Page 89 of Due Diligence

“Be honest with me.” I delivered the words firmly, hoping to get a real response from her—not another cagey,this-is-as-much-as-you’ll-ever-get-so-back-the-fuck-off, typical Cass response. “You really don’t see yourself being in a relationship with me? Sex is the only thing that you want?”

She looked to the side and tightened her brow. Her eyes remained fixed there, away from my gaze. She took a few seconds before she looked at my face again. “This question is a trap.”

“It’s just a question.”

“Do you want to be with me?” she responded. Her tone was clearly challenging me, daring me to lay all my cards on the table. “Like, actually with me?”

I paused. Now it was my turn to wade in the silence.

“It’s not so easy, is it?” Cass went on. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“I should be able to answer it, but it’s complicated. I think about you constantly. I like the way you have no qualms about putting me in my place. I love being myself with you. And for the sake of full candor, I’ve never had a better fuck in my life. But I can tell you don’t feel the same way about me, and I would be lying if I said it wasn’t hard for me.”

“I don’t know why,” she said. She tugged the covers up to wrap them over her chest. “If you tried, you could have any woman you want.”

“But I want you.”

“I’m just…” Cass rolled to the side. She adjusted on her back and fixed her attention on the ceiling. “I’m complicated. Messy.”

“Thing is, that’s my specialty.”

My response was enough to draw out a glimmer of a smile from her, but it wasn’t enough to persuade her. “I know. But I was never allowed to be messy before. I don’t think I’m ready to give that up.”

“Then don’t.”

“I’m not going to risk hurting you though. I wouldn’t forgive myself. I like you, Marcus.” She turned towards me again and she ran her hand along my cheek. “I like how you’re honestly the sweetest guy I’ve ever met, but you say the dirtiest things.”

“It’s always the quiet ones,” I deadpanned. “And thank you. I spend a lot of time thinking up things to say to you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I said, even though her apology meant a lot to me. “I knew what I was getting myself into.”

That was true. I did know what I was getting into when I approached her at Shelf Atlas. I knew she looked like sex, and that surely wasn’t a coincidence. Cass just had that thing—that ineffable, indescribable thing. There was an allure about her that made her desirable and dangerous all at once. She was the kind of woman people would stare at and conclude,She’s going to destroy him one day.

That was fine with me though. It was a risk I was willing to take. Composed and controlled and orderly—that was me, sure. But that didn’t mean I was afraid to take risks. My whole career had been built on risks—calculated, strategic risks that had ultimately netted me enough money to make my life more thancomfortable for the rest of my days.Of courseI would risk hurt and heartache if that’s what it took.

She was worth it to me.

Once again, she reached over and rested her hand on my bare abdomen. “So, what should we do? Do we just stop where we are, or…”

Immediately, my body and brain wanted to screamNO. I looked down at her. “Tell me your perfect scenario, and I’ll tell you mine. But you have to go first, Cass.”

“Okay,” she mused. “We keep having sex, but you can sleep with whoever you want and I can sleep with whoever I want.”

“Like friends with benefits.”

She nodded.

That was a minor blow to my ego, but I was fine with the outcome. I could still be with her this way. And this option opened the door for her to eventually realize we were supposed to be together.

And for the record, I firmly believed it—we were supposed to be together.

So I nodded as well and said, “I can handle that.”

“Really?” she pushed, the surprise evident in her tone. “You’re not even going to share your perfect scenario with me?”

“You don’t actually want to know.” And I was certain. There was no way she wanted to hear me tell her I wanted to be her boyfriend and fuck her senseless every single night, whispering revoltingly filthy things to her while I made her come on my cock. And there was no way she wanted to hear about the breakfasts I would cook her in the morning, and how we would walk Frank together while we drank coffee from our matching Yeti mugs. And there was definitely no way she would want to hear me say I would be perfectly content to fuck her—and only her—until we died in sixty years.

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