Page 30 of Crossing Lines

“You do that,” I say, trying to act unaffected, but I’m doing a shit job at it. I need to get back to the pool house ASAP and cool down, or else I may end up doing something I’ll regret, like accidentally fall on his dick. “Let me know if you need a hand.”

I spin around and force myself to walk slowly, leisurely, back to the pool house. The entire way, I feel Evren’s gaze burn into my skin.

What the hell am I doing playing with fire and flirting with Evren?

And why is it so much fun?

Chapter 8

Evren

Zeki has news and refuses to tell me what it is over the phone. Instead, he proposed we meet at a new gastro pub because he apparently follows the chef on social media and is convinced she’s an up-and-comer. The metal tables, exposed air ducts, and massive light bulbs above each table give off an industrial feel.

I arrive five minutes early, and Zeki’s already here. I glance at my watch, confirming the time, and I’m shocked at what I find. He’s the type of person who would arrive a day late to a meeting and insist he’s still on time. But apparently, he’s been here long enough to have ordered two beers for us since they’re already on the table.

“Don’t start,” he grumbles and slides one of the beers toward me when I sit down across from him.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. Your look said it all.”

“How are you?” I ask, not wanting to get into it with him.

“Good. There was a huge party last night in New York City. Didn’t get back here until noon.”

“How long do you plan to keep partying like this?” I ask, not able to help myself. He regularly wastes away his days by sleeping off a hangover and doesn’t apply himself. It’s frustrating that he can’t get his act together. He’s almost thirty and can’t continue to do this forever. It also doesn’t help that his partying is what put him on Mert’s radar in the first place, and Mert got the dirt he needed to make the blackmail stick.

“Why does it bother you so much?”

“Because you’re smart and wasting your life away, spending time with people who don’t even care about you.” People who gave Mert proof of Zeki’s mistake, not caring about the ramifications. “What’s the point?”

“Not everyone can be a superstar like you,” he says bitterly.

A superstar? That’s the last word I’d use to describe myself. Stubborn and results-oriented, maybe. But I got lucky with my previous company. Sure, I worked hard and had no social life, but I wasn’t expecting it to achieve the kind of success it did. That’s why this time around is different, holding more meaning.

“I’m not a superstar,” I say.

“You are. Everything you touch turns to gold. But that’s not me.”

“And that’s perfectly fine. I wouldn’t wantyou to be like me with work as my best friend and a family I barely see.”

“Then why do you keep pushing me to stop what I like doing?” he asks.

“Because I want you to live up to your potential, to become the person I know you can be.”

“That’s somethingbabawould say, but news flash, you aren’t my father.”

I sigh. “I’m not trying to be yourbaba?—”

“You are,” he insists, more serious than I’ve ever seen him. “You ride my ass every time I see you. I’m never doing what you think is acceptable, and I’m tired of it.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, just to defuse the building tension between us.

“Are you?” Zeki huffs. “Because we have the same conversation every time we see each other, and nothing changes. So, are you really sorry or just sorry I called you out on it yet again?”

Shit. He’s right. We do argue about this regularly, and it never gets better. No matter what I say, it falls on deaf ears. But I never stopped to think that maybe I’m the problem. I want so desperately for him to fulfill his potential…but for what? Who gives me the right to judge if he’s achieving it or not?

I blow out a long breath. “You’re right.”

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