Accidentally Contracted To The Billionaire CEO
“Fuel in your tank, huh? You're thinking of this like a mission.”
“I am on a mission,” I reply, my eyes locked on his. “And missions require strategy, teamwork, and sustenance.”
Liam nods, a hint of approval in his voice. “Alright, let's get you fed. What's your fuel of choice?”
“Something greasy, cheesy, and utterly regrettable,”
“I think I can arrange that. Pizza, burgers, or tacos?”
“All three.”
***
Fifteen minutes later, I'm scarfing down my weight in food, barely caring that I'm making a mess. Three days of being out cold, plus a gun-to-the-head wake-up call, deserves a serious food coma.
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