Professional workplace decorum be damned. I thread my fingers into her silky hair and tug to angle her face just right so I can devour her lips with mine. She opens easily for me, and I slip my tongue in to dance with hers, capturing her small moan for myself. As she presses her body closer to mine, we lock together, all of my angles meeting her soft curves. Exactly how we should be.

I break the kiss well before I want to, trying to restrain myself a little in my place of work. But when I open my eyes, hers are studying me softly, and that smile is back on her now swollen lips.

“Hi,” I say back, and we both laugh. God, it feels so fucking good to hear her laugh.

“Listen, I want to explain—” she starts, but I cut her off.

“No. You don’t have to explain anything. I’m the one who needs to explain. Scratch that. I need to grovel at your feet for the rest of eternity.”

“Cool it with the hyperbole, oh Wise and Witty Syntax Sorcerer, Wielder of the Red Pen, and Master of Manuscripts.” She giggles. She actually giggles.

I blink in surprise. “You…you remember that whole thing?”

She tilts her head and pinches her brows. “Of course I do,” she says quietly, the words full of emotion. “They might not be tattooed on my arm, but they’re right there in my heart. I never stopped loving you, either, you know.”

Tears sting at the corners of my eyes, and I breathe a little huff full of awe. “Scarlett, I’m so sorry. Whatever you need to do now, I’m with you. One hundred percent. Forever. Okay? I promise.”

That smile is back, and it’s stunning. I kiss her forehead for the only reason that I can’t keep my lips off of her for long, and I also want to watch that smile for a few more minutes.

“I’m glad to hear you say that.” She reaches out her hand and interlaces her fingers with mine. “Come with me?”

“I can try,” I offer. “I doubt they’ll let me in.”

“They will,” she says, and she’s so sure of it. Her eyebrows tick up as she raises her chin in a challenge. “They’ll do what I want.”

It’s hard to argue with that, so hand in hand, we go back upstairs and right into the conference room where the team is, indeed, waiting for her. Trina is already seated, a smug smile curling on her face. Casey is there, too, trying unsuccessfully not to look confused. Meri is representing the publicity team. And Anastasios Martis sits tall in the center of it all, his face giving nothing away.

“Good morning, Ms. Frye,” he greets her before turning his gaze to me. “Mr. Whitlock, thank you for walking her up here, but you’re no longer needed.”