All Night Long (Man of the Month 9)

That wasn't what he was expecting to hear. "What?"

"You heard me."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like."

"Why would you have to leave because you liked me too much?"

Now, she laughed. "Sorry, counselor. Quid pro quo, remember? I gave you quid, now I want my quo."

He considered arguing, but he'd set the rules. She was only playing by them. "Fair enough," he said as he took a seat behind his desk, then gestured for her to sit in a guest chair.

She hesitated, then complied. "I've had an offer to buy my distillery. A very nice offer," she added, and when she told him the number, he whistled. "I'd like you to negotiate the deal for me."

"Why me?"

"I want the best. Your name keeps popping up."

"I'm flattered, but I'll be honest. If that's their initial offer, you don't need the best. You just need someone competent. Because that company wants your brand, and they're willing to give you pretty much anything you ask for to get it."

"Maybe. But I don't like to do things half-assed. When I'm in, I'm all in."

"Bullshit."

Her eyes went wide, and even Easton was surprised that he'd said it.

"Excuse me?"

Shit. He debated what to say, then decided to be all in himself. "You and I were half-assed."

Her mouth quirked into a sideways grin. "From your perspective, but from mine I was doing exactly what I wanted the way I wanted." She met his eyes. Held them. "Fast and hot and dirty. And don't think you were the only one. Sometimes for a night. Sometimes a week. Sometimes a month. Maybe you got the short straw, but I already told you why. Honestly, you should be flattered. But if you thought there was going to be more than a fast, fun time, then that was your misinterpretation. Not mine." She tilted her head. "But considering it's been over ten years, you seem kind of hung up on the subject."

She was right, dammit. From the moment he'd seen that familiar rose and chain-link tattoo, he'd felt the shift in the air. The awareness. Like the electricity that precedes a lightning storm. Only in this case, the storm was Selma. And if he wasn't careful, she'd sweep him away.

"Just trying to figure you out," he said, masking the real answer under a patina of truth. "I like puzzles. And you qualify. But going back to half-assed, I wasn't trying to analyze you and me. I was offering evidence in contradiction of your statement. You say you don't do anything half-assed, and yet you're walking away from Free-Tail just as it's on the rise."

"Yeah, well, think what you want, but you're completely off-base." This time, the heat in her voice wasn't seductive.

"I touched a nerve. Sorry."

Immediately, her shoulders sagged. "Look, let's pretend like you just graduated law school. And your grades were stellar and you were nine kinds of hot shit and you could totally write your own ticket."

"Sounds good so far."

"But what if it didn't sound good to you?"

He tilted his head, homing in on the serious note in her voice. He had a feeling that for the first time, he was about to see a glimpse of the real Selma. About ten years after he stopped caring.

"I mean, what if you'd only gone to law school on a whim? What if you were good, but by the time you got out, you didn't really care? It wasn't what you wanted to do, and you knew it?"

He shifted in his chair, suddenly not so comfortable with the conversation. "That would be a damn shame."

"If you stayed--if you did it anyway--to my way of thinking, that's half-assed. Because you're not being true to yourself. I'm selling now because the distillery isn't my thing."

"What is?"

She shrugged, then flashed a sunshine-filled smile. "I'm still trying to figure that out. And I intend to have a damn good time doing it."