Too Late For Regret, Mr. Billionaire.

le breath. The flame caught the wick of the final candle, throwing warm light across the table she'd set for tw

d the silk of her dress, her heart punching against her ribs like it wanted out. Three years. Three years as his executive assistant by day, in his bed

gust of cold New York night air with him. His face looked worn, the day's stress carved into the lines around his mouth.

out even glancin

y, replaced by a tightness so sharp Chloe could fee

s went cold. Carroll Hardy. The woman from his past, the one whose

her voice coming out small.

that phone, his voice dropping into a low, urgent

his car keys from the bowl on the console table. He had

she reached out, her fingers closing a

like it was a nuisance. "She tried to kill h

once looked at her like that. Chloe felt the small velvet box in her pocket. It suddenly weig

cold glance over his shoulder. "Don't be irrationa

d been telling herself. She wasn't in second place. She wasn't

r eardrums. She sat down at the table, the food she'd spent hours on going cold in front of her. S

tiff, her movements mechanical. She pulled the velvet box from her pocket, opened it one last ti

d her purse and her keys and fled the apartment, the s

rred with the rain on the windshield until everything was a watery mess. Then a cramp hit her be

oaking through her light-colored dress. A wave of terror, cold and

trembling fingers, she dialed the only person she could think

he background, she could hear the soft

ed with pain and fear. "I'm bleeding. My

oo well. "Chloe, stop it. I'm not in the mood for your ga

way he brushed her aside, brok

e phone, the words ripping out of her

now, eating her alive. The world tilted, the city lights smearing into a dizzy blur. Her foot slip

ything we