Page 67 of My Office Rival

“You sound like my brother,” she responded, but her voice was light.

“Well, maybe he’s right.” I reached over and snagged her hand. Her eyes went wide but she didn’t pull away. I feathered my thumb over her knuckles, thrilling at just that small touch. “Promise me something.”

“What’s that?”

“Promise me, if you get an interview for one of those jobs you actually want, that you’ll take it.”

She inhaled sharply. “Why?”

Because you deserve to be happy. Because I can’t bear to watch you take on everyone’s burdens and leave nothing for yourself.But I couldn’t tell her that.

“You said you would lean in, remember? This is part of that. And if that’s not enough, then do it for me.”

I thought she would argue or ask why I cared. But instead, all she said was, “I promise.”

I wanted to gather her in my arms, to kiss her until she couldn’t think. Instead, I gave her the only thing I could, a true smile, one that made her smile back, her eyes crinkling with pleasure. At least until her face fell.

“So, what the hell are we going to do?” She tapped her fingers on the table again, looking thoughtful. “Honestly, not a lot of what we’ve learned is concrete. And it’s not enough to blow up this deal. I mean, if H Brands is really involved in criminal activity, we’ll be tearing up the term sheet faster than you can say cow tipping, but until then…” She blew out a breath. “I hate to say this, but I think we might need to investigate.”

I sat up straighter at that. “No fucking way.” My heart thudded at even the idea of investigating these people. I had been down this road before, and it had not ended well. “We are notinvestigatingthem. We are not investigators. We are corporate lawyers. Leave this to the professionals.” With each word, her brows drew lower.

“Who even are the professionals in this instance? The FBI, CIA,the DOJ? I’m not blowing up my career for a hunch, Jason, and neither should you,” she shot back.

“I know better than to get involved with criminals! It doesn’t work out,” I burst out.

Her eyes went wide at that, her perfectly pouty lower lip dropping in surprise. “Why does it sound like you’re speaking from experience?”

40

JASON

My head dropped into my hands. My heart thudded. Was I really about to tell her this?

“Because I do,” I said quietly.

“Damn,” she whispered back.

The moment stretched. To tell her or not to tell her? The air felt too thin, the walls too close. If I were alone, I would go for a run.

“Can we walk?” I shoved back from the table.

“Sure, of course.” She sounded surprised.

I grabbed a beer from the fridge and a blanket from the porch, and we picked our way down the dark stairs and into the velvet night. It was a little chilly, but clear. The stars were scattered across a sky that seemed to touch the endless cornfields around us.

I took a deep lungful of air, catching hints of Cynthia’s warm scent beside me. Her face was tipped up to the sky, and I glanced over at her. “Not so bad, is it?”

“It’s fine. If we hear even one rustle in the corn, though, I’m going to lose it.”

I snorted a laugh, and we started walking in the dark, down the long drive that continued past the house.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she murmured. “I’m really good atkeeping secrets though, if you do decide to.” Of course she was. She was loyal to a fault, and she would view secret-keeping as a sacred duty.What would it be like to have that loyalty for my own?A tidal wave of want threatened to pull me under, and I sucked in a breath.

“My last foster family were drug dealers.” Hot shame burned in my gut at the memories, but even admitting the words to her felt cooling, like pressure being let out of an over-inflated balloon.

She scooted closer to me until her shoulder brushed my arm.

“They made street drugs in the basement of our house. I had no idea for at least a year, but then things started to go south. My foster brother was using, and he couldn’t hide it anymore. I discovered the basement lab by mistake one day when he forgot to lock the door. He was twenty, and I was only eighteen. He beat the shit out of me. I had two black eyes and a broken arm. I’d show you the scar if it weren’t so dark out.” I swallowed thickly. The scar still bothered me at night sometimes. “The police found me unconscious. Everyone around town knew me as a good, if troubled, kid. They rightly assumed something was up at home, and the whole, horrible story came out. My foster parents were arrested, and I left town before they realized I was the one who ratted them out.” I shuddered at the memory of all those nights alone in shitty motels, wondering if they were going to burst through the door.

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