Michael's POV
The coffee turned to ash in my mouth as I watched them together. Reagan couldn't stop singing Allyson's praises, his face lit up like he'd discovered gold, while she sat there turning pink as a rose.
That smile dancing on her lips made something dark and vicious coil in my gut.
What the hell was she blushing for?
Was she really that blind to his game?
Every sweet word, every lingering look was calculated to pull her back into his web. And she was falling for it like some naive schoolgirl.
Was she going to cave that easily?
Christ, Michael. You wanted this.
You bankrolled her dream project just to watch her play house with your son.
You served her up on a silver platter. So why does this feel like swallowing glass?
This is exactly what you orchestrated. Now live with it.
She's just playing her role... the role you forced on her.
"Shit," I breathed before I could stop myself.
"Sorry, what was that?" Reagan's voice sliced through my mental spiral.
