Page 16 of Sinful Lies

I gave him a tight smile. “Nathan?—”

“I’ll lend you the paintings for free,” he cut in and leaned forward, his voice dropping lower. “If you say yes to just one date. Dinner at a nice restaurant. Red wine. Nothing outrageous. And if you liked it…”

“Tell me.”

“Then I’ll take you back to my place and give you the greatest night of your life.”

I tilted my head, letting the silence hang between us.

My fingers brushed the rim of my cup, tracing lazy circles as I considered Nathan Simons and his audacious little proposition.

A date.

Agreatest night of my lifekind of date at that.

I’d been working for Lazzio for a year now, and as promised, I wasted no time proving my worth. My ideas weren’t just good—they were ingenious,the kind that turned his fledgling museum into a place of glory.

Of course that meant working my ass off, hustling to build a network of contacts who didn’t just see Lazzio as a billionaire shark out to snatch their precious art, but as someone determined to showcase it to the world.

And let’s be honest, it was my beautiful smile and devilish soul that made them believe it.

Most of my negotiations were with men.

And let me tell you, when you’re a young woman batting your lashes and gushing about howluckyyou are to work with them, contracts practically sign themselves.

It’s a strategy that’s equal parts infuriating and effective.

Flirting works—sadly, italwaysdoes.

But as our success snowballed and Lazzio’s museum gained real credibility, I’d started noticing something. On the rareoccasions I saw him—and believe me, he didn’t bother with pleasantries—he made it crystal clear where he drew the line.

Flirting to close a deal? Fine.

Sleeping with clients? Absolutely not.

But hell, it’s been way too long since I’ve had sex, and lately, the cravings have been relentless.

The last time? Two years ago.

Some drug dealer who lookedpassableafter a few drinks, but the morning after? I’d woken up in the backseat of his car wearing nothing but my T-shirt. Let’s just say he didn’t age well overnight.

That was my rock bottom—sex-wise, at least.

I had decided then and there: no more drunken mistakes, no more letting my life spiral just because I couldn’t handle my own loneliness.

Two years later, I’ve clawed my way back to something resembling a normal human being. Steady job, no drugs for 18 months, and even a borderline respectable workout routine. Mondays are for yoga; Fridays are for Pilates. Throw in a cute Soho apartment—thanks to Lazzio’s fat paychecks—and I’m practically thriving.

Which means it’s time to let myself live a little.

Just atinybit.

And who better to dust off the cobwebs than a golden boy who clearly gets around enough to know exactly where the clitoris is—andmaybeeven what to do once he finds it?

I swept my hair over one shoulder, exposing my neck, and let my fingers graze my skin slowly. His gaze followed, dark and hungry, and when his tongue darted out to wet his lip, I pretended not to notice.

“Sleeping with clients,” I said softly, letting the words linger like the taste of forbidden fruit, “isn’t exactly part of my job description, Nathan.” My fingers slid to toy with the delicategold chain at my throat. “I’m not sure my boss would appreciate it.”

“I’ll deliver the paintings myself, Jade. Free of charge. Lazzio never has to know. It’ll stay just between us. You like keeping secrets, don’t you?”

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