Page 4 of It Starts With A No

Clary jumped when someone knocked on the car window. Even as her hand flew toward her chest, her gaze instantly dropped to the lock on her door.

She was a New Yorker, so of course she locked her car door. Thank God for that.

“What the hell?” She dropped her hand when Seth Anderson’s face came into view. The orange sun going down behind him put his face in shadow, but even so, she could see the streaks of brown in his pine-green eyes.

She’d seen clips of his televised interview just this morning, so she recognized him and that scowl immediately.

Was he following her?

She’d seen his brusque attitude to the interviewer when he was asked something he wasn’t interested in answering. She couldn’t imagine Seth Anderson had followed her here with no malice.

Especially with that frown marring his otherwise handsome features.

Seth Anderson mouthed something, then impatiently gestured for her to roll down the window.

She hesitated a moment, then cracked it open an inch. “Were you following me, Mr. Anderson?”

“You recognize me,” he said, all business and with no hint of a smile. “Is something wrong with your car?” He straightened and stepped closer to her car as another vehicle came up the slope.

An engine roared, and Clary turned.

The approaching car sped forward and zoomed right by hers, so close that she was sure it must have hit Seth.

Clary screamed, but the earsplitting sound of rubber tires squealing on blacktop covered her cry.

When she forced her eyes open, Seth was plastered against her door.

Oh, God.

There wasn’t any blood, though. None that she could see, at least.

Which was good news, right?

Seth stumbled back, and she opened the door and jumped out. “Are you okay?” She reached out and grabbed his arm, worried he would stumble further back and fall off the cliff.

Instantly, she felt the muscles under her hand freeze.

A reaction she’d seen and experienced way too many times, but never would she have expected it from a billionaire running a mega pharmaceutical firm. So much so that despite knowing what she should do, it took her a full second to consciously loosen her grip on his arm.

Once she did that, Seth looked down, giving himself a scan, while one hand kneaded where she’d grabbed him.

Her grip was firm, but it hadn’t been rough. “Are you hurt?”

He dropped his hand. He didn’t appear to be bleeding anywhere. Then again, his black suit might conceal any blood oozing out of him. His white shirt didn’t reveal any wounds, though, and his limbs appeared to be working just fine. “I don’t think so.” He took another step back, and Clary grabbed him again.

He yanked his arm back, as if her touch burned him.

This time, instead of releasing him, she tightened her grip. “Cliff,” she said. “Stop moving back.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

Once she was sure that Seth Anderson had gotten the point, she let go of him. She turned toward the dusty gray sedan that had stopped in front of her shiny black Tesla.

The sedan’s door creaked opened, sagging slightly as it swung out.

Clary expected someone to jump out of the sedan, apologizing to Mr. Anderson.

But an unsettling urge stirred within her.

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