I held the chair arms tighter as I realized she was carrying a small package. It was blue, and not just any blue—Tiffany’s blue.

I already knew about her son’s purchase with my American Express. I’d canceled all but one card after my wallet had been stolen. Initially, I’d kept the Amex active to teach the kid a lesson about stealing. After I had met his mother, that plan went to hell since I could only focus on Juliette. I’d hoped she’d discover what he’d done and show up as she was doing now.

You’re a mom. That reminder made the things I wanted to do to her ten times worse.

I’d start by setting her on my desk and tasting her pink, pouty lips before moving down to the ones between her legs.

“Come in. Close the door.” My words were rough and demanding, and I didn’t give a damn.

Her lashes fluttered as she thinned her eyes, remaining frozen. She held a hand to the door to keep it from closing on her.

“Come in,” I repeated, working hard to tone it down so it didn’t come across as a command to sit on my face.

Finally surrendering and joining me inside the lion’s den, the door shut behind her. I maintained my death grip on the chair arms, feeling like a caveman discovering fire for the first time—a cross between excited and terrified.

“I’m sorry to show up like this. I had planned to only leave a note with this for security, but when I provided my name, they insisted I see you.”

The security officers and Blair were very much aware that my anger would go from zero to sixty if she showed up and I didn’t know about it right away.

“My son used your card to buy something.” She slowly walked my way, then set the Tiffany’s box on the edge of my desk before backing up. Wise woman to keep her distance.

“I know.” I stared at her fingernails, pink like her lips. They’d been chipped yesterday. I shouldn’t have noticed, but I seemed to notice everything about her.

“Why didn’t you cancel your cards? And if you knew what he did, why didn’t you reach out? You know how to find us.” Her hand slipped to her outer thigh, and she patted her jean-covered leg before curling her fingers inward.

I didn’t want her to be nervous or uncomfortable around me. I needed her to be. She didn’t belong here. She was too good for here. “He did more than shop at Tiffany’s,” I said instead of answering her.

“I’m sorry, what?”