The Negotiator (Harbor City 1)

Okay, that wasn’t exactly convincing, and her Spidey sense was blaring a warning as if she was the Titanic and Sawyer an iceberg. “Something seems off. Is everything okay?”

“Of course.”

Clover racked her brain. Had Daphne slipped? Had his mom figured it out? Was there a wife candidate who’d finally managed to catch his attention? She flinched at the thought. It wasn’t a reaction she knew what to do with. So she did what she always did in these situations, she plowed ahead, heedless of the consequences, figuring it would work out in the end. Her adventures always had before.

Reaching out, she placed a hand on his forearm, the familiar zing of attraction skittering across her fingertips. “Did I do something to piss you off?”

“No.” He glanced down at her hand, his jaw taut.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s obvious you’re annoyed.” Like he might as well have a blinking neon sign overhead. He was hurting. If nothing else over the past few weeks, they’d developed a friendship, a bond. She couldn’t see him like this and not try to help. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong.”

He lifted his gaze, and the lack of any emotion in his eyes chilled her to the bone.

“Maybe that’s for the best,” he said in a carefully neutral tone.

She blinked in surprise, her brain spinning trying to catch up. “Are you nuts? After all the background work I’ve done this week about Mr. Lim? We’ve barely prepped you for some of the cultural intricacies.”

“It’s a business meeting.” He slid his glasses on and then straightened his cuffs, all but dismissing her. “Mr. Lim and I have had plenty of those without you and the world hasn’t blown up.”

What. The. Fuck.

Heat swept up from her toes, and she let herself be carried away by it. “And you haven’t closed the deal, either.”

His fingers stilled on his cufflink as he slowly lifted his head, an answering frustration blazing from his eyes. Clover planted her hands on her hips and steeled herself for the onslaught. It never came. Instead, the intercom buzzed—blasting through the tense silence of the foyer.

“Mr. Carlyle,” Irving the doorman said. “Your car is here.”

Sawyer crossed to the elevator and pressed the talk button. “Thank you. Please let Linus know I’ll be down in a minute.”

He’ll be down. He’ll be down. She fought the urge to peel off one of her shoes and fling it at him. “So what’s it gonna be, Sawyer? Do I stay or shall I go?”

Shoulders stiff, he jabbed his thumb into the elevator call button, not even bothering to look at her. “Why do you even want to go?”

“Ni ge gou pì,” she snarled in Chinese because what he said was bullshit. “Because I’ve worked for this. I know you may not think much of me after you mocked my resume, but whether it’s milking snakes, tasting dog food, teaching English, or working to save endangered animals, I always see things through.”

“But only for the short term,” he flung the truth at her like a grenade.

She took an involuntary step back before stopping herself from going any farther. Gathering her pride around her, she raised her chin and faced him head on. “Then it’s a good thing we only have a few weeks to go.”

The elevator doors whooshed open and he walked inside, each step stiff, and then turned around, his face an impassive mask. “So are you coming?”

She should tell him to fuck straight off. She should tell him that fifteen grand wasn’t worth putting up with this kind of bullshit. But she didn’t because she’d been telling the truth. She always saw things through to the end. Whatever the hell had happened to change him from the man she’d woken up with this morning she had no idea—anyway it didn’t matter. She was here to do a job. Nothing more. Nothing less. So she was going to do it.

“How could I turn down such a gracious invitation?” Letting the angry click of her heels on the tile do any other talking for her, she marched into the elevator, making sure to keep to the opposite side of the carriage from him.

They made it down five floors in total silence before Sawyer lost whatever inner battle he’d been waging. “I’m sorry if I was rude.”

Oh that was rich. “If?”

“It’s just that I think we’ve lost sight of the big picture here,” he said, his gaze on her reflection in the elevator mirror and not actually her. “And we need to take a few steps back from what we’ve been doing.”

God save her from rich assholes who couldn’t just say what they meant. “Is that your roundabout way of saying no more fucking?”

“Or flea markets or movie nights or Vito’s.”

So a total rejection then—of her, of their friendship. Biting down on her bottom lip she fought back the sudden wetness threatening her mascara. “So you’re breaking the contract?”

“Renegotiating,” he said without heat. After all, for him it was just business. “In a few days, I’m leaving for a short trip to Singapore for a final push with Mr. Lim anyway, so it really won’t matter. By the time I get back, we’ll only have a little time left in our agreement.”