Page 68 of IOU

Bullshit. No way does she know enough from me leaving it open. It’s locked. Who told her? Sebastian? But he wouldn’t dare speak to her outside of my presence. He’s crazy but not stupid. I cock a brow for her to continue.

“No, sir,” she scolds, appearing quite cute with a dainty scowl on her face. “You are in no position to demand. We’ll negotiate.”

I scoff, but she ignores it.

“For every one of the answers I give you, I get one in return.”

No is right on the tip of my tongue, but so are other words like thank you and come—“Fine. What’s your question?”

“Were you scared earlier when they gave you the medicine?” She looks down at her hands, wringing them tightly. “The one that stopped your heart for a moment ...”

It was a weak moment on my part and exactly why I stay with contracts and IOUs. I don’t do owing people anything, especially explanations. And especially explanations to Ainsley.

“Yes.”

I’m not explaining. She was there. I reached for her hand, for fuck’s sake. No way am I talking my way around that one. I was fucked-up when they gave it to me. “It was the first time they’ve ever had to convert my rhythm with medicine.” Hence the reason I’m here for longer and not already back home, pouring beer through the deck of the balcony.

“How did you know about my job?” I ask again.

She grins smugly. “I didn’t. But I tried to silence your notification earlier, and I may”—she drags the words out like she’s proud of herself and finally has something on me—“have read the preview of an email you received about IRAs, CEOs, and such. Are you likeTheWolf of Wall Streetguy?”

I let out a sigh of relief. Good. She doesn’t know everything.

“Is that your question? Am I likeThe Wolf of Wall Street?” I want to laugh so bad, but I hold it in, maintaining her seriousness.

She nods, never moving her arms. Weird.

“No, I’m not. I’m not a stock trader. My grandfather owns an investment company that I help out with from time to time. You could say I’m a part-time broker.”

Partial truth and her eyes narrowing to slits tell me she knows it.

“My turn.” I can already feel my mouth twitching at the corner. “What’s going on with—” I tip my chin in the direction of her folded arms.

“With my arms?” she suggests.

Yep, that’s exactly what I mean. Let’s get off the topic of me. “Yeah, your arms. You cold?”

A faint puff escapes her lips.

She won’t give me the satisfaction of admitting why she’s standing there, suddenly stiff and awkward when she had no problem bossing me around earlier.

“I’m fine,” she lies.

I nod, feeling a tiny, baby grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. “You can turn the air up if you’re cold. The thermostat is on the wall.”

She won’t, though, because then she will have to drop her arms.

“Thanks, but that’s not necessary. I’m fine.”

My eyes never leave hers. “Did you hurt your arm fanning the smoke detector earlier?”

She can’t contain the eye roll. “Funny. But no. I just happen to find this position comfortable.”

She shrugs, but it’s forced and still blocked with her folded arms.

“Really?” I challenge, the monitors going off again.

Settle down, Maverick. No one needs to come in here and realize the reason the monitors are going off is because your roommate is turning you on.

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