Jarod extends a hand. “I figured I might run into someone I knew here. The Sams mentioned it was one of the popular Wall Street hangouts.”
“They’d be right,” Matt says, barely disguising the edge in his voice. “Am I interrupting?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. This is so not the time for him to play jealous boyfriend.
“Not particularly.”
“Good,” Matt says decisively. “Have you given any thought to whether or not we might be a good fit?”
“I’m still thinking,” Jarod says blandly.
I look between the two of them, a little surprised that their conversation at lunch apparently went so far as to talk specifics. Matt must want this deal badly.
“I understand,” Matt says. “That said, I also don’t like games. If you’re not intending to give me your business, I’d prefer to know upfront.”
I give myself a quick pat on the back for not laughing out loud. Don’t like games, my ass. Matt’s entire life is a game. So is mine.
Only this one we’re playing together, which makes it all the more dangerous.
“I said I’m still thinking,” Jarod repeats, all but daring Matt to push him further.
Luckily, Matt’s smart enough to know when to drop it. He leans in to kiss my cheek, deliberately pressing his lips close to my ear in an unmistakably intimate, mine gesture.
I smile and lean up to adjust his tie. “Hey, you found me!”
He smiles back, but his eyes stay cold. “Looks like we crossed wires about where we were meeting. I had a table in the back.”
“Oh shoot, sorry!” I say, stepping immediately into the charade that he and I had plans. “I just assumed we’d grab a spot at the bar.”
I say a quick prayer of thanks that Lara’s in on our arrangement. If she walks in, she’ll know better than to blow our cover.
Jarod reaches for his wallet and sets enough money on the bar to cover his and my drinks plus a generous tip. “I know my reputation is ruthless, but I’m not so much of an ass as to interrupt two dates in one day.” He gives me an easy no-hard-feelings grin. “I stole your man away at lunch; I won’t do so at dinner as well.”
Matt’s smile is forced, his hand pressing hard against my back. “Better than you stealing away my woman.”
I stiffen, shocked at both Matt’s lack of charm in front of an important potential client, as well as my visceral, pleased reaction at being called his woman.
Still, we’re here for a reason, and he’s very close to screwing it all up.
“Matt,” I murmur in warning under my breath.
He smiles a bit wider, still focused on the billionaire. “Normally I wouldn’t worry, but you’re just about the only other man who can afford her.”
I can’t stop my gasp from slipping out. Nor can I disguise the fact that it’s a gasp of pain.
I don’t know how it happened, but somehow over the course of the past few days, my shield has been slowing lowering, and now it’s gone.
I did what I promised I’d never let him do—hurt me. Again.
I swallow and manage to stand, grabbing my purse off the back of the stool, all but shoving away Matt’s hand.
“Sabrina—”
I pretend he’s not there, my attention focused on Jarod through what I’m horrified to realize is a sheen of tears. “It was nice speaking with you. I appreciate the drinks.”
“Of course,” he murmurs, his brow furrowing in confusion. “And really, I was just leaving. If you two want to—”
“No, I was just leaving,” I say.
And then I do. My chin might be wobbling, but I keep it high as I walk out of the restaurant and onto Pine Street.
Away from Matt Cannon.
17
MATT
Tuesday Evening, September 26
“Sabrina. Shit. Sabrina!”
She’s halfway down the block before I can catch up with her, my fingers grabbing hold of her arm and pulling her around.
What I see there rocks me back a step.
Sabrina Cross is crying.
She shoves a hand against my shoulder. “Don’t. Don’t talk to me, don’t touch me, don’t ever call me again.”
I run my free hand through my hair, still holding her arm with the other. I’m not letting her get away. Not when she looks like this.
“What did I—”
“He’s the only other man who can afford me?” she says, her scathing tone doing nothing to hide her hurt.
“What—”
Oh. Oh fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Of all the boneheaded things I could have said . . .
I lift my hand to her other arm, holding both her shoulders, desperately needing to make her understand. “No,” I say firmly. “That’s not what I meant.”
She pulls away with a harsh laugh. “Whatever. You made it clear four years ago what you thought of me.”
I groan. “Not that again—”
“Yes again,” she shouts, not caring that a handful of passersby are staring at us wide-eyed. “You may want to forget what you said that morning, but I can’t. You said that I must be worth every penny. You said it after we slept together, like I was a common—”
“Don’t say it,” I growl. “Do not call yourself that.”
“Why not?” she challenges. “You practically did.”
“You heard what you wanted to hear, then and now,” I say, my own voice raising to a shout. “Back then I only meant that you were damn good at your job. You’d told me just hours before that your job was to be anything to anyone, for a price, and that night you were everything to me.”
She snorts and opens her mouth to argue, but I talk over her.
“And tonight, I was referring to our shopping expedition. The one where I spent three thousand dollars on clothes for you. Wasn’t that the point of that whole scheme? So people would think we were a couple? That I doted on you?”
“You’ve never doted on anyone but yourself your entire life,” she says.
Her voice has calmed slightly, and I nearly sag with relief, knowing that while she’s still pissed, at least she seems to maybe believe that I wasn’t telling Lanham she was a damned paid escort service.
“Maybe not,” I grant her. “Doting’s not my thing, but neither is hurting people. And I hurt you.”
“You didn’t—”
“I did,” I interrupt. “I did and I’m sorry, Sabrina. I just got . . .”
She lifts her eyebrows in question when I don’t finish, and I sigh in frustration—at her, at Lanham, at myself.
“I saw you talking to him, and—”
“You were worried I’d blow your cover.”
“Hell yes, I was worried!” I explode.
Worried you’d be happy with someone other than me. Worried that I could lose you, even before I really had you.
I shove the thoughts aside, clinging to the safety of anger instead. “The entire reason we have a fucking contract is so that people like Lanham will think we’re together, that I’ve settled down, that I’m not blowing money on lap dances and drugs. Instead, I look over and see my girlfriend flirting with the very client I’m trying to win over.”
“Well it’s a damn good thing I was,” she snaps. “Because after you went all caveman on him, I can’t imagine he’ll be dying to work with you.”
She’s right. There’s a very real chance I’ve just blown any possibility at getting Lanham on my roster, and the hell of it is . . .
I can’t seem to care.
I can’t seem to see anything but her with him, looking for all the world like she was enjoying herself with another man.
“Everything okay here?” Ian’s quiet voice comes from behind me.
I let my chin drop to my chest for a moment. I love Ian like a brother. I do. He’s my best friend. But sometimes . . . sometimes . . .
I envy him. I envy him the role of Sabrina’s savior. Her friend.
I envy that he’s the one she runs to. That he’s the one who gets to look out for her. Protect her.
Meanwhile, I’m the one who hurts her. The one she needs protecting from.
I turn toward him. His hands are in his pockets, his stance casual, his eyes anything but.
I give him a nod. “Yeah. We’re fine.”
He studies me for a moment before his gaze flicks to Sabrina.
I hear her swallow. “Yeah, Ian. We’re good.”
“You sure? Because—”
“Ian.” Her voice is firm. “Go back inside. Please.”
My head snaps toward her. I’d expected her to take the out he offered, to retreat under his wing where he protects all the childhood secrets the two of them harbor.