Page 25 of Salvaged Hearts

“When their boss makes more money than God, who the hell knows? The elite spend more on handbags than I make in a year.” It was true. I’d seen them go for twice what I earned—and I brought in a very healthy six figures thanks to the man standing across from me in the middle of a nervous system collapse.

“Only the spectacularly pretentious ones,” he grumbled with a derisive eye roll.

“And in case you couldn’t tell by your Uncle’s mini aneurysm, today was the only meeting I’ve ever spoken up in.”

“That was a result of your own limitation, not mine.”

Some hysterical lapdog-adjacent yip escaped me as I turned in a panicked circle like there was somewhere to flee. Unless I intended to break through the tempered glass wall of the condo building and free fall into the city where I’d meet an untimely demise, there was no exit.

His voice was close enough and gentle enough to send goosebumps up my spine when he spoke next, “Hear me out.”

I whirled to face him, but my mouth dropped open when he was towering above me. “God,make a noise, you psycho!”

“You covered for me. With my uncle.”

“And?!” I barked before I noticed something I’d never anticipated seeing on Greyson Hart’s face. His eyes had softened. Some cousin to vulnerability flashed in those hazels before he seemed to blink it away at my retort. Regret sloshed in my belly.

He wet his lips, hard gaze like a brand across my face. “You didn’t have to. You didn’t even know what you were protecting, but you understood I didn’t want it shared.”

“It seemed like it had to be valuable information.”

“And Reginald Hart is a valuable man.”

“Reginald Hart is a self-entitledprick. You forget I’ve walked these circles beside you for two years now. I know where he places value.”

“And what about his nephew?” He arched a solitary brow, chest rising as he watched my face. He was in tan slacks and a casual short-sleeved button-up that hung half open, hair disheveled as though he’d been running his hands through it on repeat.

“An entitled capitalist prince that loves his niece more than the air in his lungs.”

He looked to his feet. “It’s an obligation of those with power to look after those without it. She’s my responsibility as much as Ollie’s.”

“Your peers vehemently disagree.”

“Not all of them.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, confirming my theory. I hated that I liked it that way—a strand falling across the tension lining his forehead. A fissure in the façade of perfection.

“Oliver aside?”

“Okay, well…most of them,” he allowed with a cocky little grin. “So. Back to the topic at hand. What do you say?”

“Mr. Hart, I?—”

“Greyson,” he cut in. “Please, call me Greyson. Regardless of your decision here, you’ve known too much for too long to be so formal.”

“Until this evening, I believed I was your coffee girl.”

“Until a few hours ago, only three people knew aboutThunderstrike. You went in looking for proof of the allegations and found something far more dangerous. Those communications were locked behind government-orchestrated security.” He shook his head, adding, “You forced your way in in under twenty-four hours. You’ve yet to realize how valuable your mind is.”

“Max forced his way in,” I corrected.

“And leaders know exactly when to delegate so they can operate to their strengths. You’ve yet to realize what you could do with the right resources.”

“Andyou’veyet to explain whatObsidianorThunderstrikeis,” I pointed out, my breath halting as his hand came to cup my elbow, eyes falling to where his skin met mine. Which, coincidentally enough, was now tingling with a rush of anticipation I would not be acknowledging. The way my hand came to wrap around his forearm was entirely involuntary. Whether I was holding him at bay or holding him to me, I wasn’t even sure, and fear and arousal were way too similar in nature for my liking. Suddenly, my bare legs on display felt ungodly vulnerable.

“And I can’t,” he said calmly. “As it is, you’ve already implicated yourself in something I wanted you very,veryfar away from. So long as you can be forced to testify, you need to get the hell away from those files, Alessandra.” As if in emphasis, he gave my arm a gentle squeeze.

Silence settled between us for a long beat, his thumb absently running over my elbow, even once I broke it. “You were a Seal.”It came out somewhere between a statement and a question. He nodded once. “It’s related to your time there?”

“Like I said, it’s classified. Don’t ask questions you’re not prepared to have answered.” He let those words simmer like a rich sauce, allowing the flavors of each implication to marinate in my mind before that edge to his voice sharpened. “You can’t go back, Alessandra. There is no unhearing what will be heard. That being said, you would be an invaluable asset.”

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