fit.â
âNothing fits, as you can see.â
He dragged his gaze the very short distance from the left of the room to the right, taking in her pathetic bed and her mounded-up belongings. âIs this because you quit the firm?â
Something about the size of him in her tiny room, the male scent swilling into every corner, the sexy accent and maybe the multiple champagnes in quick succession stole all but the most essential air from her lungs. But not so much that she couldnât protest his monumental ego.
âThe world does not revolve around you, Harry Mitchell, surprising as that may be.â
âSo you chose to live like this becauseâ¦?â
âBecause Iâm careful with my money.â Oh, such lies. âAnd because itâs easier for Poppy to rent the best room than this one.â
It had nothing at all to do with the fact that despite earning stupid money for the past few years sheâd actually managed to put very little of it away for the rainy day that had now come. That sheâd gone a bit spend-mad with the first real money sheâd ever had at her disposal and then become ridiculously accustomed to it. Reliant on it. Which made the myriad belongings cluttered around them now very quality belongingsâ¦but still clutter.
And not the gently shambolic clutter of her parentsâ meagre belongings. The clutter of someone with a life rapidly outgrowing her circumstances.
Much like her ambition.
Sheâd always had a disconnection between what she wanted and what life had given her. The only girl in her childhood estate with big-city ambitions.
Many people might call it denial.
Behind her, Harry leaned on the wall whileshe began the hunt for her work ID card. It wasnât in the pile sheâd hastily thrown together at her desk. No, that was because sheâd been wearing it that day.
Her jacket⦠Where was Wednesdayâs jacket?
She turned back for the door and paused in front of his inconvenient bulk.
âExcuse me.â
Harry straightened and she squeezed past, the back of her calves pressing against her bed and her front brushing against the expensive fabric of his open coat. His lips twisted as he stretched taller to give her space and politely focused over her head on a point across the small room. Izzy rummaged around in the clothes hanging on the back of the door theyâd just come through until she found the cropped jersey jacket sheâd worn on Wednesday, and unclipped the security tag still pinned to its lapel.
âThere you go.â She pressed it into his front as she squeezed past again.
His fingers automatically came up to catch it before she dropped it, but they snagged hers instead, pressing them into his not inconsiderable chest.
Izzy froze. Hard heat soaked through his cotton shirt and charred her skin.
âSeriously,â he urged as her eyes flashed up to him, his fingers still holding hers captive, âreconsider.â
His voice had dropped down somewhere much more gravelly and, down there, his accent did its best work.
âSeriously,â she mimicked. âI donât go back on my decisions.â
âEver?â
âEver.â
âEven the bad ones?â
âEspecially the bad ones. Thereâs no going back from those, only forwards.â And she knew that from experience.
She glanced up into his fathomless eyes and heard her next words tumble from her lips. Surprised even herself with her candour. âThat job was killing me. It was time. Regardless of everything else.â
âYouâve only been in it for a couple of years.â
âItâs not boredom. Itâsââ me! ââthe work.â
âSo, go for a different job within the firm.â
She suddenly became aware that her fingers still pressed into his pectoral region and she tugged them gently free and curled them at her side. âWhat is it to you? Why do you even
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