Legally Not Yours

Restart

POV: Leah Rosewood

I could feel him watching me. From the second I walked into the office that morning, hair still wet from my shower, heels clicking, no makeup, all business, I felt Jared’s eyes trail me like smoke.

We didn’t talk. Not really.

Just mutters over the final deck, cold corrections on my formatting, and one pointed “You forgot the sourcing on slide fourteen,” which I responded to by slamming my mug down a little too hard.

Tension wrapped around us like wire. Tight. Cutting. Electrical. And he liked it. He leaned against the wall during our meeting with Jeff, arms crossed, jaw tight, and every time I said something insightful, I saw his eyes flare with irritation.

After lunch, he dropped the printed contract back on my desk. “Still valid,” he said, voice low. “Clause 7.”

I looked up. “Is that the clause where you try to control me again, or just the one where you get off watching me lose my mind?”

He leaned down, close enough for his breath to graze my ear. “Both.”

I rolled my eyes, but I still felt the pulse between my thighs.

Damn him.

* * *

That night, I dressed with extra care.

Red dress. Clean lines. Lipstick to match.

Carlson picked me up at seven. Charming. Clean-shaven. Soft smile. All the things Jared wasn’t.

“You look so beautiful, Leah.” He said as I got into the car.

“Thank you and you look… great too.” I smiled, checking him out as fast as a lightning bolt.

“So how’s your day today?” He asked as he drove away.

“It was fine. Pretty basic actually.”

“Do you mind if we listen to some songs?” He asked and I nodded, giving him permission to turn on the player. He opened his music app and turned to me, “Pick a genre.”

I looked at the list of genre and picked R&B, “I thought you’re a jazz girl, Leah.” The song started to play and he can’t stop glancing between me and the road.

“Really? Do I look like one?”

“Yeah, you kinda are.”

“Well you’re wrong, I love R&B and pop.” He suddenly put his hand in front of me, waiting for a high five. I gave in and he chuckled.

“How about your favorite food? Mine’s Japanese.” He said excitedly. Carlson is a certified yapper when Jared really thinks about how many words should he let out today. He’s not a fan of talking.

“Mine’s Mexican.”

“Oh! I love Mexican food too.” He continued to create topics for us to discuss. He asked me a lot of things regarding my family. He’s trying to get to know me better. We talked over dinner about safe topics. Harmless ones. The lets-get-to-know-each-other ones.

Until I checked my phone. One missed call. Jared.

Then a text: ‘Where are you?’

I didn’t respond.

Then another: ‘Need you for a last-minute fix. Slide 18 is messed up.’

Then: ‘I’m serious. It’s urgent.’

Then: ‘Come to my place.’

My pulse kicked. Carlson asked me something about skiing. I didn’t hear it. Another buzz. A voice note.

I stupidly pressed play under the table.

“You’re really gonna ignore me for him? Fine. But when this presentation falls apart and Jeff sees your name on it… don’t cry to me. You know you need to keep your name clean, your reputation clean and also you record. Get your ass here or I’m going to pick you up myself.”

Goddammit.

I lied and told Carlson I had a work emergency. He looked at me suspiciously, but I’m not sure why. He offered to wait in the car, but I said no and then I ran.

Straight into hell.

* * *

His door opened before I knocked. He looked like he hadn’t moved all night, shirt half unbuttoned, hair a mess, barefoot, beer bottle in hand. He didn’t even pretend to look sorry.

“You’re here.”

“You’re an asshole.” I hissed.

He smiled. “You wore the dress for him?” He scanned me up and down.

I stepped past him. “Where’s the deck?”

He grabbed my wrist. “There is no deck.” I froze.

“What do you mean that there’s no deck? You lied?”

“I wanted to see you.”

I yanked my arm away. “You manipulated me.”

He stepped in. “You weren’t even gonna call me back.”

“You left me no choice.”

“I didn’t like seeing you with him.”

“Well, get used to it,” I snapped. “He cares about what I like, what I don’t like, my preferences. He respects me and actually shows it. He doesn’t treat me like a possession.”

“He doesn’t know you well.”

“And you do?” He grabbed my waist.

I shoved at his chest when he pulled me closer.

“You hate me,” he whispered. “But you came.”

“Because you lied! I came because you said it’s an emergency.”

“Because I know what you look like when you fall apart.” His mouth was inches from mine.

And I wanted it. God, I wanted it. But I couldn’t keep doing this. I looked down at the contract still in my hand.

Still valid and still burning. I raised it between us and ripped it in half. Right down the middle.

He froze. I stepped back. Breathing hard.

“You want to own me?” I said. “Then earn it.”

He stared at the torn paper like it had wounded him. I turned and walked out from there.

I also didn’t look back.