Chapter 318
**Sara**
"Oh, really?" I raised an eyebrow. "When did that happen?"
"Around the same time, you started stealing my sweaters and sleeping in my bed." He smirked. "Just a wild guess."
"Fine. I'll tell them about the annoying, arrogant, dominant, idiotic waste professor who's been suffocating and torturing me." I counted off each insult on my fingers. "Happy now?"
His eyes widened in mock hurt. "Torture? Is that what we're calling it now?"
"Yes, torture!" I waved my hands dramatically at the screen. "You torture me with your stupid perfect face and your stupid perfect smile and your stupid perfect everything!"
"That's a lot of perfection you're complaining about." His grin widened. "And here I was, thinking I was just loving you."
"Loving me?" I scoffed, trying to ignore the way my heart jumped. "Is that what you call sending me pictures of dinner and making me jealous with fake models?"
"I'm not torturing you, Sara." His voice softened, sending tingles down my spine. "I'm loving you. There's a difference."
"Oh really? What's the difference?"
"Torture would be if I didn't tell you how beautiful you look right now, all wrapped up in my sheets." His eyes sparkled. "Or if I didn't mention how much I miss the way you curl into me when you sleep."
"Stop it!" I buried my face in the pillow again.
"Or how I miss the little sounds you make when-"
"Tom!" My face burned. "I need to sleep!"
"Then sleep." His voice was pure innocence. "No one's stopping you."
"You are! With your... your... everything!"
"My everything?" He raised an eyebrow. "That's very specific."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't." He smiled that soft smile that made my insides melt. "You love me."
"Maybe." I snuggled deeper into his pillows. "A little bit."
"Just a little?"
"Mmhmm. The tiniest bit."
"Go to sleep, Sara." His voice was gentle. "We can argue about how much you love me tomorrow."
"Not arguing," I mumbled into the pillow. "Just stating facts."
"Whatever you say, sweetheart."
"G'night, Tom."
"Good night, my love. Sweet dreams."
I stared at the dark screen of my phone, his words echoing in my head: "Good night, my love." Who did he think he was, saying things like that? It made my heart do backflips and my stomach fill with butterflies.
I flopped back onto his pillows, pulling the covers up to my chin. He was just being manipulative; that's what it was. He was sitting in his fancy hotel room in Sydney, probably sipping expensive whiskey and plotting ways to drive me insane.
"My love," I mimicked in a terrible attempt at his voice. "Sweet dreams." Ugh. He probably practiced that in the mirror, perfecting the exact tone to make girls swoon.
Rolling over, I buried my face in his pillow. It still smelled like him, which was entirely unfair. How was I supposed to sleep when everything reminded me of him?
"This is ridiculous," I announced to the empty room. "He's just lonely and bored and..." I waved my hand at nothing. "And trying to convince me to hop on a plane to Australia because he can't handle being alone for more than five minutes."
The ceiling didn't respond to my brilliant deduction.
"I mean, what kind of person just drops the L-word like that? Over video call? While halfway across the world?" I sat up, gesturing wildly. "A manipulative one, that's who. A sneaky, gorgeous, infuriating manipulator who probably practices his smirk in the mirror."
"And now I'm talking to myself in his empty apartment." I flopped back down, pulling his sheets around me. "Great. Just great. He's turned me into one of those crazy girls who monologue in bed."
My phone buzzed. A text from Tom: "Stop overthinking and go to sleep."
"How did he-" I squinted at the screen. "Is he psychic now too? Perfect."
Another buzz: "I can practically hear your brain working from here."
"Oh, shut up," I typed back. "You're the one who dropped emotional bombs and ran away to Australia."
"I didn't run. I flew. Private Jet."
"Of course you did." I rolled my eyes. "Because walking would've taken too long."
"You could be here enjoying it with me."
"Ha!" I sat up again. "See? That's exactly what this is about. You're just trying to get me to hop on a plane because you're bored and lonely in your fancy hotel room."
"Or maybe I just miss you."
"I miss having someone to torment, more like." I hugged his pillow tighter. "You probably planned this whole thing. Get me all emotional and confused, so I'll cave and fly over there."
"Is it working?"
"NO." I jabbed the letters harder than necessary. "And stop smirking."
"I'm not smirking."
"You absolutely are. I can feel it through the phone."
"Go to sleep, Sara."
"Don't tell me what to do." But my eyes were getting heavy, and his bed was ridiculously comfortable. "You're not the boss of me."
"Aren't I?"
"I hate you."
"No, you don't. You love me."
I threw my phone across the bed, watching it bounce on the mattress. "Manipulative jerk," I muttered, even as a smile tugged at my lips. "Thinks he can just say things like that and get away with it."
My phone buzzed again, but I refused to look. He was probably sending more smug messages, trying to get under my skin. Well, it wouldn't work. I was going to sleep, and I definitely wasn't going to dream about him or his stupid perfect face or the way he said "I love you" like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"This is all just a game to him," I informed his ceiling. "He's probably sitting there with Leo and Kate right now, laughing about how easy it is to mess with my head."
The ceiling, predictably, had no opinion on the matter.
I rolled over, punching his pillow into submission. "Well, the joke's on him. I'm going to sleep like a baby, and tomorrow, I'll tell him exactly where he can stick his manipulative... manipulation."
My phone buzzed again. I tried to ignore it, but curiosity got the better of me. Four new messages from Tom:
"Oh, I forgot to mention something..."
"Starting Monday, you'll be getting flowers delivered to your office."
"Along with cards. And no, this isn't a joke."
"Just wait and see."
I stared at the screen, my mouth hanging open. Cards? What kind of cards? Knowing Tom, they could be anything from sweet love notes to embarrassingly public declarations that would make me want to hide under my desk.
"User is sleeping," I typed back, trying to sound dignified.
He responded instantly: "Alright, sleep well and dream about me."
"Impossible man," I muttered, tossing my phone aside. The screen lit up with his message, casting shadows on the ceiling. I pulled his pillow over my face, trying to smother my smile.
Cards and flowers? Every day? He was going to turn me into the office spectacle. Everyone would whisper and gossip, wondering who was sending their newest colleague such elaborate displays of affection.
And he knew exactly what he was doing. He was sitting in his fancy hotel room, probably lounging on some ridiculously expensive couch, planning ways to make me blush in front of my coworkers.
I grabbed my phone one last time, tempted to send him a message telling him exactly what I thought about his little scheme. But no - that would only encourage him. Instead, I switched it to silent and buried it under the other pillow.
"Dream about you?" I scoffed into the darkness. "As if I'd give you the satisfaction."
But as I drifted off to sleep, wrapped in his sheets and surrounded by his scent, I couldn't help but smile. Because, of course, I would dream about him. I always did.
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