Karma's POV

We slowly returned from orbit, and with limbs tangled in the sheets, talked for hours about our day, about the meeting with Gugliotti, about her dinner and my night out with friends. We talked about the broken desk, and that I only packed enough underwear for a week, so she couldn't ruin any more.

We talked about everything except the havoc she was wreaking on my heart.

I ran a finger down her chest and she stilled it with her hand, bringing it to her lips and saying, "It's nice to talk to you."

I laughed, pushing her hair off her forehead. "You talk to me every day. And when I say talk, I mean yell. Shout. Slam doors. Pout—"

With her fingertips, she drew spirals over my bare stomach, distracting me. "You know what I mean."

I did. I knew exactly what she meant, and I wanted to find a way to stretch this moment, right there, into eternity. "So tell me something."

She raised her eyes to my face, smiling a little nervously. "What do you want to know?"

"Honestly? I think I want to know everything. But let's start small. Your magic number Raudenfeld. How many women?"

"You don't waste your time, don't you?" She cleared her throat and then looked at me "A few in high school, some in college, some in grad school. Some after grad school. And then, one long-term relationship when I lived in France."

Details?" I twisted a strand of her hair around my finger, hoping I wasn't pushing her too much.

But to my surprise, she answered without hesitation. "Her name was Sabrina. She was an attorney at a small firm in Paris. We were together for three years and broke up a few months before I moved home."

"Was that why you moved home?"

A smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. "No."

"Did she break your heart?"

The smile turned into a full-on smirk directed at me. "No, Karma."

"Did you break hers?" Why was I even asking this? Did I want her to say—yes? I knew she was capable of breaking hearts. I was actually fairly certain she would break mine.

She bent to kiss me then, sucking on my lower lip for a few moments before whispering, "No. We just didn't work anymore. My romantic life was entirely without drama. Until you."

I laughed. "Happy to change up the pattern."

I could feel her laugh in the vibrations along my skin as she kissed up my neck. "And oh, you do." Long fingers made their way down my stomach, to my hips, and finally, between my legs. "Your turn."

"To have an orgasm? Yes, please."

"No" she murmured "Your turn to spill the beans"

"No way can I think about anything when you're doing that."

With a kiss to my shoulder, she moved her hand back to my stomach, drawing circles there once again.

I pouted but she missed it, watching her fingers on me instead. "God, there have been so many people, where will I ever begin?"

"Karma" she warned.

"A couple in high school, one in college."

"You've only had sex with three people?"

I pulled back to look at her "Four with you, Einstein"

A cocky grin spread across her face. "Right. And am I the best by an embarrassingly wide margin?"

"Am I?"

Her grin disappeared, and she blinked, surprised. "Yes."

It was sincere. It made something inside me melt into a tiny, warm hum. I reached to kiss her lips, trying to hide what that information did to me. "Good."

Kissing along her shoulder, I moaned happily. I loved her taste, loved to inhale that clean, coconut smell of her. Digging my fingers into her hair, I tugged her down so I could nibble at her jaw, her neck, and her shoulders. She held himself very still, propped over me, very clearly not kissing me back.

The hell?

She inhaled to speak and then closed her mouth again. Somehow I managed to drag my mouth away long enough to ask, "What?"

"I know you think I'm some sort of a womanizer, but it does actually matter to me"

"What matters to—?"

"I want to hear you to say it."

I stared at her, and she stared back, irises growing a familiar shade of angry dark-green. Mentally rifling through the last few minutes, I tried to understand what she was talking about.

Oh. "Oh. Yes."

Her brows pulled together. "Yes, what, Miss Ashcroft?"

Heat pulsed through me. Her voice was different when she said that. Sharp. Commanding. Hot as hell. "Yes, you're the best by a very embarrassing margin."

"That's better."

"At least so far."

She rolled on top of me, grabbing my wrists and pinning them above my head. "Don't tease."

"You got to be kidding me, teasing is all we do" I said breathless, her closeness was firing me up.

As if to prove me wrong, she reached down, and guided her fingers into me making me moan in response. But she didn't move them one bit, holding very still she stared down at me intently.

"Fucking move" I whispered eagerly

"You would like that, don't you?"

"Yes."

"And if I don't?"

I bit my lip, tried to glare at her.

She smiled, growling, "This is teasing."

"Please?" I tried to move my hips but she followed my movements so I couldn't gain any friction.

"Karma, I never tease you. I fuck the sense out of you." she said, biting my neck. "Now tell me how good I make you feel." Something in her voice, some vulnerability or dip in its strength as the sentence ended told me she wasn't playing around.

"No one has ever made me come before. Not with hands or mouth or anything else."

"No one?" she asked hoarsely. She seemed surprisingly satisfied with my revelation.

"Only you." I stretched to nibble her jaw. "I'd say that puts you a bit ahead of the field."

She exhaled my name as her fingers moved back and then forward. And again back and forward. The conversation was done; her mouth found mine, and then my chin, and my jaw, and my ears. Her free hand moved up my side, to my breast, and finally to my face.

And when I thought we were both lost to the rhythm and I could feel my climax just beyond me, but so close, she whispered "I wish I'd known that."

"Why?" I managed, an exhale carrying the sound barely past my lips. Faster, my body screamed. More. "Would it have changed how big of a bitch you were with me?"

"I don't know. I just wish I'd known," she grunted, pushing into me once again.

"Almost." I clutched at the sheets, begged her to keep going. "Almost. Harder."

"Fuck Karma, you're so close" she said huskily. "Come for me, baby"

Her face, her voice, her scent—each part of her filled my mind as I obediently came apart beneath her.

The air conditioner turned on with a rattle and then a steady drone. Amy rolled off me, dragging her hand across my sweaty back. "Karma?"

"Mmm?"

"I want more than just this." Her voice was so soft and sleepy, I wasn't actually sure she was awake.

I froze, my thoughts exploding in a chaotic mess. "What did you just say?"

She opened her eyes, with apparent effort, and looked at me. "I want to be with you."

Lifting myself on an elbow, I stared down at her, completely unable to pull a single word out of my brain.

"So sleepy." Her eyes rolled closed and she threw an arm around me, pulling me down onto her. "Baby, come here." She pressed her face into my neck and mumbled, "It's okay if you don't want it too. I'll take anything you'll give me. Just let me stay here until the morning, okay?"

I was suddenly wide awake, staring at the dark wall and listening to the hum of the air conditioner. I was terrified that this changed everything, and even more terrified that she had no idea what she was saying, and it would change nothing.

"Okay," I whispered into the dark, hearing her breathing slow into a steady, sleeping rhythm.

I rolled over and pulled a pillow against my body, seeking comfort. Her scent pulled me out of sleep, but the cool sheets on the other side of the bed told me I was alone. I looked toward the bathroom door, trying to focus on any noise I could hear coming from inside. There wasn't any.

I continued to lie there, clutching her pillow as my eyes began to grow heavier. I wanted to wait for her. I needed the reassurance of her warm body next to mine and the feel of her arms wrapped around me. I imagined her holding me, whispering that this was all real and nothing would change in the morning. Before long, my eyes drifted closed and I slipped back into an uneasy sleep.

Sometime later, I awoke again, still alone. Rolling over quickly, I looked at the time: 5:14 a.m.

What? Fumbling in the darkness, I put on the first thing I found and walked to the bathroom.

"Amy?" No answer. I knocked softly. "Amy?" A groan and a soft shuffle sounded from the other side of the door.

"Just go away." Her voice was hoarse and echoed off the bathroom walls.

"Amy, are you okay?"

"I'm not feeling well. I'll be fine, go back to bed."

"Is there anything I can get you?" I asked.

"I'm fine. Just please, go back to bed."

"But—"

"Karma," he groaned, obviously annoyed

I turned, unsure of what to do, battling an odd, unsettling feeling. Did she even get sick? In just under a year, I'd never seen her with so much as a stuffy nose. It was obvious she didn't want me hovering outside the door, but there was no way I could go back to sleep either.

Walking back to the bed, I straightened the blankets and headed toward the suite's living room. I grabbed a bottle of water from the minibar and sat on the couch.

If she was sick, I mean really sick, there was no way she could make the Gugliotti meeting in a couple of hours.

I switched on the TV and began flipping through the channels. Infomercial. Bad movie. Nick at Nite. Ahh, Wayne's World. Sitting back into the couch, I tucked my legs under me and prepared to wait. Halfway through the movie, I heard the water running in the bathroom. I sat up and listened as it was the first sound I'd heard in over an hour. The bathroom door opened and I flew off the couch, grabbing another bottle of water before entering the bedroom.

"Are you feeling better?" I asked.

"Yes. I think I just need to sleep now." She stumbled into bed, burying her face in the pillow with a groan.

"What . . . what was wrong?" I placed the bottle of water down on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed next to her.

"It was just my stomach. I think it was the sushi at dinner." Her eyes were closed and even in the dim light coming from the other room, I could see that she looked like hell. She turned away from me slightly but I ignored it, placing one hand in her hair and the other on her cheek. Her hair was damp and her face was pale and clammy, and despite her initial reaction, she leaned into my touch.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" I asked, brushing a few damp strands away from her forehead.

"Because the last thing I needed was you in there watching me throw up," she replied almost grumpily, and I rolled my eyes, offering her the bottle of water.

"I could have done something. You don't have to be such a big girl"

"Don't be such a mom. What could you have done? Food poisoning is a pretty lonely business."

"So what should I tell Gugliotti?"

She groaned, rubbing her hands over her face. "Shit. What time is it?"

I glanced at the clock. "Just after seven."

"What time is the meeting?"

"Eight."

She started to get up but was easy enough to shove back down into the bed. "No way in hell are you going to that meeting like this! When was the last time you threw up?"

She groaned. "A few minutes ago."

"Exactly. Gross. I'll call him to reschedule."

She gripped my arm before I could walk over to the desk and grab my phone. "Karma. You do it."

My eyebrows inched to my hairline. "Do what?"

She waited.

"The meeting?"

She nodded.

"Without you?"

She nodded again.

"You're sending me to a meeting alone?"

"Miss Ashcroft, you're as sharp as a spoon."

"Fuck off," I said, laughing and pushing her gently. "And I'm not doing it without you."

"Why not? I bet you know the account we're offering as well as I do. Besides, if we reschedule he's just going to take a lavish trip to Chicago and send us the bill. Please, Karma."

I stared down at her, waiting for her to break into a teasing grin or take it back. But she didn't. And the truth was, I did know the account, and I did know the terms. I could do this.

"Okay," I said, smiling and feeling a surge of hope that we could figure this—us—out after all. "I'm in."

Her face grew harder, and she used the voice I had barely heard in days. It sent small waves of hunger through me. "Tell me the plan, Miss Ashcroft."

Nodding, I said, "I need to make sure he's clear on the project parameters and timelines. I'll watch out for overpromising; I know Gugliotti is notorious for that." When Amy nodded, smiling a little, I continued. "I'll confirm the contract start dates and the milestones."

When I ticked all five of them off on my fingers, her smile grew. "You'll be fine."

I bent and kissed her damp forehead. "I know."

Two hours later, if you asked me if I could fly, I would have answered yes in an instant.

The meeting had gone off perfectly. Mr. Gugliotti, who had initially been peeved to find an intern in the place of a Raudenfeld executive, had softened when he heard the circumstances. And later, he seemed impressed with the level of detail I was able to provide.

He'd even offered me a job. "After you finish with Miss Raudenfeld, of course," he'd said with a wink, and I carefully demurred.

I wasn't sure I ever wanted to be done with Miss Raudenfeld.

On the way back from the meeting, I called Farrah to find out what Amy liked when she was sick. Just as I suspected, the last time she'd been able to spoil her with chicken noodle soup and Popsicles, she'd been wearing braces. She was delighted to hear from me, and I had to swallow the guilt I felt when she asked if she was behaving. I assured her that all was fine and that she was only suffering from a mild stomach bug and that, of course, I'd have her call. With a small bag of groceries in hand, I walked into the room, stopping in the small kitchen area to drop off the food and take off my tailored wool suit.

Wearing only my slip, I moved into the bedroom, but Amy wasn't there. The bathroom door was open, and she wasn't there either. It looked as if housekeeping had been in; the linens were crisp and neat, and the floor had been tidied of our piles of discarded clothes. The balcony door was open, letting in a cool breeze. Outside, I found her sitting in a chaise, elbows propped on her knees, her head in her hands. She looked like she'd had a shower and was now dressed in dark skinny jeans and a short-sleeved white shirt.

My skin hummed, warming at the sight of her.

"Hey," I said.

She looked up, eyes taking in every curve. "Holy fuck. I hope you didn't wear that to the meeting."

"Well, I did," I said, laughing. "But I wore it beneath a very prim navy suit."

"Good," she growled. She pulled me close, wrapping her arms all the way around my waist and pressing her forehead into my stomach. "I missed you."

My chest twisted tightly. What were we doing? Was this real or were we playing house for a few days and then returning to normal? I didn't think I could do our normal after this and wasn't sure I could see several steps into the future to how this all played out.

Ask her, Karma!

She looked up at me, her stare burning hot on my face as she waited for me to say something. "Are you feeling better?" I asked.

Coward.

Her face fell but she hid it quickly. "Much," she said. "How did the meeting go?"

Although I was still on a high from the meeting with Gugliotti and was dying to tell her every detail, when she asked this, she removed her arms from my waist and sat back, leaving me feeling cold and hollow. I wanted to hit the rewind button and take us back two minutes to when she told me she'd missed me, and I could answer, "I missed you too." I'd kiss her, and we'd get distracted, and I'd tell her all about Gugliotti a few hours from now.

But instead I gave her every detail of the meeting, how Gugliotti reacted to me, and how I redirected his focus to the project at hand. I recounted every aspect of the discussion in such detail that by the end of my story, Amy was laughing quietly.

"My, you're wordy."

"I think it went well," I said, stepping closer. Put your arms around me again.

But she didn't. She leaned back and gave me a stiff smile, the detached Beautiful Bitch kind. "You were great, Karma. I'm not at all surprised."

I wasn't used to this kind of compliment from her. Improved handwriting, great pussy eater—these were the things she knew how to notice. I was surprised how much her opinion mattered to me. Had it always mattered so much? Would she start to treat me differently if we were lovers instead of fuck buddies? I wasn't actually sure I even wanted her to be softer as a boss, or try to blend lover and mentor. I rather liked the Beautiful Bitch at work, as well as in bed.

But as soon as I thought it, I realized the way we used to interact now felt like a strange, foreign object in the distance, or a pair of shoes that I'd long since outgrown. I was torn between wanting her to say something bitchy to jerk me back into reality and wanting her to pull me closer and kiss my breast through my slip.

Again, Karma. Reason number 750,000 you don't fuck your boss. You turn a well-defined relationship into a mess of blurry boundaries.

"You look so tired," I whispered as I began running fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck.

"I am," she mumbled. "I'm glad I didn't go. I threw up. A lot."

"Thanks for sharing," I laughed. Reluctantly, I pulled away and put my hands on her face. "I brought Popsicles, ginger ale, gingersnaps, and saltines. Which do you want first?"

She stared at me, completely confused for a beat before blurting, "You called my mom?"

I went down to the conference for a few hours in the afternoon so she could sleep some more. She put up a strong front, but I could tell even half of a lime Popsicle made her queasy when she turned a matching shade of green. Besides, at this conference in particular she could barely walk ten steps without being stopped, fawned over, and pitched to. Even healthy she wouldn't make it far enough to see anything worth her time anyhow.

When I returned to the room, she was sprawled on the couch in a most un–Beautiful Bitch–like pose, there was something so ordinary about the way she sat, bored, staring at the television. I was grateful for the reminder that this woman was, in some ways, just a woman. Just another person, moving around the planet, getting her bearings, not spending every second lighting the world's stage on fire.

And buried within that epiphany that Amy was just Amy was a sense of wild longing because there was this chance that she was becoming my Just Amy, and for a heartbeat, I wanted that more than I think I'd ever wanted anything.

A woman with freakishly shiny hair flipped her head and grinned at us from the television. I collapsed on the couch next to her. "What are we watching?"

"A shampoo commercial," she answered, her hand reached for mine and began to massage my fingers. "Clerks is on, though."

"That's one of my favorite movies," I said.

"I know. You were quoting it the first day I met you."

"Actually, that was Clerks II," I clarified, and then stopped. "Wait, you remember that?"

"Of course I remember that. You sounded like a frat boy and looked like a fucking model. Who could ever forget that?"

"I would have given anything to know what you were thinking right then."

"I was thinking, 'Highly fuckable intern, twelve o'clock. Breath Amy, breath."

I laughed and leaned against her shoulder. "God, that first meeting was miserable."

She didn't say anything but kept running her thumb along my fingers, pressing and soothing. I had never had a hand massage before, and if she'd tried to turn it to oral sex, I might have turned her down just to keep her doing what she was doing.

Wow, that's a total lie. I'd take that mouth between my legs any day of the—

"How do you want it to be, Karma?" she asked, pulling me out of my internal debate.

"What?"

"When we're back in Chicago."

I stared blankly at her, my pulse sending my blood thrumming in heavy bursts through my veins.

"Us," she clarified, with forced patience. "You and me. Karma and Amy. I realize this isn't simple for you."

"Well, I'm pretty sure I don't want to fight all the time." I bumped her shoulder playfully. "Although I do sort of like that part."

Amy laughed, but it didn't sound like a completely happy noise. "There's a lot of space that comes after 'not fighting all the time.' Where do you want to be?"

Together. Your girlfriend. Someone who sees the inside of your home and stays there with you sometimes.

I started to answer and the words evaporated in my throat.

"I guess that depends on whether it's realistic to think it can be anything."

She dropped my hand and scrubbed her face. The movie came back on and we fell into what I think was the most awkward silence in the history of the world.

Finally, she picked my hand up again and kissed my palm. "Okay, baby. I can handle just not fighting all the time."

I stared at her fingers wrapped around mine. After what felt like an eternity, I managed, "Sorry. This all feels a little new."

"For me too," she reminded me.

We fell into silence again as we continued to watch the movie, laughing in the same places and slowly shifting until I was practically lying on top of her. Out of the corner of my eye I glanced at the clock on the wall and mentally calculated the hours we had left in San Diego.

Fourteen.

Fourteen hours left of this perfect reality where I could have her whenever I wanted her and it didn't have to be secret or dirty, using anger as our only form of foreplay.

"What's your favorite movie?" she asked, rolling me over so she hovered above me. Her skin was a little hot and I wanted to take off my blouse, but I didn't want her to move even an inch, for even a second.

"I like comedies, rom-coms, fiction, classics" I began "There's Clerks but also Pitch Perfect, The Notebook, Harry Potter, Titanic, The Breakfast club, When Harry met Sally, Pretty in Pink; things like that. But I would have to say my all-time favorite movie would probably be Rear Window."

"Because of Jimmy Stewart or Grace Kelly?" she asked, bending to kiss a trail of fire up my neck.

"Both, but probably Grace Kelly."

"I can see that. You have very Grace Kelly–like tendencies about you." Her hand came up and smoothed a piece of my hair that had come loose from my ponytail. "I hear Grace Kelly had a dirty mouth too," she added.

"You love my dirty mouth."

"True. But I like it better when it's eating my pussy" she said, meaningful smirk in place.

"You know, if you would shut up once in a while you'd be damn near perfect."

"But I'd be a silent panty ripper, which I think is a lot creepier than the angry-boss panty ripper."

I dissolved into giggles under her and she dug a finger between my ribs, tickling.

"I know you love it," she said, her voice hoarse.

"Amy?" I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "What do you do with them?"

She gave me a dark, teasing look. "I keep them somewhere safe."

"Can I see?"

"No."

"Why?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at her.

"Because you'll try and take them back."

"Why would I want them back? They're all ruined."

She grinned at me but didn't answer.

"Why do you do that anyway?"

She studied me for a moment, obviously considering her answer. Finally, she lifted herself onto her elbow and moved her face to within inches of mine. "For the same reason you like it."

With that, she stood up and pulled me with her into the bedroom.