Page 30
Chapter 30 of "Ruined By My Ex's Dad" starts the action: I needed to think.Miles had mentioned they'd broken up over a year ago.Not recent, then,... Find out what happens!
I needed to think.
Miles had mentioned they'd broken up over a year ago.
Not recent, then, but not ancient history either.
He'd also made it clear he was pursuing her again—both professionally and personally, judging by his proprietary manner at brunch.
The thought of Miles touching her—touching what I now irrationally considered mine—sent a surge of possessiveness through me that was as unwelcome as it was uncharacteristic.
She wasn't mine.
She'd been clear about that.
One night, no names, no future.
That had been our agreement, one I'd accepted without question.
Before I knew who she was.
Before I watched her face drain of color as Cami made the introduction, those green eyes widening with the same shock that had coursed through me.
I set the coffee down, suddenly unable to stomach it. What were the odds?
In a state of nearly forty million people, what cosmic joke had led me to the one woman I should never have touched?
But I had touched her.
Had learned the taste of her skin, the sound of her pleasure, the weight of her body against mine.
Had discovered the vulnerability beneath her poised exterior, had felt her tears against my shoulder as she'd admitted no one had ever seen her the way I did.
My son's ex-girlfriend.
The line I never should have crossed.
In twenty years at the helm of Turner Holdings, I had built a reputation for uncompromising ethics.
Had turned down lucrative deals because they crossed my personal boundaries.
Had fired executives for less significant moral lapses than the one I'd just committed.
I operated by a strict code—one that certainly prohibited sleeping with my son's former partners, regardless of their current status.
Yet even now, knowing who she was, I couldn't bring myself to regret last night.
That realization should have troubled me more than it did.
I showered and changed, the routine actions giving my racing thoughts time to settle into something resembling order.
By the time I reemerged, dressed in dark jeans and a casual button-down, I had formulated a plan of sorts.
I would avoid her for the remainder of the weekend.
Would return to San Francisco tonight as scheduled, putting physical distance between us. Would warn Miles off pursuing her again, under the guise of professional concern. Would forget the taste of her skin, the sound of her voice, the way she'd looked at me as if she could see straight through the carefully constructed persona I presented to the world.
Simple. Logical. Ethical.
So why did it feel like surrender?