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Dylan Sharpe does.
I laugh. “No, I don’t want you to do that,” I confess. “I kind of like the idea of a naughty rendezvous in askimpy outfit and sneaking out before the sun rises. It’s a bit wild for me, like a scene from a cheesy movie.”
He looks up at me, laughter teasing across his twitching lips. “Don’t ruin it for me. I’ll look better tonight than I will in the morning.”
At that, he does laugh. “Okay, if you want to go, I understand. I think I might actually get some sleep tonight, which I didn’t think I’d be able to do.”
“Why?” I ask.
A shadow passes through his eyes and he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter because you’ve worn me out.” He looks at me in wonder, like he’s not quite sure how I did that. “Let me show you to the bathroom so you can clean up.”
The bed groans as he helps me from the bed, leading me to a private bathroom that’s as luxurious as I expected it to be, with a huge shower the size of my bedroom, a long double vanity I give a side eye to, wondering which sink he uses, and a tub I could nearly swim in. He gives me privacy, and I clean up quickly.
Back in the bedroom, he holds out a long-sleeve T-shirt. “Does it ruin it if you wear my shirt under the trench coat? It’s chilly outside.”
I smirk, letting him pull the shirt over my head and settle it down my thighs. Every time his skin brushes mine, something races through me. He’s gotten dressed too, in a similar T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. I look between us, taking a mental snapshot of the moment.
My heart does that thing again, and I wish it wouldn’t.
He leads me back downstairs, out the front door, and to the elevator. As we descend, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small tag that looks a lot like an AirTag. “Here. For your keychain.”
“What is it?” I ask, and he points to the sensor panel on the elevator. “Really?”
“It won’t open my front door, so you can’t sneak in tosurprise me in the shower,” he jokes, tilting his head as if considering the merits of that idea, and I laugh softly. It’s not a front door key, but it’s a big deal, especially to a man like him who has to protect himself from virtually everyone and everything.
We get to the lobby, where I find a taxi waiting for me.
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Mr. Sharpe,” I say in my most professional voice, teasing him with a tilt of my head.
“Anytime, Miss Hill. I’ll see you Monday, then?” he says. He doesn’t feign appropriateness. His voice promises he’s going to see all of me on Monday, and I climb into the taxi, not knowing how I fell for him but afraid of what happens if it’s entirely one-sided.
CHAPTER 20
RAVEN
Stretching my arms over my head, I feel my back crackle in three places as both shoulder blades and my left elbow let go of tension I’ve been holding inside for three hours. It’s been a week since Mom’s visit, and if she could see me now, she really wouldn’t understand why I love what I do. But I absolutely do love it.
The markets were hectic this morning, with the news that a European billionaire got caught with a couple of bedmates, neither of which was her husband, causing a ripple effect on everything her company has a foothold in.
It’s amazing how ridiculous traders can be, as the arrangement has clearly been going on for at least a couple of weeks, if not months or years. And this particular billionaire isn’t even involved in the day-to-day operations of her family’s corporation, an entity that’s been steadily profitable for the past sixty years.
And yet, where and how this woman gets her personalitches scratched has certain people ready to declare that a five-generations-old conglomerate is going to go belly up.
But I was able to jump in, grabbing three hundred shares of the stock for my own portfolio on the dip and another five thousand for my professional account before watching in anticipation for the bounce, which came in mere hours when the family put out an official press release addressing the rumors. I submitted the sale on my professional account first, and then, mere moments later, on my personal account, losing only a quarter point in the difference. In both portfolios, I made a tidy profit, so I’m calling this morning a resounding win.
There’s a knock on my cubicle wall, and I look over to see Hector Williams, one of my new co-workers, sticking his head around the corner. “Hey, Heck. How was your morning? You rake it in with the European market?”
“Not too shabby,” Hector says, tossing his trademark locked hair from side to side. I’m actually not sure he’s able to talk without his head moving. “I’m getting the numbers down for tonight’s get-together. You’re coming, right?”
“Where is it again?” I ask.
“McGinty’s,” he answers, then gives me the breakdown that I already read in the company email. “We all get together at the end of every month, usually on a Friday like today. This will be a bigger one than most, because we’ll be welcoming the new hires, like you, Shanna, and Mitchell. Boss Man will come by and press palms, rally the troops, and then we're free to celebrate our wins and losses as we see fit.”
“That sounds like code for hazing,” I tease with a pointed look, and he shakes his head with a laugh. I didn’t think that was the case, but still, it’s good to confirm I’m not walking into a trap. Wait… “Who’s pressing palms?”
“Boss Man. Mr. Sharpe. Just for a minute, though,” he says, holding his hands up like people usually run away from the terrifying Dylan Sharpe. Luckily, Hector doesn’t know that I’m the type that runs to him, literally at the drop of a text. “Six thirty? I’ll put you down?” he asks, pointing at his phone where it seems he’s keeping a running tally of attendees.
I nod. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
