Page 40 of A Game of Deception
“Didn’t seem to bother you last night,” she countered.
I glared at her. “That was different. That was private.”
“And this would be public. Neutral ground. Just two colleagues attending a cultural event in the name of charity.” She spread her hands, the picture of innocence. “What could be more appropriate?”
I knew what she was doing. She was poking at my defenses, testing the story I’d constructed to protect myself from the truth that last night hadn’t resolved a single thing. If anything, it had only deepened the connection between Xander and me, made it more immediate, more dangerous.
But I couldn’t admit that. Not to her, and certainly not to myself.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll invite him. But only because I know you won’t let this go if I don’t.”
Chloe’s triumphant smile was insufferable. “Perfect! And wear that backless black dress…the one that makes your ass look spectacular.”
“I hate you,” I muttered.
She blew me a kiss. “Love you too, T. Now, about the fire dancers...”
Back at my apartment,I paced the living room, phone in hand, trying to compose a text to Xander that sounded casual, yet professional.
Me:McCrae, I’m attending an art opening tomorrow evening at Galleria Durand in Wynwood. The artist is a friend of mine. Some of the team sponsors will be there. Your presence would be appreciated by the board. 7 PM.
I read it over three times, making sure it struck the right tone—cool, detached, focused on the work-related connection rather than the personal one. Satisfied, I hit send before I could overthink it.
His response came almost immediately.
Xander:Sounds lovely, Dr. Swanson. Should I bring a plus one?
The question made my stomach clench with an emotion I refused to name. The thought of Xander bringing someone else—standing beside some beautiful woman, his hand on her lower back, whispering in her ear the way he’d whispered in mine—made me want to throw my phone across the room.
Me:Not necessary.
Xander:Then it’s a date. See you at 7.
I stared at the word “date,” my heart racing. This wasn’t a date. It was a professional obligation. A test of my composure. Nothing more.
I was typing a reply back—using several curse words—when my phone rang with an unknown number. Frowning, I answered.
“Dr. Swanson speaking.”
“Dr. Swanson.” The voice was male, vaguely familiar. “This is Leo Martin.”
I froze. Xander’s loyal assistant.
Shit.
“Mr. Martin,” I said, my voice impressively steady. “What can I do for you?”
There was a pause, as if he was choosing his words carefully. “I was hoping we could meet. To discuss... a matter of mutual concern.”
The vague phrasing set alarm bells ringing in my head. Was this about last night? Had Xander sent his assistant to warn me off? To threaten me with consequences if I didn’t keep my distance?
“I’m not sure what we would have to discuss,” I said coolly.
“It’s about Xander,” Leo said, his voice dropping. “I need to talk to you. About him. And about what happened twelve years ago.”
The reference sent ice through my veins. What did Leo know? How much had Xander told him?
“I’m quite busy today, Mr. Martin?—”
