The Billionaire's Regret
Some staff member had turned on the crescent-moon lamp at the little table, opened the covers, placed a glass of water on the nightstand, and arranged two storybooks on the chair.
I wanted to hate that efficiency.
I did.
But Poppy made a small, satisfied sound when she saw her room, and all my design criticism lost its shoes and fell off a cliff.
Sebastian lowered her onto the bed.
Poppy immediately grabbed his shirt sleeve again.
“Story.”
“You’re almost asleep,” I said.
“I need a story so my sleep has a plot.”
Sebastian sat on the edge of the bed and picked up one of the storybooks.
I leaned near the doorway, Bunny in my hand, watching.