Page 26 of Bad Situation

I should tell him I don’t want him here.

But all that would be cold, hard lies.

“Told you I shouldn’t be here,” he reiterates.

“So you said, Elijah the Prophet.” I slam the dishwasher shut and take a step, not giving one shit about the eight inches separating us or that his bulk could overwhelm me in a heartbeat if he so chose. I can’t help it when I get this way. It doesn’t happen often, but I have a temper and, when stupidity pokes me with its branding iron, I lose it. “If you being here will taint your career in such a way that you won’t be the savior of the law enforcement gods any longer, you should go. I can’t imagine having dinner with a federal target is good for business, even if you are trying to keep it on the downlow. But I will not sit here, feed you worthless pieces of information from my childhood, and pretend we’re still in the getting to know you phase. Don’t ever ask me to pretend, Eli. I don’t have the time nor the patience for that kind of bullshit. I’ve had a bad fucking week. Remember, you came on your own. I didn’t invite you here.”

I turn away from him in a huff and the instant I do, I feel his big hand wrap around my bicep. “Hey. Come here.”

I ignore him and try to shrug him off, but he’s having none of it. I’m not sure if it’s an official FBI move or what, but before I know it, his front is to my back, pressing me into the counter. He slides his hands down my arms to entwine his fingers on top of mine and my breath catches as I tense when he wraps our arms under my breasts. I look down and see nothing but his tattoo peeking out from his sleeve. My heart is an erratic mess and, even though he has me pinned, his hold isn’t intimidating—it’s intimate. Too intimate for how this extraordinarily bizarre thing started between us.

“Please.” My voice is small and weak and I hate myself for it. But after my week of dealing with this shit, I’m exhausted and I’m done being strong. “Just go. I can’t handle fake bullshit on top of everything else.”

“I have an older sister.” His voice is low yet strong as he dips his head, his lips moving against my hair. “She’s a lot older than me and I’m thirty-four. I was an accident.”

I shut my eyes and try to block him out while, at the same time, hating that anyone would think of themselves as an accident.

“I grew up in inner-city Chicago. I went to public schools that were rough and saw it all. I’ve got childhood friends who joined gangs and never made it out. Some never made it to their senior year because they bought it in some stupid-ass rivalry gang-war. My other friends were knocking girls up left and right and not giving a shit. I think the only reason I never took one of those roads was because, if I had, my dad would’ve kicked my ass and I was more afraid of him than I was of any gang-banger.”

With a pit in my stomach, I try to control my breathing. I didn’t expect this.

He doesn’t allow me time to comment, ask questions, or apologize that I can’t relate. Instead, he keeps going and I brace. “I chose basketball. I learned it on the street when I was little—there was no organized, country-club bitty-ball in my life. I played streetball until I got to middle school when a coach recognized that under my rough-as-shit, out-of-control play and with some coaching, I could be decent. He made sure that happened.”

I’m not sure if we could be more different and I know this for a fact because I know these country club sports he’s referring to. They might not happen at a country club, but it’s when a parent is willing to throw any amount of money for coaching so their kid could be the best. I know this because my parents were those people. They did it with Cam in football and Ellie with the finest dance academies in North Texas. They tried to do it with me but nothing stuck. I was simply the boring middle child who got good grades but had to work fucking hard for it because I had no real natural talents.

“He became a mentor and made sure I studied as he coached me on the court. I got good—really good. Played basketball all through high school and had my choice of scholarships. It helped being poor—schools liked my story. I went to Harvard on both athletic and academic scholarships. Not because I wanted to go to an Ivy League, but because I knew that was my best bet at whatever job I wanted after graduation, so I took the best scholarship I was offered. I’m not only a Certified Fraud Examiner, but also a CPA. So, Jen, you’re not the only one good with numbers. I speak your language. Besides the shit evidence they have on you, this is why I think you’re innocent.”

I exhale and open my eyes. When I do, the first thing I see is us in the reflection from across my great room in the darkened windows. Eli Pettit—tall and broad, wrapped around me. I like the way we look so much, I relax into his chest just a bit.

He puts his lips to my ear. “And I think you’re innocent because I know so much about you. I won’t apologize for that.”

I let out a huff of air and shake my head. Of course, he won’t apologize.

“Your dad started Montgomery Industries before you were born.”

He’s thorough in his job.

“I know what you make a year and that’s without bonuses and other perks.”

He doesn’t move but his arms tighten around me and I shut my eyes, hating that he knows all these things about me.

“I know how much is in your trust fund and that you haven’t touched it since it became available to you at the age of twenty-eight.”

Wow, the FBI doesn’t screw around. And he’s right—my parents didn’t want us squandering money when we were young.

“This is why I know. Your opening shell companies and buying up stock at a low rate only to have your own company buy it back at a premium to take that company private would, in essence, be stealing from your own family.”

My eyes fly open and I find my voice. “I’d never do that.”

He pulls his head back and looks down at me. “Without even laying eyes on you, I knew you wouldn’t. Why would someone steal from a company that will someday be theirs? It doesn’t make sense on paper, not to mention, I told you my instincts are good. It really doesn’t make sense now that I’ve met you.”

“Given your job, I still don’t understand why you’re here.”

He sighs. “I want to get to know you. The you that’s not on paper.”

I roll my eyes. “I think that’s pretty much me, Eli. I’ve lived and breathed my job since college. There’s not much more to me than what you already know.”

He raises a brow. “You came alive in my arms when I had you on the dance floor. That’s the Jen I want to get to know.”

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