“The same thing you are, trying to finish off these last few things before I leave.” I press save on the file I was working on, which is the final one that I need to email to our chief financial officer, who is nothing like another certain money man I know. Our CFO is a sixty-year-old woman we hired when all the issues with Felisha’s father came to light. We couldn’t trust the old one that was obviously helping Ewan Kentwall hide how he was bleeding money from the company. Benitta is married with five children. She turns up here every day in her perfect skirt suit at seven fifty-nine am, right before she is due to start. Keeps to herself during the day and only speaks when needed in meetings. But she is good at this job and was so helpful at finding ways that she thought he had taken money from the company when we went through the drama with Felisha’s father.

“I have approved that budget for Benitta, ready for Monday, so she will be right to put it all in place.” I lean back in my chair and stretch my arms out in front of me.

“Thanks. Now let’s go, because you look as tired as I feel.” Felisha leans her hands on the back of the visitor chair on the other side of my desk.

“Yes, boss, and thanks for the compliment.” But I know she’s not wrong.

Sleeping in Forrest’s bed every night might help with the nightmares, but it doesn’t mean I’m getting any rest.

That man is a machine, and I have learned it is almost impossible for me to say no to him. My body is starting to crave him like a drug I can’t go without. Which is not good, but I’m addicted anyway.

“I’m also here to deliver a message,” she says.

Pushing back from my desk after shutting down my computer, I pick up my bag, slipping my laptop back into it. “Ughh, do I even want to know? Man, I thought Forrest was a grumpy asshole before, but now he’s just changed to a possessive grumpy asshole.” I roll my eyes at her as I push my office chair under my desk and turn off my desk lamp.

“Well, I think you might want to take that back when I tell you this.” Her words are enough to stop me in my tracks.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask, staring directly at her, trying to guess what she is about to say.

“Downstairs there is a car waiting for the both of us to take us to the airport. We are off to the villa in St. Tropez for a weekend of relaxation and fun.” She looks very proud of herself.