A sharp, slightly hysterical laugh.
“Not. In. This. Lifetime,” I shoot back, sharp as glass. “You’re my assignment, and I have a one hundred percent success rate.”
“It wouldn’t be a failure on your part, Sloane,” he says, dropping his voice.
The way he says my name…
He stays where he is. Calm. So calm I want to rip that calm right off him.
“Aren’t you here to confirm that you like Olivia?” I snap. This is not jealousy. It is not jealousy. “That you want to go out with her?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “No. Not in this lifetime.”
Something inside me flips.
Light. Warm. Dangerous.
I pull myself together. “You seemed to like her.”
“I do like her. And we talked a lot.”
He drags a hand through his hair, and the light hits his eyes in a way that makes them even more… okay, no, we’re not going there.
I am not thinking about it.
“We’re both interested. Just not romantically,” he adds. As if I haven’t spent days torturing myself over this.
I look at him without saying a word.
“She’s working on a training program for kids dealing with family issues. It’s a big deal.”
His voice is serious. No arrogance. No bravado.
A tone I’ve never heard from him.
“I was thinking…” he continues, strangely hesitant, “about donating the charity portion of the reality show winnings… to her organization. If I win, obviously.”
I go still.
It’s like someone hits mute on the entire room.
For a second I see him differently.
Not the impulsive player, not the arrogant idiot who knows exactly how to make me lose my mind…
but a man who saw something that mattered to him.
And is quietly trying to protect it without making a show out of it.
My heart lodges in my throat.
And that’s dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Cohen rubs his palm along his jeans—a small, nervous gesture. Almost invisible.
He’s trying to hide the fact that he feels exposed… and somehow, that hits me more than the confession itself.
