Page 19 of Holden

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He chuckles. “I charge quite a bit more than that.”

I smile shyly. “Ah, the truth comes out. That’s really how you became a billionaire.”

He cups my face in his palm, and slides a thumb across my cheek. “Bravo, Miss Faber. Even the most diligent reporters have not uncovered that deep, dark secret.” He leans forward and whispers, “I’ll have to ask you to keep it to yourself.”

“Or…?” I grin mischievously, my stomach and head beginning to sort themselves.

“I’m sure I’ll think of an appropriate consequence,” he says, with a sexy wink.

It’s so damn easy to get caught up in the moment, to pretend that this banter is as routine as morning coffee. But in the back of my mind, I’m reminded of my mission, of Holden’s proposal, and I know I can’t procrastinate another minute.

“I’m ready to continue our discussion,” I say, with reluctance. The nausea in my gut has long since been replaced with a different kind of flutter, and staying on this couch, with Holden gingerly nursing me back to health, isn’t going to cure me—if anything, that particular condition will get worse. “If that’s alright with you.”

Holden’s jaw tenses. “It isn’t.”

Confused, I struggle to sit upright. “I’m fine. Honest.” I fold my hands in my lap and smile. “I appreciate your concern, but I promise, I’m well enough to keep going. No more puking threats.” I hold up two fingers. “Scouts honor.”

Clearly I’m babbling. I bite my lip to stop from saying more. Desperation may cause Holden to suspect my true intentions, and I’m far from ready to have that discussion. I need to keep my emotions in check—not just about the incident, but about Holden too—or I risk tipping my hand, and undoubtedly scaring him away.

“We can’t continue the interview, because your hour is up.”

My eyes widen. “You’re kidding, right?”

His expression tells me he isn’t.

A spike of anger rockets through me. “Not fair. I was in no condition to carry on our discussion.”

“I agree,” Holden says, coolly. “Which is why I encouraged you to rest.”

“Had I known the clock was ticking, I would have bypassed your concern.” Sarcasm oozing from between my lips, disguising my panic. How dare he? “You didn’t give me that option.”

He stands and smooths his hands over his slacks, fastens the top button of his suit jacket, and twists his tie into place. Methodical. Robotic. Cold. “One always has a choice, Miss Faber,” he says. Too stunned by the change in his demeanor, I’m unable to offer a response. “We had a deal,” he continues. “One hour.”

My lips curl in distaste. “No wiggle room in that iron clad agreement of yours, I see.” I keep my gaze trained on him, even though I’m fighting back tears. My bottom lip trembles. “You can’t show an ounce of mercy, not even this once?”

“Do you know why I’m successful, Miss Faber?”

My breath comes out in an exaggerated huff. “Because you charge a ridiculous amount for your thoughts.”

“Because I don’t negotiate.” He walks to the bar and pours himself a finger of whiskey. My gaze lingers on his ass, even now. And to my shock, I find myself craving a shot too. Anything to take off the edge off the white anger simmering just under my skin. He slugs back the liquid and slams the glass down on the countertop. “I’ve already allowed for lenience,” he says, silently reminding me of the fact that I agreed to this stupid proposal almost two hours past his deadline. “Now, I’ve upheld my end of the deal—one question, which you asked, and one hour, which we’ve already gone over.” His eyes bore into me. “It’s your move, Miss Faber.”

My mouth goes dry. “My move?”

He flicks his tongue over his bottom lip and damn if my traitorous pussy doesn’t clench with immediate response. I want to ignore it, focus on his unreasonable demands, my frustration, but my body has other ideas.

I lift my chin. “You cheated.”

He stares at me with undisguised hunger. “I am many things, but I assure you, a cheater is not one of them.”

I fold my arms across my chest in a lame act of indignant denial. “And if I refuse? Claim I’m too sick? Too distraught?”

His eyebrows slant. “You wouldn’t…”

“I might.” Some of my confidence slips. “This isn’t fair, Mr. Quinn. On principle, I won’t honor the agreement.”

“On principle?” Holden’s eyes flash, and his voice goes dangerously low. “The hell you won’t.”