The Negotiator (Harbor City 1)

“A trip to Iceland.” Daphne held out a printed piece of paper with a picture of the Northern Lights at the top. “It’s not Australia and it’s only for a week, but it would be a new adventure.”

“And I got a ticket to go, too,” she continued. “So it’ll be a girls’ adventure. It’s not for six months, but I thought now would be a good time to give it to you.”

Clover accepted the paper, her hands shaking just the slightest bit, too emotional to speak. She didn’t need Australia—or even Iceland—when she had her best friend. She wrapped her arms around Daphne in a solid hug that beat a pinky promise any day of the week.

“Now is the perfect time,” she said, sniffling. “Thank you.”

The hug was just breaking up when the doorbell rang. Daphne gave her another quick squeeze and then left to answer it.

She came back into the room a minute later. “It’s him.”

Clover’s stomach dropped. “Who him?” she asked, even though she didn’t need to.

“Sawyer,” Daphne said. “Do you want to see him?”

Yes. Maybe. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

Not at all, but she couldn’t be sure that if she saw him now that being a teammate wouldn’t start to sound like something she could settle for. The truth was she missed him—she loved him—and she hadn’t stopped just because he’d broken her heart. She couldn’t say all that to him or to Daphne. Not yet. So she just nodded yes as if she was sure.

“Do you want me to scare the shit out of him?” Daphne asked, a sly smile curling her lips.

Clover laughed despite it all. “Thanks for the offer, but no. Just tell him to go away.”

Daphne left to go get rid of the man Clover loved as she sat on the bed with her head in her hands and tried her best to focus on the printed details of the Iceland trip through her tears. Daphne had been wrong the other night. Falling in love with Sawyer was the worst thing that could have happened after she’d answered that damn ad for a personal buffer.

…

Turned away from Clover’s door, Sawyer spent the next hour in a dark haze wandering Clover’s neighborhood trying to figure out what to do next. He didn’t have a big-picture plan for this. He hadn’t had any sort of plan when he’d gotten out of the shower this morning, passed by the bar cart he still hadn’t thrown over the balcony, slipped the emerald and diamond ring into his pocket as a kind of poisoned talisman, headed out of the Carlyle High-Rise and started walking. He hadn’t stopped until he got to Clover’s apartment, as if it was the only destination possible.

“Slumming it, Carlyle?” a familiar voice called out.

Sawyer turned to see Tyler Jacobson sitting at one of the tables outside a cafe with a coffee and a newspaper. His former best friend kicked the empty chair across from him out and gestured for him to sit down. Sawyer hesitated but spotted the basket of pastries sitting in the middle of the table and his stomach growled. Since the likelihood of poisoning was low, he sat down and grabbed a croissant.

“Does it really matter?” he asked in between bites of pastry.

Tyler shrugged, caught the eye of the waiter across the crowded outdoor eating space, and then held up his coffee cup and one finger. By the time Sawyer was almost done demolishing the croissant, the waiter was at their table with a cup that he sat down on the table. He filled Sawyer’s cup and topped off Tyler’s before leaving to go help someone at another table.

“So I understand the Singapore deal is all but done,” Tyler said.

Singapore? Sawyer hadn’t thought about the deal that had been his three-year obsession for days. “Yeah, the trip went well.”

“You don’t sound as excited as I expected.”

“Think about me a lot do you?” Sawyer took a drink of coffee, it was strong, hot, and just enough of a harsh jolt to get his brain back online.

“Where’s that cute fiancée of yours?” Tyler asked.

Sawyer flinched and Tyler must have caught it because his eyes widened in surprise for a second before settling into a mocking superiority. “I take it you didn’t manage to close that deal.”

That was one way of putting it.

“I fucked it up,” he said, reaching for another croissant that he ripped in half in impotent frustration.

Tyler scooted his chair closer to the table. “This I have to hear.”

“Why do you fucking care?” he snarled.