The Consequence He Must Claim

He dropped his feet to the floor and sat forward, taking up his hard-negotiator stance, drink going onto the table with a decisive clink. “Surely you could come up with a better reason if you’re looking for a raise. How much did you have in mind?”

“I don’t want more money.”

“Your workload will lighten, you know. She’ll arrange for my dry cleaning to come home. Tell me the real reason we’re having this conversation.”

As a child, after failing to change minds with unceasing logic or heated emotion, she had learned to keep it simple. Make her statement and dig in. She was probably too stubborn for her own good, but she didn’t backtrack or waffle, never stammered out excuses or defenses. If she messed up, she owned it. If she thought Cesar was making an error in judgment, she told him. Once.

He valued all of this about her. He’d told her during reviews.

She also knew how to let silence make a point. She’d learned that from the master sitting across from her.

“You’re serious?” he demanded after a long, charged minute. “You want to quit because I’m getting engaged? We won’t marry until next year.”

“I’ll stay through the hiring and training period. Once you’ve set a date, I’ll work until the Friday before your wedding, if you want me to stay that long.”

“This is unacceptable. You promised me five years.” He picked up his glass and glowered at her. “I’m so tempted to fire you right now, you have no idea.”

She picked up her own glass and sat back, already melancholy. She prided herself on her reliability and hated to let him down. If she had thought he loved Diega— No, that would be worse. She would quit even faster if he fell in love. She frowned, wishing she wasn’t so infatuated with him. None of this would bother her.

“Why do you think I’ll ask you to lie to her?” he demanded in a low growl.

She took heart from his question. Sometimes she let herself believe they were friends, especially when he did this, asked for her thoughts. He might not be in love, but talking about his forthcoming marriage still seemed profoundly personal. She couldn’t help but read in to it, believing he valued her opinion.

“The thing that strikes me,” she said carefully, “is how different you are with her. I’ve seen you with women, Cesar.” She offered a tolerant smile. Did she resent those women? Hell, yes, but she’d known he was a playboy before she’d interviewed for the job. “I can make all the judgments I want about the quantity of women you date, but you always appear to like them. To be genuinely attracted. When you see Señorita Fuentes coming, you give her the same look you wear when greeting a tax auditor.”

“I don’t lie to tax auditors, either,” he said flatly, looking away, mouth twisting with disgust. “Most people tell me I’m difficult to read, you know.”

“You are. But I know you.”

“Do you.” His gaze swung back to hers and something in the sudden connection made her heart skip.

“I like to think so,” she disclosed.

“Then you know this is how my life must go. You know about the industrial spying?”

“Yes.” She’d read what she could find online about it. The court case had gone on for years, but the intellectual property that had been stolen hadn’t been something that could be reclaimed. Once Pandora’s box had been opened, there was no restitution.

“It was my fault. I was using my father’s money, gambling that my work would pay back the coffers with interest. The work was stolen, the investment went bust and the legal bills were horrendous. Yes, we eventually retrieved a fraction of that in the settlement, but it was a pittance against the fortune that we should have had. We could have faced bankruptcy if not for Diega’s family helping us refinance. They stepped up because we’ve always had this understanding between our families that we would be joining forces when the time was right.”

Sorcha couldn’t remember him ever directly referencing the espionage. The closest he’d come was mentioning the name of his first company, “the one that was lost.” Each word of what he’d just said had been bitten off with a gnash of his teeth, bitter and filled with self-recrimination.

“If I’ve taken advantage of my freedom, enjoyed a ‘quantity’ of women,” he said, quoting her pithily, “it’s because I’ve always known my opportunity to do so was finite. I don’t intend to cheat on her, Sorcha. You won’t be expected to lie.”

She smiled. His tenacity was so predictable. “My notice still stands.”