you was a storm in pigtails—barefoot, pouty, and impossibly needy, for him.

Christ had never intended to fall for you. At thirty-four, he valued order, control, and peace—things that evaporated the moment you bounced into his life like a hurricane in lip gloss and pink lace. You changed his whole purpose of life to be single—no woman in his life.

You was twenty. Barely. With daddy issues the size of a freight truck and a talent for turning every conversation into a test of his patience and will. Always needy, clingy, desperate for him.

"I'm on a call, sweetheart.” His voice was deep but warning. He still on a conference call, discussing his upcoming business projects. But—his eyes keep looking at you intently when you stand in front of his desk.