Anger made his nostrils flare and his eyes burn. “Are you threatening me?”
“No,” I answered quickly. “I’m just being real.”
I didn’t understand why he was fighting this. He had nothing to lose—except some money—and he was the type of guy who wouldn’t flinch at dropping six figures. I swallowed a breath and pushed forward.
“I don’t want to work for you. I want to work with you. Being your assistant is just my cover. It’s an excuse for me being around so I can do the actual work.”
He gave me an exasperated look. “And that work is?”
“You don’t have any friends.”
He leveled his imposing stare and hardened. “Your master plan is to, what? Get people to like me?”
He said it with disgust, but in a nutshell, this was the idea. It was phase two.
“That’s part of it, yeah. You want to keep something out of DuBois’s book? Then you need to make sure no one tells him anything. Friends don’t sell each other out.” I’d practiced this line on the drive into Boston this morning. It was a backhanded compliment and stripped the concept down to its bones. “Which means the ruthless and intimidating Macalister Hale will have to learn how to be charming.”
His short laugh was empty and intended to make me feel small. “I already know how to be charming, Sophia.”
My heart fluttered in my chest. Was I about to wake a sleeping giant? “No, I don’t think you do. Right now, the only reason someone would go out on a limb for you is because you leave them no choice. You motivate by fear.”
His eyes flashed with heat. He didn’t like what I was saying, but he wasn’t going to argue with it either.
I gave him my best smile and strived for a light, joking tone, even though I was serious. “You can only terrorize people into loyalty for so long.” I gauged his reaction, and when there wasn’t one, I softened my voice. “Why don’t we try it my way?”
His ice-blue eyes went unfocused, and his gaze drifted from mine, shifting to stare out the window at the coast beyond. “Tell me what you want.”
It was impossible to know if he meant my salary, or just in general, but I went with the easier choice. “Five million dollars.”
Irritation was slathered on his face as his attention snapped back to me. “That’s an enormous amount of money for someone who didn’t seem to care about it at all the last time we spoke. I am not a fool. You want something out of this arrangement, and I believe you need me far more than I need you.” His expression was shuttered. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have to pay you at all.”
I swallowed thickly. “I’m risking my reputation to save yours.”
“One hundred thousand dollars.”
He smoothed a hand down the line of buttons on his suit vest, as if he could brush my request aside that easily. Frustration built inside me, threatening to erupt—
“And the remainder of the five million,” he continued, “contingent upon DuBois’s book coming out and my satisfaction with its content.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. Did he realize how enormous the weight was he’d just placed on my shoulders? I gazed at him and his calculating expression. Yeah, of course he did. Making the money dependent on something I had so little control over was stacking the odds against me.
But it’d certainly motivate me to try, wouldn’t it?
“Do you agree?” he asked.
I mustered all the courage I possessed and pretended this would be easy. No big deal. “Sure.”
Macalister reached across the table, and as I stared at his offered hand, my stomach flipped over, filling with equal parts of excitement and apprehension. Both times we’d shaken hands on Saturday, there’d been this strange magnetic pull to him. What if it was still there?
Or worse . . .
What if it wasn’t?
My mouth went dry as I put my hand in his, and when he squeezed, every muscle in my body tightened in response. God, what was wrong with me? This wasn’t normal or right. He was so much older, and arrogant to the point he was rude, not to mention . . . maybe a murderer? Alice Hale’s death was an accident, but I was currently shaking hands with the man who’d caused it.
My body didn’t give a fuck.
Sparks crackled through our connection, lighting me up, and I prayed I could keep it contained. If Macalister had the slightest inkling of my thoughts, he’d throw me out of his office in a heartbeat. I had to get control of myself. Crushes were for teenagers, and I was twenty-six, not thirteen.
I felt weightless when he let go of me, as if he were the thing tethering me to this world, which may have been true. Walking into HBHC this morning felt otherworldly. It was all shiny chrome and glass in the lobby, full of air and light. Up here near the top floor, it was the opposite. Dark wood and deep colors and partitions to create secretive meeting spaces.