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I look up again to find Max is still watching me. It causes my pulse to flutter and my lower belly to clench. I should be nervous having such a powerful man staring me down. One who could be involved in criminal activity, no less. Yet he’s attractive in a way I can’t explain. It’s not merely his tall, dark, blue-eyed looks. Or the fact he’s not a flirtatious playboy like so many of the men here. It’s that broody, private, wildly intelligent persona. It only makes me want him more. Wondering how he’d be in bed. Hot, controlling alpha male or giving, kind, and passionate?

Good grief. I almost lifted a member’s highball glass to my face to cool down the flush enveloping me. What is it about this man that lights my body on fire like no one else has? And the possible effect on my heart could be even more dangerous. Any other rational woman who’s lived through what I have would simply walk away.

Hell with that, she’d run.

But I’m starting to realize, with an uncomfortable clarity, that whatever choice I make, I need to keep this professional. As much as I want it, allowing anything physical with this man is a slippery slope. One that could backfire. Because although he sounds like a cyberwarfare Robin Hood, from everything I’ve learned about Max Wilde and women, he’s not hardwired to watch over their hearts. And I’ve already endured a relationship with a man who found it too easy to walk away.

18

MAX

Staring at my computer screen, I force myself to treat this predicament like a math problem. Not a person. Do not even factor in a woman with pink hair and a smile that lives rent-free in my head. I need to think of this constructively, like a system with strict data points:

Inputs.

Outputs.

Constraints.

What can I give her without giving her everything? The answer stares back at me from three monitors and a legal pad full of diagrams. If I isolate phone datasets by stripping identifiers, removing metadata, and blind the sources, I can turn it into pattern recognition only. No names. No locations. Just numbers on a screen.

Cassidy’s task would be to find repetition. Gaps in timelines that don’t make sense. Anomalies. That’s it. No narrative. No sensitive hooks that could drag her into the mess I’m already neck-deep in.

Next: She works only in my presence. On my laptop. In a secure environment. No external access. It’s safe. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.

But the truth is lurking just below the surface, whether I want to acknowledge it or not. I’m trying to find a way to control the variables so I can keep her in my orbit.

I drag my hands down my face in frustration. Get yourself under control, Max. You’ve managed for years. Dreading phone forensics or not, you can get the job done without her. Gianni’s right. This isn’t a simple risk matrix anymore. It’s a Jenga tower with too many interlocking pieces. My parents, my business, my employees, even Gianni and his cousins, Luca and Matteo, considering half of my current work is centered on their crime family in Italy. One wrong move and it all collapses.

And Cassidy is standing far too close to the table.

A week later, I arrive at the club on a Wednesday, hours before it fills with bodies, noise, and rich pricks who treat this as a castle full of women created to do their bidding. When I’d been here working during off-hours previously, I’d observed Cassidy wiping down tables. That was before this little seductress had put the full power of her voodoo on me. When she was merely a new arrival. An unexpected, colorful curiosity.

Not the pink little nymph who stars in my nightly fantasies.

I’m waiting, trying to focus on my work, examining data I’ve scraped from my current project’s social media files in my usual VIP section when she walks in.

It’s as if my thoughts have materialized her in the flesh. My heart rate spikes. It feels like I’ve locked onto a suspect I’d been stalking. Hell, when did I turn into a creeper?

Cassidy sees me and freezes for half a second. Then her face lights up. Her smile is dazzling. Without hesitation, she practically floats toward me. Gone is the timid posture. In its stead is a completely different energy. A radiant creature who is confidently going after what she wants.

Get a grip, Max. This is about work. She’s excited about her career, not you. I stand and pull out her chair for her to sit. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She beams.

“I think I’ve found a way you can help me.”

Her eyes widen. “Wow. Really?”

“Yes. But it’s going to have to be limited to numbers only. Your job is purely pattern recognition. Any areas where you feel anomalies exist. You won’t be allowed to know what any of the data is attached to.”

She nods almost before I’m done speaking. “That’s fine, sir. Whatever you say.”

A muffled groan escapes at hearing her use the word, sir. I try to cover for my blunder with a dry cough before explaining the NDA and the restrictions. Even with legal clearance, she’ll still be handling sensitive material, and I need her to understand exactly what that means.

Cassidy continues to nod as if this is all common knowledge. Has her online coursework really prepared her for this? “Whatever you need, Mr. Wilde. I just want to learn.”

Of course she does. This should solidify that this is merely the equivalent of an internship for her. Nothing more. So keep your dick in your pants and your head in the game, Max.