Page 7 of High-Rise Heat

I grab the bottle to refill my cup, deliberately not mentioning the conversation I had with Ilsa this morning or the incredible view.

“That’s because she’s attracted to you.”

“Excuse me?” I look at Dom, whose expression is dead serious. I frown at him. “That’s not true. You’re deflecting now. I see the way she looks at you.”

“Oh no, trust me,” Dom reaches over and takes the whiskey bottle from me, pouring himself a generous glass. “I’ve known Ilsa a long time. She sees me as a friend. Like a brother. She opens up to me because I’m not a threat. Our connection, as you call it, isn’tthat kindof connection. I’ve seen her around men she’s attracted to. She does exactly what she’s doing right now. She clams up, ignores them, goes and sits next to the pool and pretends they don’t exist. If you weren’t here right now, we’d be eating take-out and chatting business strategy, but instead she’s sitting over there all by herself with her guard up.”

“You’re reading too much into this,” I say, but he shakes his head and throws back another swig.

“Trust me, Isaac. I know her. She’s acting like this because she wants …” He doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he looks into his glass somberly, and my imagination can’t help but play out the possibility: me lying on one of those lounge chairs with Ilsa straddling me, the sun lighting her from behind as my hands clutch her pumping hips.

“Look, man,” I take another sip, moving my attention away from the terrace. “Maybe she’s got a mild attraction, but it doesn’t matter.You’reclearly into her, so I won’t—”

“Why not?” Dom puts his empty glass onto the countertop with a clank, the buzz of alcohol softening his eyes. “Seriously.” He looks at me. “I’m her boss. The friend. Her eyes have a whole different sparkle when she looks at you. Sure, I get the late-night strategy sessions, and philosophical conversations, but you, my friend—you can get the conversations that don’t require talking.”

“Dom,” I shake my head at him, grabbing his glass and refilling it. “I can’t. I mean, yes, she’s beautiful.” I slide the glass to him. “But come on, you’re clearly—”

“—notthe guy she’s into.” Dom looks at me hard, and I don’t know why he’s pushing this. “I said it once, I’ll say it again. I’m her boss. And honestly, it’s for the best. Tell me you’re not into her. You can’t, right? The two of you—”

“Dom, you’re my friend!” I say, eyeing his third drink.

“Don’t let me stand in your way,” he insists. “Trust me, she’s into you. I can tell. She gets the same way when we’re around powerful men during our deals. Flirty then quiet. Usually it helps us close. It clouds their minds and makes them think she might …” He shrugs, drinking again.

“But she doesn’t. Does she?”

“No, not with them. Of course not.”

I lift my glass. “Exactly, so maybe it’s an act.”

“It’s not. She just knows when she shouldn’t mix business and pleasure.”

I watch him carefully. His eyes are hard and I don’t know why he’s pushing this so much, except maybe he reallyisn’tinto her. Maybe he means what he says about business and pleasure, and knows the two of them together would ruin everything.

“So, you’re saying …” I start. “I’mnot business, so …”

“Exactly,” Dom says definitively, looking out at Ilsa and avoiding my gaze. That wasn’t exactly permission. In fact, it sounds like the opposite. “I adore her,” he says honestly. “And if you hurt her, I’ll pound your face in.” He laughs at his big-brother act. “But she’s an adult. You’re both adults, and …” He drinks again, the flush of a buzz running up his neck. “I’m not going to stand in your way.”

“But youlikeher!”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

His drunk eyes catch mine and that comment stings. It’s not entirely true, of course. Dom could have any girl—in college and now. He just doesn’t believe it. And, I never took any girl from him. Ever. Though I suppose he believes my presence alone was the problem, and they chose me over him, which is why his insistence that I make a move on Ilsa is … weird.

“You’re my friend,” I assert.

“And she’s my business partner,” he replies. “We won’t. Ever. So …”

“People have business flings all the time.”

“Yeah? And how does that turn out? How many of the women that you’ve done business with—and fucked—do youstilldo any business with?”

“None.”

“Precisely. Me and Ilsa …” He waves his hand back and forth, gripping his glass, definitely drunk now. “That would mess everything up.”

“Are you seriously standing there and giving me a free pass?” I face him, because if he’s going to say shit like this out loud, I’m going to call him on it. “You’re saying if I want to pursue her—which I will, and youknowI fucking will—you’re giving me your blessing? One hundred percent, no strings attached?”

He looks at me hard. “She already wants you.”

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