Page 16 of Hold Me Today

Larger than life, and totally out of my reach.

Forcing a light note to my voice, I attempt to ease her strung-out nerves. “Are you sure he took the money?”

Mina’s fingers erupt into another tapping sprint. “He took my lucky penny—the one your mom gave me.”

I lift a brow. “And?”

She plants her hands on the chair’s armrests and maneuvers her weight around. The bow at her neck teases open, revealing another notch of skin that tantalizes more than it satisfies. “And,” she grinds out, as though revealing this is beyond painful, “he left an IOU.”

A pin dropping would carry more sound than my office does right now.

I lift a hand to drag through my hair, the strands catching on my blunt, short fingernails. “That’s . . . courteous of him.”

“Courteous?” Mina’s normally husky voice grows to an uneven pitch. “An IOU, Nick. Whodoesthat? Even myThieoMarko, who webothknow might as well have every loan broker in New England on speed dial, has never left an IOU. And my mom’s brother isn’t one for classy escapes when it comes to owing people some Benjamins.”

Understatement of the year, right there.

“You reported the guy?”

“Yes.”

I stare at her and begin to feel the weight of dread seep into my limbs. She’s watching me like I carry all the answers to her questions, like I may be her very last hope, and if I’m being honest—I’m not in the right mindset to have someone else place their hope on my shoulders.

Not when I’ve been away from my company for months and I’m up to my elbows in menial admin work that Carl did but not to my specifications, and then there’s the wholeTMZthing to consider . . . and whatever fallout comes with the news of Savannah Rose dumpingbothsuitors on prime TV.

My phone vibrates on my desk, and I drag it close to see the sender.Dom.The pit of my stomach drops. If former NFL player Dominic DaSilva is texting me, then shit has officially hit the fan.

“Mina,” I drag out slowly, buying myself time, “it’s not that I don’t want to help.” My phone lights up with another text, this one also from Dom. Snatching it up from the desk, I drop it in the top drawer. I can only deal with one imploding catastrophe at a time. “But maybe, if you’re needing some cash to borrow, you could ask your dad?”

Yianni Pappas is a stick-up-the-ass prick, something I well remember from all those summer vacations years ago, but I’ve never known him to turn his daughters or son away. His children have always come first—his one, and only, redeemable feature.

Mina’s cheeks hollow on a rough exhale. “Óxi.”

Her accent isn’t smooth, more than a little rough around the edges, and I grunt out, in Greek, “What do you meanno? Aren’t you here to ask for money?” It’s not as though she can ask Effie or Sarah. They’re trying to have a baby, and even Sarah’s six-figure salary, working for an investment firm, hasn’t made the process any cheaper. “A loan so you can finish off the work that needs to be done?”

With a shake of her head, Mina lowers her gaze to the abandoned Dunkin’ Donuts coffee cup. She reaches for it with both hands, and,aw, shit, but there she goes.Tap.Tap-tap-tap.

“Ermione.” I growl her name, a four-syllable warning that has her bringing the cup up to her mouth and draining whatever’s left. A thought springs up, dangerous and tempting—a way to solve both of our problems. It’s risky. And there’s a good chance she’ll tell me no, but it’d be . . . perfect. For now, obviously. Just a temporary thing.

A way to keep the press off my back while I help her with whatever she needs.

Assuming what she needs doesn’t require my firstborn, a kidney, and my 401k, I’ll have the better end of the deal, but I doubt she’ll complain.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Her voice, weighted with suspicion, breaks through my thoughts, and I jerk my attention back to her face. She’s studying me the way a scientist might a new discovery, like she’s not all sure that I won’t leap from my cage and sprout horns and a set of fangs.

No horns in the foreseeable future. Just a fleeting distraction that’ll keep the paps off my back and give them a reason to look elsewhere—like set up a stakeout in front of Dom’s house, not mine.Sorry buddy, ol’ pal.

Coughing into a closed fist, I clear my throat. Then ask, “If you don’t need the money from me, then what do you need?”

Tap.

Tap-tap-tap.

The silver rings on her fingers glisten under the florescent lighting overhead, and then she says the words I never anticipated:

“Nick, I just needyou.”

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