Page 16 of The Carver

“I’m not the kind of guy that says never. I’m not looking to get married and have kids, but if I happened to meet a woman I can’t live without, damn right, I’m making her my wife. If she wants to do the kid thing, fine. I’m not going to take that away from her if it’s important to her.”

“In that scenario, would you leave your line of work?”

“No.”

“What if she wanted you to?”

“She would never do that.” His fingers stopped brushing me once the conversation shifted. “She wouldn’t be my wife if she did. I wouldn’t marry a woman unless she accepted all of me, exactly as I am, and trusted me to protect her.”

He was deeper and more complex than I’d originally thought, but he was also stubborn and set in his ways. He was like a mountain in that regard. Not even an earthquake would change his position. I didn’t want to live in this dangerous world with him, but I didn’t want to live in a safe world without him more. “Is that normal? For men like you to have families?”

“It’s more than normal—it’s common. You think these guys are pushing drugs on the street and moving arms because they want to sit on a pile of money by themselves? They do it because they have a family like everyone else. Want to send their kids to the best schools, leave an estate that will take care of their descendants for generations to come. The line of work isquestionable, but the quality of the men behind it is not. There are exceptions to that, obviously, but a lot of men just want to support their families, buy their wife a diamond necklace and maybe one or two for their mistress.”

“Because quality men always have mistresses.”

“Some of them do, but most of them don’t,” he said. “I may personally disagree with it, but I’m not one to judge.”

I continued to graze his chest with my fingers, marveling at the strength underneath his warm skin. “So, when does the job end? When does a man like you retire?”

“I’ll know when the time comes.”

“You obviously don’t need any money, so you must enjoy it.” I wasn’t really asking him anything, talking aloud to myself, mostly. It must be the adrenaline, the power, the lifestyle. Bastien didn’t seem like the kind of man that could work for someone else. I couldn’t see him being a police chief or something along those lines either. He was one of a kind.

My shoulder felt stiff from being propped up during the conversation, so I lay back down and rested on the pillow. “I don’t want to go to work tomorrow.”

“Then don’t go.”

“I can’t bail. I just got the job.”

“You can’t get fired, so do whatever you want.”

“Well, I like my boss and don’t want to let him down. And it was nice of you to get me that job—and let me keep it.” Let me keep it after I’d left him in that restaurant. “Blowing it off is a shitty way to show my gratitude.”

“You can show your gratitude in other ways.” He moved into me under the sheets, pressing his chest against my back as he hooked his arm around my waist and pulled me in tight like I was drifting away. He pressed his face into my hair, and he went still, like he suddenly felt tired enough to fall asleep.

I lay there and felt his chest rise and fall against my back, felt his breaths fall on the back of my neck. Through the crack in the doors, I could tell there was a hint of dawn in the sky, faint but distinct.

I had to wake up in just an hour or two and leave this cozy bed and the sexy man who slept in it—the last thing I wanted to do.

My boss was Robert, a nice guy who wore a different-colored suit to work every day. His desk had a few pictures of his husband and their kids. He liked his coffee black, made small talk but not too much of it, and sent me an email every morning with the tasks he wanted me to complete.

It was way easier than being a bartender.

There were other investment guys in the office too, loud and obnoxious. If I ran into them in the hallway, they chatted with me far longer than they should. After office meetings, they would invite me to lunch, which I always declined. I suspected they had no idea who owned this company and the fact that I was fucking him.

I’d never say anything to Bastien, though, because I still wasn’t sure if he would walk in there and kill them all.

I was dead tired with bags under my eyes, but I pushed through the day. I’d only gotten paid once so far, and it was substantially more than I had been making before. For the first time since I’d left Adrien, I actually had money in my account I didn’t have to use.

So, I showed up, because I needed this job.

I had access to a lot of accounts to do my job, and it was abundantly clear on my first day that there were a lot of rich people in Paris. And when I say rich, I didn’t mean millionaire-rich, but billionaire-rich. Whenever clients would come into the office to meet with Robert or the other investment suits, I knew they were somebody.

It was almost the end of the day, and I kept glancing at the time in the corner of my computer screen, desperate to go home and take a nap. A shower would be nice too because I hadn’t had the chance to do so after I’d left Bastien’s. My makeup was thrown on in a rush and my hairstyle was a day old, so I didn’t look my best. I would be more self-conscious about it if I weren’t so fucking tired.

I just wanted to go home.

I was at my desk when I heard a familiar voice outside my office. A voice I’d recognize anywhere because I heard it every night in my dreams. “Half in the Caymans and the other half in Panama. I sent the transaction number to you.”

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