No Feelings Just Sex

"You're late."

Rhyland leaned against the marble reception desk like he owned the place which, knowing him, he probably did. He had one hand shoved in his pocket, the other cradling a phone he wasn't using. His gaze skimmed down my body, pausing on the crumpled diaper bag slung across my shoulder and the sleepy toddler clinging to my neck.

Fantastic. I was ten minutes late and already being judged by a man who once thought "cleaning up" meant removing the vodka bottles before a girl woke up.

"You're still a jerk," I said, adjusting my grip on Noah. "Some things never change."

"Neither do your manners," he said, pushing off the desk and walking toward me like a wolf circling a rabbit. "Didn't know house-sitting came with attitude."

"I didn't know babysitting came with billionaire baggage."

His brow rose, amused. "That's your way of calling me hot?"

I let out a dry laugh. "No. That's my way of calling you the most exhausting man I've ever met."

Noah squirmed in my arms, his tiny hand smacking against my cheek as he babbled something incoherent. Teething was doing things to this child, demonic things.

I glanced around the penthouse lobby. Glass walls, high ceilings, a chandelier that probably cost more than my college degree. My brother's place was intimidating even on video calls in person. It felt like I'd walked onto the set of a reality show where poor people got voted off one by one.

"Where is my brother?" I asked. "He said he'd meet me."

"Delayed flight," Rhyland said. "Dubai storms grounded his jet. You've got me instead. Lucky you."

Lucky me.

I set Noah down, and he immediately waddled toward a low-slung glass table covered in coffee table books and delicate ceramic sculptures.

"Noah, no," I said, reaching for him

Too late.

Tiny toddler fingers wrapped around the edge of a thousand-dollar art book.

Rhyland stepped in, scooping both the book and my son into his arms in one practised move. He held the book high and Noah low, like a man who'd been dodging sticky fingers for years.

"Not bad," I muttered. "Didn't know you were good with kids."

"I'm not. But I am good at saving furniture."

"You could try not being a smug bastard for five minutes."

"I could," he said, "but where's the fun in that?"

The elevator chimed.

A man stepped out with silver hair, a crisp navy suit, and the kind of aura that said my name is on buildings. He looked around, eyes narrowing slightly at the sight of Rhyland, me, and Noah in the same room.

"Mr. Granger," Rhyland said quickly, setting Noah down and extending a hand. "You're early."

"I like to be," the man said, shaking his hand. "Wanted to meet the family. And this must be your fiancée."

I blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"She's-" Rhyland's arm slid around my waist like it belonged there. "Yes. This is Emery. And our son, Noah."

Or what?

Granger's smile deepened. "Wonderful. Family men tend to be more grounded. More dependable."

I was still processing my fiancée and our son when Granger's attention turned to Noah.

"How old is the little guy?"

"Eighteen months," I said automatically.

Rhyland nodded beside me like it was true. I could practically feel the heat rolling off him. I was truly taken off guard.

"Looks just like his father," Granger said with a wink. "You've done well, Rhyland. A family man building a business people love that story."

I turned to Rhyland slowly. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

He smiled politely at Granger. "Excuse us."

I grabbed his wrist and yanked him toward the hallway with enough force to make Noah giggle.