Page 103 of Black Sheep

“Everything I say is my professional opinion,” she quips. But her eyes are narrowed and fixed on the screen. “Play it again.”

My chest tightens. “Is that necessary?”

“Yes, it’s necessary.” She holds out her hand for the remote. “But you don’t need to be here. I think you’ve reached your permanent viewing quota.”

Something about that makes my stomach roll in rejection. “No, I haven’t—”

“You’ve tortured yourself enough for something you didn’t do. I’m here. Let me help. Besides, I work better alone. Especially when there’s all this”—she waves a hand over my body—“distraction in my way. Go alpha over your woman. I’ll let myself out.”

I stare at her, wondering if I’ve regressed into one of the handful of hallucinations I had when I dallied in coke. But almost without my will, my hand lifts and offers her the remote.

She nods at me, her smile infinitely kind. “Go, Axel.”

I go.

“Oh, one more thing.”

I stop with my hand on the door. “Yeah?”

“Fire Malone. Today. He’s a drunk and a liability.”

A twisted smile tugs my lips. “I knew that. But…”

Her eyes soften even more. “You were desperate. I understand how that works. But seriously, he’s been knocking on doors loud enough to wake the dead. If you want to know about Taranahar, I’ll get it for you.”

I take in the soccer godmother in front of me and shake my head. “Will I find you on any…database?”

She laughs softly, understanding my meaning. “No, son. Same as I won’t find you listed under that extra-special covert black ops program attached to a certain colonel’s unit.”

I nod and leave the room. I shouldn’t feel lighter. No matter what she finds, I’m still responsible for ending those two lives. But the open, festering wound of not knowing will be over. I can finally make proper amends. And that eases the crushing weight I believed I would live under for the rest of my life.

On impulse, I hit the button for the roof when I enter the elevator. The need to see Cleo, right now, is a searing hunger inside me.

A few special guests are having drinks at the bar, others admiring the view from the glass-walled terrace. I see her immediately. Her hair dazzles in the sunshine, the curve of her cheek and chin pinched with laughter from whatever joke B is telling.

I pause and drink her in. I pause and entertain with audacity the idea that things could be salvaged, in some way, between us. That I haven’t committed to loving a woman who may never love me back.

She flicks her hair over one shoulder then leans forward to take a bite of food. Her every movement is graceful, beautifully choreographed in a bundle of everything I desire.

Perhaps the power of my thoughts transmits to her. She can’t possibly see me from her seat. But still her head swings around. Her blue gaze finds me. Over the seats and through twisted miniature palm trees, she finds me.

Downstairs, her eyes held questions first and welcome second. Now, there’s a smile first. A wide, welcoming smile that radiates through me.

I stride through the seats, nodding here and there but not stopping to chat. Cleo tracks me the whole time, and when I stop next to her, her hand flutters up to mine. I grab it before she can change her mind. I take the seat next to her and kiss her knuckles.

“You done with your meeting?” She repeats the question she asked at the nightclub.

“I’m done with my meeting.”

A pulse of erotic heat arcs between us. I turn her hand over, kiss her palm. Her breath catches softly.

“Thanks, Axel. Way to make me feel like a third wheel at my own lunch break,” B grumbles.

I rest our linked hands on my thigh and glance at B. The snark is fully operational, but the corners of her mouth are pinched and her gaze is watchful.

Definitely something going on there. But our lines are clear and I’m not about to overstep.

“I’m not staying,” I say reluctantly. “I have calls to make, a…long-term employee to fire.”

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