“What?” Bret scoffed, short and sharp, like the word itself offended him.
The secretary didn’t back off. She stepped closer instead, slow and deliberate, sliding her fingers up his chest as if she owned the damn place. Her nails traced his collarbone, light but intentional, her perfume thick enough to choke.
“I need twenty thousand,” she said casually, like she was asking for spare change. “I’ve got… things to sort out.”
Bret barked a humorless laugh. “Twenty f*****g thousand? For what? You think money grows on trees?”
She pouted, lips jutting out, fingers drifting lower, brushing his stomach. “Why are you suddenly acting broke?” she murmured. “You weren’t like this with Regina.”
That name again.
His jaw clenched. “Regina knew how to manage money,” he snapped. “She didn’t throw figur
