Page 15 of Crossing Lines

“Your assistant should order you lunch.”

“I don’t have an assistant.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like people in my space,” I repeat. But really it’s because I can’t trust anyone. If my best friend blackmailed me, who’s to say that my assistant wouldn’t try to sabotage my business?

“Interesting.”

“Not really.”

“So what? You’re doing everything yourself?”

“Yes, I like to remain focused.” Which is ironic since I’m sitting next to the biggest distraction I’ve ever had.

“Shame. I think you should mix up your day a bit, do something fun like fuck someone over your desk.”

“Is that a fantasy of yours? To be fucked in an office?”

“And if it is?”

“We can make it come true.” I say it as a joke, and I think it is, even if a big part of me wouldn’t mind role-playing this fantasy of hers. Images of her bent over my desk flash in my mind and I adjust myself discreetly.

She chokes on her bite of food and then laughs. “Did you just make a joke?”

“I don’t joke,” I deadpan.

She points her spoon at me. “See? You just made another one.”

I shake my head and go back to eating, refusing to admit that I did tell a joke. But I don’t know what it means that she actually noticed. No one ever notices.

The next morning, she’s wearing a colorful, floral button-down that she ties off at her belly button. The words “I’m not arguing, I’m just explaining why I’m right” are sewn onto the front and I’m tempted to chuckle when I see it, but I catch myself in time. Barely.

“Did you make that?” I ask, nodding to her shirt.

“Of course.”

I make her some coffee in silence. Nina has so much talent and potential, and I don’t understand why she doesn’t use it. Her viral jacket for Stella featuring the Sentinel logo created a huge demand, and to be honest, I’m shocked she hasn’t asked for a franchising deal from me yet to sell it.

Handing her a cup of coffee, I ask exactly that question. “Why did you never ask for the rights to sell your jacket?”

“Oh, I don’t know… I liked the idea of you suing me better.”

Sure, I might’ve inadvertently threatened to do just that when she debuted the dark green bomber jacket, with double zeros on the front, the team logo discreetlyplaced on the sleeves, and the back featuring Stella’s profile while she sings into a microphone. But why does she have to say it like that? All sharp and smokey. I don’t need more complications in my life, but, somehow, I find her confrontational personality attractive. More than attractive. It’s fucking mesmerizing.

“That’s too much paperwork,” I say. “But what if I go ahead and offer you the franchising deal, anyway?”

She scoffs but it’s tinged with amusement. “And why the hell would you do that?”

“Because you’re talented,” I say simply. And it is that simple. My gut says this would be a good business deal, a low-risk one given the proven demand. It’ll also increase the team’s visibility at such an important time. I could even donate the earnings to support the Uplift Foundation, the foundation that Stella and I joined together to help support and mentor children, and where the jacket was first debuted.

“Of course I’m talented.” She flips her long hair behind her, as if emphasizing that point. “But it’s ahell nofrom me.”

“And why not?” I lean against the counter, curious about what excuse she’s going to give.

“I refuse for you to make money off me. It’s not like you need more.”

“Let me get this straight.” I raise my eyebrow in disbelief. “You’d rather be miserable and not make any money doing what you love? Do you like being poor or something?”

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