Sloane looks back at me with a reverent gaze. “No.”
“Then maybe we’re not as alone as we think," I say as he gives me a warm smile.
“Where did you come from?” he asks, almost breathless. I feel the heat of his stare. Notice the way his gaze drops to my mouth. How it hovers there.
I have hooked Sloane Pierce like a prize tuna fish, and yet…
Yet I don’t feel pride or excitement, or even validation.
I only feel the heavy beat of my heart and a desire inside of me I can’t explain.
“Portland," I say with a chuckle. “Moved to Seattle when I was nine.”
Sloane chuckles, too, and then his face pales.
“What?”
He swallows. Hard.
“I was your age," he says carefully. “When you were nine.”
It’s the first time I have heard his voice carry such disdain.
Like the words are bitter, or perhaps the truth is.
“Yes, we’ve established you’re a grumpy, bitter old man," I say jokingly. Though his face is stern. Cold.
“I remember twenty-eight," he says with sadness. “I’d just lost my father at twenty-eight.”
His words aren’t what I expect, nor is the melancholic air that blankets him.
“I created Veil that year.” He turns back to me. “It was just numbers and figures then. Basic code. But I knew what it could be.”
“And here you are now.” I shrug. “CEO of Veil Technologies. You changed the world with Veil.”
Sloane’s gaze softens. “I didn’t change the world.” He shakes his head. “The world changed me.”
Before I can respond to that, the waitress brings our food, and the melancholy air is forgotten; forgone in favor of the best pizza I’ve ever had in my life.
And for the moment, as we eat our dinner, as we share this meal, this space together, I forget.
I forget he’s my boss, or my boyfriend’s ex-boyfriend. I forget that he’s seventeen years older than me and that he likes men he can control.
For the moment, he’s just Mr. Pierce.
He’s just a man. An attractive man with a brooding backstory and a smooth voice, like something out of one of my books. For the briefest moment, he’smine.
And so I take my time with my pizza. I drink my beer slowly.
And when the waitress asks if we want dessert, I say yes. I order us both a brownie, complete with chocolate sprinkles anda cherry on top, and Sloane doesn’t protest. He doesn’t even make a comment about the sprinkles.
Instead, he just eats. Slowly.
Like me.
The car ride back to my house is quiet, save for the radio. My eyes flutter shut, as the feeling of contentedness forms in my chest. I’m sated and full, and his leather-wood scent fills my lungs.
And then I feel his hand. On my thigh. He doesn’t move it. Just lets it rest there, warm and soft.
