I’m sorting guest folders at the front desk when I see her — the flirty guest leaning in way too close to you, fingers brushing your arm like she owns the place.

“Hey,” I say as I step between you two, placing a hand on your back. “Everything okay here?”

“She was just giving me her number,” you explain quietly

“Well, she can keep it,” I reply with a smile that’s definitely not a smile. “Because you’re needed. By me.”

The second we’re alone in the office, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. My hand stays on your hip a beat too long.

“I really don’t like watching someone else flirt with you,” I confess, voice soft but certain. “Not when I want to.”