I could sleep over if I wanted to. But only for one night. Then the next night, I had to be in my own bed.

Number two: no keeping things at his house.

Once I retrieved the two bras and one pair of panties he’d had cleaned and stashed away for me, I made sure I never left any clothes behind. Though, I did make an exception when it came to the book we were both reading together.

Number three: no texting or calling unless it had to do with the nightclub.

Number four: no talking about the future. There was no future. This thing had an expiration date. It had to.

And, finally, number five: if he ever says the word ‘love,’ I had to run. Hide. Scorched earth.

This was not about love.

It was just physical.

Even if each time I saw him, the more I wanted to see him. Even if I started to tell him things about my childhood, about my life on the streets, that not even my closest friends knew.

I told him so much that it started to get harder and harder to remember how much I couldn’t tell him.

Hell, I even felt bad about the lies that were stacking. So much so that I was worried I might accidentally make it all topple over.

Worse yet, he watched me as I quickly lied about building my business, about how I acquired the abandoned club on a song, and I swear I saw a flicker of disappointment in his eyes.

But disappointed about what?

Could he know it was a lie?

Was he upset that I continued to perpetuate it?

No.

No, I couldn’t let myself go there.

I was being careful.

Or, at least, convincing.

Though now that he’d seen me damn near every day for two weeks in my usual jeans and leggings and tees, I wasn’t sure how convincing I was in my stupid black slacks and black silk blouse with my hair pulled back in a low pony that made me feel like a founding father.

But when I was visiting Soren’s office, I had to look the part of Saff Amato, businesswoman. Not the girl who was enthusiastically—and sometimes gymnastically—screwing her partner.

I resisted the urge to tug at my collar as the doors slid open to the floor.

There was Teresa, looking much more natural in a similar outfit—though hers was in an elevated beige color—than I ever could.

“Miss Amato,” she greeted me. “Nice to see you again.”

I wasn’t entirely convinced she meant that.

A tingle moved up my spine.

But even as I racked my brain, I couldn’t think of a single reason she would be disingenuous. I mean, I hadn’t even seen her in weeks.

Maybe I was just being suspicious, seeing and hearing things that weren’t there.

“You too. I’m late again, aren’t I?”