“Is that what you want?” he finally asks, and there’s something vulnerable in his voice that makes my chest ache. “For it to not be a thing?”
No. God, no. I want it to be everything. I want you to fly through my window and finish what we started. I want to feel your hands on me again, because no one has ever touched me like that and I’m terrified I’ll spend the rest of my life chasing that feeling…
“I think that’s what’s best,” I say instead. “For the profile. For both of us.”
“Right.” His voice has gone cold. Distant. A door closing. “The profile.”
The finality hurts.
“I should mention—Julia called me just now. She’s invited me for a tour of Global Dynamix. At eleven.”
“She what?” he says sharply. “Why?”
“She said she wanted to give me context for the piece. Show me what you’re really working toward. And by you, I mean the company.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I frown. “Why not? It’s exactly the kind of access I need for the article.”
“Because Julia doesn’t give tours.” His voice is tight. “She doesn’t extend personal invitations to journalists on an unscheduled whim. If she’s reaching out to you directly, it’s because she wants something or she’s trying to figure something out.”
“She wants me to see what she wants me to see. She wants to make sure I write something flattering.”
“Julia doesn’t care about flattering press. She cares about control.” He hesitates. “Come to my place instead. We can continue the interview there. I’ll answer whatever questions you want. Any of them. You can have full access to me.”
The offer hangs between us, tempting and terrifying. His penthouse. Alone. After what happened last night?
And full access to him?
I know exactly whatthatmeans.
“Vanguard, I can’t,” I say, the use of his name deliberate. “I need to keep things above board. If I come to your place right now…”
“You’re scared,” he says quietly. “Of me?”
“I’m scared of myself. Of making things complicated when they can’t be. Not right now, not when I have a job to do.”
“The job…”
“I need to do this interview with Julia,” I go on. “It’s important for the piece. For the full picture. I know you can understand that.”
He grumbles in response.
“I’ll call you after,” I tell him. “Maybe we can schedule something for tomorrow, somewhere professional.”
“Professional.” He laughs sourly. Then, he sighs, and I can practically hear him rubbing a hand over his face. “Sure. Fine. Go to your meeting with Julia. Get your tour. Take it all with a grain of salt.” A pause. “But Mia? Be careful with her. She’s not what she seems.”
“You mean she’s somehow worse?”
Another chuckle, this one loaded with meaning. “You have no idea. Just…don’t believe everything she tells you.”
I end the call and sit on the edge of the bed, phone clutched in my hand, my heart racing and my thoughts a tangled mess. Partof me wants to call him back, tell him I’ve changed my mind, that I’ll come to his penthouse and let him do all those things his voice hinted at.
But I can’t. Because Kat was right. I’m already falling, and if I don’t pull the cord soon, I’m going to crash. And when I do, I’ll take everything down with me.
Professional. Cold. Operative.
I repeat it like a prayer as I shower, dress, and prepare for my meeting with the woman who created the man I’m trying very hard not to fall for.
