The Dealmaker (Sex & Bonds 1)

“Like what?”

“As a person. As an employee? Sure. But it’s not fair to blur those lines anymore, Aiden. I’m begging you, please stop.”

Silence. I haven’t addressed our personal relationship since it ended, partly because he requested we don’t discuss it, partly because I didn’t want to look desperate or pathetic. I thought I was reading too much into things anyway. The offhand remarks. The slight changes in Aiden’s intonation. I truly believed he was too much of a gentleman to lead me on.

But now? I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s the exhaustion whittling away at my fuse, or my newfound determination to demand what I deserve after yet another encounter that satisfied but ultimately fell short of what I really want. Whatever the reason, I’m tired of this game today.

“I’m only looking out for you, Nora,” Aiden replies at last. “I’m sorry if that upsets you. I would hate to see you get hurt.”

“I can take care of myself.” And then, to drive my point home: “I’m sure Brian would appreciate a follow-up call from you today. Not going to lie, I think he’ll sing our praises too—mine and Theo’s.”

“Of course,” Aiden replies gruffly. “One last thing. Be careful with him.”

“With who? Brian?”

“Theo. He may play nice away from the desk, but he has the reputation he does for a reason. Don’t let him tarnish yours.”

I roll my eyes, even as a seed of doubt sprouts in the back of my head. “Have a good weekend, Aiden.”

“You too, Nora. Safe travels.”

Chapter Eighteen

Theo

Nora’s demeanor is different when she comes back to the table. Her expression is clouded over. Her brown eyes are weary.

Worst of all, she’s frowning.

I grit my teeth, firming the muscles along my jaw to an almost painful degree. “Everything all right?”

Nora sets down her phone on the table and falls into her chair with a deep sigh, digging her fingers into her forehead. “Aiden’s happy about Brian.”

“Good.”

I wait for her to continue. If she wants to talk to me about whatever just happened, she will. If she doesn’t . . . well, I’ll just stew in morbid curiosity. Seems like a fair trade for upsetting her last night. In bed, I analyzed our encounter from every angle, trying to figure out where I went wrong. What I did to turn her off. She seemed so into it, begging for more with her body and her words. And then that security guard shows up and Nora goes cold. She wasn’t angry. She was upset, and that feels even worse.

Is she worried about people finding out? Was she embarrassed? I won’t say our hookup was a good decision by any means. But I don’t want her to be ashamed of it. She knows I won’t say a word, right? Not because I’m ashamed, but because I respect her and I don’t kiss and tell.

My phone chimes—a text—but I ignore it. I watch Nora continue to rub her forehead, eyes closed, and a creeping realization comes over me. Does Aiden have anything to do with last night’s sudden change in Nora?

Is he the bastard responsible for her frown right now?

Whoever’s responsible, I want to be the one to make her forget him.

I should answer this text. Get some trades done. Mind my own damn business. Instead I say, “It’s been a long week. Why don’t we cut out early and head downtown for lunch? I know a place.”

Nora cracks open an eye. “A place, huh?”

“It’s good. You like seafood?”

“I do.” She sits back in her chair, hand falling from her head.

“Let’s go.”

“Don’t you have, like, a million dollars to make or something today?”

I wave her away with one hand and tuck my phone in my pocket with the other. “Made it overnight, thanks to the market move in Asia.”

She grins, and my chest lights up. “Of course you did.”

“Put the laptop away.” I reach across the table to shut the computer in question. “You don’t get stranded in California with your nemesis every day. Might as well make the most of it.”

Sleeves rolled up.

Windows down.

Sunshine streaming through the palm trees that line the boulevard. The light catches on the strands of hair that escape from Nora’s bun and she smiles, tucking them behind her ears.

I resist the urge to do it myself. I blame it on the fact that even cab rides are fucking magical in California. This place is like a movie set. I really wouldn’t be surprised if Gwyneth or Meghan Markle suddenly appeared on the sidewalk as we pass, scripts in hand and famous husbands on their arms.

The driver drops us off at Stearns Wharf, which extends out from the wide, flat beach into the glittering Pacific Ocean.

“I’ve never been out here before,” Nora says, following me to the end of the wharf. The air is briny out here, the breeze fresh to the point of bracing, but Nora only turns her face up to the sun and closes her eyes. “It’s really nice.”