You read the last page of books first-don’t make that face, Stephens.” He cracks a smile in one corner of his mouth. If someone insults one of your clients, those fancy kid gloves of yours come off, and you carry your own pen at all times, because if you’re going to have to write anything, it might as well look good. You’re not the kind of woman who only works hard when it feels good, or only shows up when it’s convenient. “You’re not the person who buys the stationary bike as part of a New Year’s resolution, then uses it as a coatrack for three years. You don’t start anything you can’t finish. You don’t do anything you’re not going to do one hundred percent. “About everything.” His arms tighten around me. “I think you work that hard because you care ten times more than the average person.” “I think you love your job,” he says softly. Touching him feels so good, so strangely uncomplicated, like he’s the exception to every rule.
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