick Cross," I said quietly, watching Emma's face carefully for her reaction.

For a moment, she simply stared at me, her mouth falling open in what could have been shock or delight or possibly both.

Then she let out a squeal that made heads turn throughout the open-plan office, her hands flying up to cover her mouth as if she could somehow retroactively contain the sound.

"Maverick Cross? You two are finally together?" she hissed, leaning forward with eyes that sparkled with excitement. "Oh my God, Grace, the ship I've been rooting for has finally sailed! Do you know how hard it's been watching you two dance around each other these past few weeks? The tension was killing me."

I couldn't help the helpless laugh that escaped, shaking my head at her enthusiasm. "You've been 'shipping' us?"

"Since the first time he showed up here looking at you like you were the only person in the entire building," Emma said matter-of-factly. "The man practically had hearts in his eyes, Grace. It was adorable and slightly terrifying at the same time."

I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips, warmth blooming in my chest. "We've been together for a while now. Well, sort of. It's complicated."

"Complicated how? No, wait, don't answer that yet—I need more coffee for this conversation." Emma jumped up, practically vibrating with barely contained enthusiasm. "Don't you dare leave this desk before I get back. I want details, Grace White. All of them."

She hurried off toward the break room, leaving me alone with my spreadsheet and the phantom sensation of Maverick's mouth against my throat, the way he'd taken his time marking me this morning, his voice a dark promise in my ear: "Let them see. Let everyone know exactly who you belong to."

I was still smiling when Emma returned five minutes later with two fresh cups of coffee, settling back into her chair with the determined air of someone prepared to extract every possible piece of information.

"Okay, start from the beginning. How did you two even meet? "

What followed was an entire morning of relentless interrogation.

Emma peppered me with questions between phone calls and email responses—how we'd met, what our first date had been like, when I'd known I was in love with him, what his friends were like, whether he was as intense in private as he seemed in public.

I did my best to answer, piecing together a coherent narrative from the fragmented memories Dr. Thorne had restored and the gaps I still couldn't quite fill, painting a picture that was true enough in spirit if not in every detail.

By the time lunch rolled around, Emma was practically glowing with satisfaction, sighing dramatically as she clutched her coffee cup.

"This is better than any romance novel I've ever read. I'm officially invested now, Grace. I'm going to be shipping you two until the day I die."

The rest of the workday passed in a blur of administrative tasks.

By the time five o'clock rolled around, I was practically vibrating with suppressed excitement, gathering my things with unusual haste and calling out quick goodbyes to Emma and the other office staff.

"Have fun with that boyfriend of yours!" Emma called after me, her voice rich with knowing amusement. "And Grace? Maybe invest in some concealer. Just a suggestion."

I laughed, waving her off as I headed for the elevator, my phone already in hand to text Maverick.

The late afternoon sun painted the lobby in shades of amber and gold as I pushed through the front doors, scanning the street for the familiar silhouette of his Bugatti Chiron.

I spotted it idling at the curb about half a block down, and my heart did that stupid little skip it always did at the sight of him behind the wheel, his profile sharp and perfect in the slanting light.

I started toward the car, my heart swelling with a happiness so complete.

I was maybe twenty feet from the Bugatti when I heard the engine.

Not Maverick's car—something else, something higher-pitched and desperate, the sound of an engine being pushed far beyond safe limits.

My head whipped around instinctively, seeking the source, and that's when I saw it: a sleek silver sedan, Jessica Walker visible behind the wheel, her face a mask of terrible determination as she aimed directly for Maverick's driver's side door.