Page 118 of One Wealthy Wedding

I nod encouragingly.

“The expansion plans to Hong Kong were scrapped as a result. There’s no capital for new projects. Year over year, distributions to shareholders have decreased only 1 percent, but during Gregory Peterson’s tenure, that represents a decline of over 25 percent in the aggregate. That’s over a hundred million dollars.”

Heat rushes through me at her words. She’s commanding. She’s selling this. And she looks so fucking hot standing there and fighting for herself.

“What do you think?” she asks as the fire drains out of her. She seats herself back at the counter, looking soft and uncertain again. Rare for her in front of me.

“If they’re able to turn you away, they don’t deserve their positions,” I say quietly.

A smile blooms on her face before she pushes out of the chair and wraps her arms around me. A soft sound escapes as I take her weight, my arms coming around her back. “Thank you, Theo.” Her lips form the words against my neck, and goose bumps follow. My face is buried in her hair, and I breathe her in. She pulls away, and my eyes drop helplessly to her lips.

I want her.

I’ve always wanted her.

Good thing I’m doing such a good job preparing her to leave me.

Idiot.

36

Cat

Ican do this. It’s just a pool. Twelve feet deep on this end and three on the other. An Olympic-size pool on the roof of a billionaire’s mansion. For the girl who can’t swim, it might as well be the open ocean.

But I want to make progress on the list before we leave for the trip, and this is the easiest thing left. Tread water for five minutes.

Theo’s on the other side of the glass, running on the treadmill, in nothing but low-slung shorts and a backward hat. He has hip-hop blaring from the speakers, and it makes me want to dance. But instead, I’m dutifully ignoring him and his bare chest.

I climb down the ladder straight into the deep end, though I’d much rather enter from the shallow end. I’ll chicken out if I don’t jump straight in. The salt water is a pleasant eighty, and the sun filters through the retractable glass roof. I scissor my arms and legs like the woman in the video I watched. The way Theo used to on those summer days in the lake.

I hated swimming in the lake. The bottom was never visible, and the water was murky. I didn’t want my feet to touch the muck and the slimy lake weeds, but I didn’t want to dip my face under the water, so I was stuck awkwardly splashing and trying to stay afloat. Not anymore.

I force myself to go slow. A kick whenever I feel myself dipping farther below the surface. I’ll tire out otherwise. How long has it been? I look at the clock above the pool. Thirty seconds.

Lord. Only thirty seconds, and my legs are tired. This is what I get for not working out.

Thirty seconds later, my arms are starting to feel heavy and my legs are slowing. How do lifeguards do this for minutes at a time?

Don’t think about that. Think about anything but how tired your arms are. Like Theo. No, not Theo. Don’t ever think about Theo. He’s too hot for his own good, and mine, and he knows it. Give him an inch, and he’ll take a mile. Let him in, and he’ll destroy you.

Especially with the way he was looking at me with soft approval last night. The way he lent me his unwavering support. His genuine apology.

Three minutes and thirty seconds left.

I’m slipping. Shit. My chin touches water, and I flail. If I die in this stupid pool, it will serve me right. I am not going out before I complete the bucket list. The thought gives me a burst of strength.

Three minutes left.

Damn, I’m really tired. My legs feel like lead. Just a little more.

“Hey.” Theo’s voice comes from behind me. I screech, turning, splashing water into my mouth, coughing. I’m dying. I’m going to die in this salt-water pool. Fuck no.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

I look at my husband. He’s still wearing his backward hat, in the water no less. And his shorts. He’s treading water like he was born to it.

“I’m treading water.”

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