Page 43 of No Strings Christmas

‘Of course it matters.’

I fix him with a level stare. ‘You know what I’ve already been offered. I presume you’re offering more, to make it attractive, without offering so much more as to make you foolish.’

He compresses his lips, obviously getting pissed off, and I’m glad about that—because I want to fight with him. I’m angry, and fighting feels like the best way to deal with that emotion. I want him to be angry too.

‘And on what terms?’ he says flatly. ‘Over what period of time, how much cash now, what control do I want of which assets in which markets, what can I bring to the table other than liquid cash? What components of my multi-media empire would I be able to put at your disposal? Which talents—actors, financial advisors, in-house lawyers—could we make available to you?’

I drop my gaze to the kitchen bench because he’s right—there are many things beyond cash that require consideration, and yet I’m just too steamed up to think straight.

‘Don’t you get it? I wouldn’t ever think you’d done this because it’s a good investment. You’re sleeping with me and now you’re trying to—use your considerable wealth to help me—and I have spent my adult life being independent from that, and I have run so hard from any kind of relationship that could be translated as a quid pro quo. I am never going to sell my business to a man who might think that means I owe him something.’

‘For fuck’s sake!’ His eyes show fury, and I know I’ve gone too far, but, God, it felt good. ‘How dare you?’

I stick to my guns. ‘You think you won’t want to sleep with me again, maybe in a year’s time? That the fact you’re propping me up with over a hundred million dollars might not make me feel beholden to you?’

‘I think that if we have sex in a year’s time it will be because you want me as much then as you do now.’

‘I don’t want that!’ I grind my teeth together, my body shaking, my emotions rioting. ‘I don’t want to see you again after Christmas. That’s the only reason this works—the boundaries we’ve put in place. I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t be angry about this. I can’t believe you thought I might actually see this as good news.’

‘You’re absolutely crazy not to,’ he snaps, slamming his palm down on the bench then putting his hands on his hips, making a visible effort to get himself under control.

‘Oh, well, thank you for telling me how I should feel,’ I snap back, turning away from him and moving to the door.

A second later he’s right behind me, his fingers curling around my wrist, slowing me down. ‘Jessica.’ His voice is calm but loaded with reproach.

That’s even worse. I wish he’d release his temper. Snap at me. I want to claw him. I have no idea what’s made me feel this way but I’m angrier than I’ve been in ages.

‘You’re overreacting.’

I flinch. It’s exactly the kind of thing my father says to my mother. I’ve heard him gaslight her my whole life and I won’t have it happen to me. Especially not by some guy who’s meant to just be a bit of fun. I suck in a deep breath, preparing my tirade, but Zach presses a finger to my chin, lifting my face to his, and I see then that he’s not calm, only his voice is. His eyes are glittering with purpose and his face is tight with the effort of his control.

‘Business is business and I know a great investment when I see one. Pleasure is separate.’

‘You can’t just draw a line in the sand—’

‘I can.’ He presses a kiss to my lips, a kiss that halts every emotion rioting through me and tosses them around, putting new ones in their place. ‘I can,’ he assures me again, kissing me longer, slower, but I shake my head, feeling as if I need to fight this with all that I am, and again, nothing about that makes sense but I’m drowning all of a sudden.

I don’t know if he’s a lifeline I need or a current from which I must swim but my body has taken over and I’m kissing him back, but so angrily, so hard, my hands at his chest pushing and pulling, ripping his shirt from his pants, desperate for something that makes sense, that I can make sense of.

‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this,’ I say, pushing his chest, but I’m right behind him, kissing him, and he’s lifting me, wrapping my legs around his waist, carrying me through the apartment.

‘I just fucking did.’ He drops me down on the bed, his eyes challenging me, as if to say, What else you got?

‘After you’ve already had a finance firm put together a two-hundred-page buy-in proposal.’

He finishes the job of removing his shirt, tossing it and the Christmas tie hard to the ground at his feet.

‘That’s standard goddamned practice for any asset I’m interested in acquiring.’

Anger floods my veins.

‘I’m not a fucking asset.’

A frown briefly mars his face and I realise I’ve made a tactical error. I’ve shown too much of my hand, way too much of my neuroses and weaknesses.

‘Of course you’re not an asset, Jessica. You’re a woman. But your business is very much a piece of commercial value.’

I glare at him, my breathing rushed. ‘It’s my business.’

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