Page 40 of Between the Lines

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THEOFELTLIKEhe’d just completed a champion workout. He was riding high on endorphins, body loose, mind sated as he all but staggered back into his office.

Hell. He’d had some good sex before. He’d had some great sex. But what had just happened with Jo was so astronomically amazing that it couldn’t even be described.

They’d connected on a physical level when they were younger, for sure. He’d thought he just might die from insisting they wait until she was eighteen.

Now, though? That innocent girl he remembered was kinky as fuck, and he knew he’d never in a million years find someone who inspired the same filthy urges in him. Never find another woman who challenged him, who called him on his shit. Who got excited when he took her to a graveyard on a date, and who really could not have cared less about the number of zeroes in his bank balance.

He was in love with her. Again? Still? It didn’t really matter, because the truth was there, written in the way he could still feel her hands on his skin.

He wanted to tell her. Wanted to give her that certainty that he wasn’t going anywhere. That he couldn’t, not without her.

Loosening his tie that had just been straightened, he sat forward in his desk chair, tapping his keyboard to wake up his computer. He’d take her out for dinner, not someplace fancy, because she wouldn’t care about that. Someplace that had meaning for them.

What was the name of that little Brazilian dive they’d frequented when they were in high school? His mom had taken him there when he was little, whenever she’d been craving food from home, since she was the type to burn toast. He’d never gone there with anyone else, not even his dad—not until he’d decided to share it with Jo.

It would be the perfect place to tell her what he felt. He knew she’d catch the significance. Now if only he could remember what the hell it was called, so he could look it up and make sure it was still open.

As he typed Brazilian food restaurant Boston into his web browser, his cell phone vibrated against his hip. John’s name flashed across the screen, and Theo put it on speaker.

“What’s up?” When Theo had hired the consultant to help ensure a smooth official launch of Crossing Lines, he’d somehow pictured a rich old white dude. John Brooke was rich, certainly, but he wasn’t old and he wasn’t white, or anything else that Theo had expected. He was, however, everything that he’d promised, and Theo knew he’d miss him when he’d finished out their contract and moved on to another business. The other man had really thrown his heart and soul into Crossing Lines and was the nearest thing that Theo had to a real friend.

“Ass into my office, Lawrence.” There was barely concealed glee in the other man’s voice. “I’m about to make all of your fantasies come true.”

“In your dreams, Brooke.” Theo started walking as he spoke. Ava looked up from her desk, arching an eyebrow at him since he was talking so loudly. He shrugged, striding down the hall to John’s office, which would be empty soon enough. “You don’t have the right equipment.”

“I could have you if I wanted you.” John held out a paper cup of coffee as Theo entered the room, grinning mockingly. He leaned back in his chair, smugness written in every line of his body.

“We’ll see how I feel about you after you tell me whatever has you grinning like a freaky-ass clown.” Settling himself in the chair across the desk, Theo sipped at the coffee, gagging as soon as it touched his tongue. “What the hell is this garbage?”

“I made it myself.” John frowned, gesturing at the coffee machine in his office, one that looked like it belonged in Starbucks. “It’s an Americano.”

“It’s swamp water, man.” Shuddering, Theo set it down on the desk. “But it’s reassuring to know that you’re human, after all. Now what’s up?”

John took a cautious sip of his own coffee, and Theo watched with amusement as his eyes widened. He swallowed gamely. “It’s not that bad.”

Theo rolled his eyes; John set the cup on the edge of his desk.

“When you hired me, you told me that your goal was to grow Crossing Lines from a highly valued start-up to a company that could sell for a minimum of fifty million, correct?” Theo nodded. “We estimated three to five years for that growth.”

“I know all this, Brooke.” Theo waved a hand in his air. “What’s the news that makes you look like you’re going to come in your pants?”

“I have far too much self-control to ever come in my pants,” the other man replied archly. “Now. What if I told you that I’ve found a buyer for Crossing Lines already? One willing to pay seventy-five million, not fifty, with the caveat that she take over the company now. Now, not in three to five years! I’ve never come across this kind of deal, man. You must shit gold.”

“Every morning,” Theo responded automatically, but his eyes widened as the news sank in. “Seventy-five million? Are you for real?”

“Real as rain, brother.” John drummed his fingers on the desk. “She’s the sister of some European prince. I guess she met her now-fiancé on Crossing Lines and fell in love with the premise. She’s excited to take it in a new direction.”

“A new direction?” Theo frowned, rubbing a hand over his chest. “We’ve barely started going in this direction.”

John shrugged, his smile wide. “For seventy-five million, I’d say she can take it in whatever direction she wants. And here’s the thing. She wants to hire you as the business head of her corporation. Interview other people with start-ups like yours, develop them under her banner.”

“Really?” That was what he’d vaguely thought that he’d wind up doing eventually, but years down the line—and for his own corporation, of course. Still, excitement buzzed along his skin. It felt like validation—this was the kind of opportunity that most people only dreamed of, and it was being offered to him because he’d earned it himself. It sounded too good to be true. “I can’t even wrap my head around that.”

“It’s the dream.” John cocked his head, studying Theo’s expression. “Of course, you’d probably have to leave Boston.”

“What?” The airy excitement crashed to the ground, weighed down by reality. It was too good to be true. Because leaving Boston was the one thing he couldn’t do.

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