Page 25 of Promise Me Forever

“You didwhat?”

“I told Nathan. I had to. This goes beyond you and me. It involves the firm. I needed him to know and to get his opinion.”

“Right. And did you tell Linda from HR as well?”

“Christ, no. I’d rather pour acid on my dick than talk to her about my sex life.”

I burst out laughing at the intensity in his voice, and it breaks the tension between us. “Yeah, I know what you mean. And of course you told Nathan. He’s your brother and your colleague. I just… I suppose I’m embarrassed. It doesn’t feel great, knowing the bosses are discussing my sex life.”

He places his coffee cup on his desk, his throat working as he swallows. “I assure you that we didn’t discuss any of the intimate details.”

Heat races up my chest and neck as I recall those details… vividly. “I just don’t want anyone thinking I’m some kind of”—I lower my voice to a whisper—“slut.”

He shakes his head. “For a start, that’s a terrible word for someone who is simply pursuing her sexual desires, and secondly, neither Nathan nor I would ever think of a woman that way. What happened between you and me doesn’t make either of us see you like that. Nathan does not think any less highly of you than he did when he hired you. I assure you.”

“What about you, though? Does he think less highly of you now?” I say, risking a joke. His eyes flash, and for a second I think I’ve gone too far.

He shrugs and says, “Well, he already knows I’m a slut. Always have been, always will be. But that’s none of your business, in exactly the same way that what you do in your private life is none of mine. Can we at least agree on that?”

I nod firmly. “Yes. Definitely,” I say, but I suspect I’m lying. Truthfully, I hate the thought of him being a slut with anybody but me, but that is so many layers of crazy that all I can do with it is pack it away and ignore it.

“Good. I want this to work. From what I’ve seen so far, you’re good at this job, and I definitely need the help. I don’t want you to worry about being fired, because that’s not going to happen. I’m not quite at that level of asshole, whatever you might think of me.”

I meet his eyes, and my core clenches hard at what I see there. So intense. So brooding. So… hungry?

“I don’t think you’re an asshole, Mr. James. Like you said, it was a shock. It feels weird that you know so much about me—not just the, um, the bedroom stuff—but about my life. I told you things I probably wouldn’t have told my boss, and I guess that makes me feel vulnerable.”

He nods. “I understand. That goes both ways. I opened up to you too. We were both operating on the basis that we’d never see each other again. That didn’t work out so well.”

“It didn’t. Fate was against us.”

“Fate,” he says, leaning back in his chair, his expression distant, “can be an absolute bitch. Now, could I ask you to call Graham Swanson? I need to rearrange tomorrow’s meeting with him.”

I nod, eager to get the conversation back on a professional footing. I feel much more comfortable there, and maybe I’ll stopimagining him bending me over his desk and telling me what a good girl I am.

Chapter

Twelve

DRAKE

Imeet Elijah for drinks at his favorite spot, an old-fashioned pub in the East Village. At least he claims it’s his favorite spot, but as I look around at the rough-and-ready clientele and actual sawdust on the floor, I wonder if he’s screwing with me. He knows I like the top-shelf life, and this may well be his way of jerking me around. Elijah is the oldest of us James brothers, so he’s got the most experience yanking our chains.

He turns up twenty minutes late and waves at me from the bar as he grabs drinks. When he joins me, he’s carrying two pints of Guinness and two surprisingly good-smelling glasses of whiskey. I pick up the chipped lowball and inhale.

“Nice, right?” He looks delighted with himself. “I know it looks like shit in here, but the Irish know their booze. That’s top-quality Bushmills right there. Slainte!”

He raises his glass in a toast and downs it in one. “You okay, brother?” I ask, feeling a whisper of concern.

“Sure I am. Just been a heck of a day. Started with a giant fight with Amber over some bullshit charity dinner she wants me to host.”

“What’s the cause?”

He rolls his eyes and starts on the Guinness. I’ve never been a huge fan of the black stuff, but I’m told it’s an acquired taste. It leaves a little cream mustache on Elijah’s upper lip, which I’m definitely not going to tell him about.

“Retired clowns.”

“What now?” I say, feeling a rumble of laughter build in my stomach.

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