Page 30 of My Enemy, My Obsession

He glances at his watch and says, “It’s not really day anymore. It’s seven o’clock.”

I’m surprised, but too drunk to try and remember what I did with the time. “Oh,” I say, because utter brilliance is all I know how to spewwith this man.

“I don’t want you to walk away, Sofia,” he says softly. “Your work is exceptional, or you wouldn’t be here right now, nor would you have that offer sitting in front of you.”

“My work is brilliant,” I repeat, a bit shell-shocked by the compliment. “Do you mean that?”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

I swallow hard. “That’s good.”

His brows lift. “That’s—good?”

“Of course, I want to hear my work is brilliant,” I say, but there’s a part of me that wants so much more from this man, and I fear I’m unable to see him or this opportunity clearly for it.

He studies me with a keen stare, reading me better than I’ve ever read myself. Desperate for an excuse to cut my stare, I lift my drink and sip. More buzz in my brain when he has my body buzzing already is the last thing I need.

“For some reason, that’s not what you wanted to hear from me,” he says, proving he is as direct as he’s declared himself to be.

“It is what I wanted to hear,” I assure him, and it’s true. I very much want him to admire my work. “I consider your praise a high compliment, and not just because of who you are on the board. Because you made your high standards clear to me.”

“And I’m glad you feel that way, but you wanted to hear something else from me.”

My lips part and then flatten, nerves zigging and zagging in my belly. “I’m very confused right now,” I say, pressing my hand to my face, feeling lightheaded and out of sorts as I murmur, “I need food.”

“Done,” he says, and when I glance up again, I find him flagging a waiter, an older man with gray hair and kind eyes. “What can I get you two?” he asks, looking between us.

“I don’t suppose I could score a good mac ‘n’ cheese?” I query.

The waiter grins. “You absolutely can score the best mac ‘n’ cheese of your life.”

I’m delighted, and I say as much, pleased when Ethan orders food for himself, a burger and fries, which makes him seem so normal and apparently still pairs well with Macallan 25. I actually laugh as the waiter walks away and he smiles at me, a charming, gorgeous smile, and for the briefest of time, the tension slides away.

“Why are you laughing?”

“No caviar?” I tease.

“Am I that damn pretentious?”

“No, but you’re rich and very, very arrogant,” I dare, when I probably should not be saying that to a man who could be my new boss.

“I won’t deny either of those things, but I hold myself to a high enough standard not to allow myself to look foolish. And I don’t let my money own me.”

I tilt my head. “Own you? How would your money own you?”

“Money doesn’t make me a better person than anyone else. I never forget that.”

“Just a savvier businessperson?” I counter, a pinch in my chest over the way he talked to my father.

He leans in closer. “I was honest with your father, Sofia. I wasn’t a dick. I was—”

“Brutally honest?”

“Yes,” he confirms, easing back in his seat. “What other way is there to deliver that kind of information? And I didn’t read your father as someone who would want to be coddled.”

“No,” I agree. “He’s not.”

“He’s not angry at me. He’s angry at his situation.”

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