She Was Never Just the Billionaire’s Wife (Natasha and Chase) novel Chapter 121

(Piper)

The glass offices at Stein M&A offer zero privacy.

It’s an architectural choice designed to project transparency, which just means everyone can watch you pretend to work.

I have absolutely no legitimate business in this building today.

I’m staying well out of any involvement with the Bauer merger. That’s a disaster headed for a cliff.

I want nothing to do with it.

I’m lucky Gloria hasn’t tossed me out yet.

She pretended to believe the flimsy excuse that I just needed somewhere quiet to catch up on work between meetings in the area.

For the third time this week.

So here I am, sitting on the leather couch in her office, staring at the keys of my laptop.

I can’t stay away from her. It’s pathetic.

I flew to Los Angeles under the guise of corporate oversight, but the truth is much less palatable.

The sheer, irrational anger that spiked in my chest when I heard Nathanial was making overtures to her again was enough to get me on a plane.

I don't want to talk about London.

I definitely don't want to talk about the single night Gloria and I spent together before she started dating my step-brother.

I just want to sit here and make sure Nathanial doesn't walk through that door and convince her to give him another chance.

Gloria signs the bottom of a contract before capping her pen.

The sharp click sounds exceptionally loud in the quiet office.

She doesn’t look back down at her paperwork. She looks directly at me.

"You’ve been sitting there for an hour," Gloria says, bypassing the casual banter we’ve been using as a shield all week.

"Your screen went to sleep twenty minutes ago. Why are you here, Piper?"

I tap a button to wake the screen up, annoyed with myself for not even noticing.

I’ve been far too busy stealing glances at Gloria.

"I told you. I just need somewhere quiet-"

"Stop," Gloria says.

She stands up and walks around her desk.

She doesn't sit next to me. She leans against the edge of the desk, crossing her arms.

"I’m done playing games," Gloria tells me, her tone stripping away the last decade of polite evasion.

"We’re going to talk about London."

My spine locks. "There’s nothing to talk about."

"I’m not talking about our night together," she says flatly.

"I already know better than to throw myself at that particular brick wall. You ran. Fine. You’re too much of a coward to talk about it. I accepted that years ago."

I look away, fixing my gaze on the spine of a binder on her shelf.

The direct hit stings.

"I’m talking about Nathanial," Gloria continues. "And Sonia."

I grip the edges of my laptop.

"Sonia’s pathological need to be the center of attention is not my responsibility."

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