Page 85 of The Plus One Contract

Richard’s gaze lingers for half a second, and then he says, “You have a deal.”

Those four words slam into me like a shockwave. Julian laughs while Nathan’s posture loosens a fraction. It's a quiet release of tension I sense through the hand still at my back.

“Looking forward to working with you,” Nathan says, his tone cool but edged with relief.

Crane turns his stare on me, and I nearly choke on the intensity. “You gentlemen,” he muses, “owe her. She sold me your deal.”

I forget how to breathe.

Me?

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Crane doesn’t need an answer. He gives me a small, firm nod, then disappears back into the hotel.

Julian barks out a joyous laugh. He slings an arm around me and, before I realize it, rips me from Nathan’s arms to spin me in a quick circle.

“Oh my God!” I shriek, clutching his shoulders as he lifts me off the ground.

He sets me down, grinning like a madman. “I’m keeping you,” he declares, as if I’m some magical good-luck charm.

I stumble, still breathless. “Okay, okay,” I laugh. “You’re welcome.”

“Want a new job?” he asks, only half-joking.

I blink. “That’s not really my…I mean, I’m happy where I am.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Nathan interjects. “You looked pretty comfortable in there.”

My heart stutters.

For a second, the entire world narrows to Nathan’s voice, the way it wraps around me. I remember the meltdown at his mother’s house and the boyish ease he carried at the diner, but he’s neither of those men right now. He’s the confident CEO, fresh off a victory.

Julian clears his throat. “Well, this has been fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Nathan arches a brow. “That’s a short list.”

Julian cackles, turning to me. “Goodnight, Sienna.”

A friendly wink, and he’s gone, phone already in hand, probably working again.

A valet steps forward to hand Nathan his car keys, receiving a crisp tip in return.

Effortlessly, Nathan turns and opens the passenger door, offering his hand to help me in. Part of me wants to protest that I don’t need it, but I accept it anyway.

The second he brushes his thumb over the back of my hand—so fleeting it might be imagined—a spike of heat rushes through me. I bite my lip, trying to stifle the swirl of sensations flooding my veins.

God. If we keep feeding this tension, there won’t be a line left between real and fake.

He drives in silence for the first few minutes, navigating the city streets with smooth efficiency. The hush inside the SUV feels thick.

“You’re incredible,” he says suddenly, catching me off guard. My pulse leaps, and I turn to him, swallowing. “You know that, right?” He keeps his focus on the road, but there’s an intensity in his voice. Something that makes my heart squeeze.

I force a wry smile. “That’s dramatic.”

“I’m serious, Sienna.”

I study his profile—the strong line of his jaw, the faint tension that never fully leaves his features. The memory of him yesterday with that haunted exhaustion in his eyes surfaces unbidden. But here he is, giving me credit I’m not sure I deserve.

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