“Good evening, Miss Stone,” he said.
“Mr. Cross.”
“Is there a reason you’ve shown up wearing ripped jeans and a T-shirt?” he asked. “I told you this meeting was professional.”
“Then have you looked in the mirror to see whatyou’rewearing?”
“Fair enough…”
He lifted a wine glass to his lips and took me in for a few seconds before stepping back to let me inside.
“Follow me,” he said, walking me past rooms I’d explored before. He stopped in front of one I’d missed.
It was a windowless office with huge screens that flashed photos of buildings and businesses he’d taken over. On one of them, images of him, Aaron, Ciara, and that other guy slid by one by one.
“Have a seat,” he said, and I obliged.
He refilled his glass from a waiting wine bottle and looked at me.
“Would you like something to drink before we start?”
“Just water,” I said. “I don’t think I should drink alcohol around you.”
His lips curved into a smile and he slipped out of the room, returning with a glass carafe and a glass.
“Here you are,” he said, setting it in front of me.
He settled into his chair, watching me take slow sips—not saying a word.
“You have a really nice condo,” I said, attempting to break the ice. “It looks like it was plucked straight from a magazine.”
“The editors from Architectural Digest would be thrilled to know that.”
“Can I ask you something personal?”
“No.”
“I’m going to state my question anyway.”
“I’m expecting it.”
“Why don’t you ever make time in your calendar for friends and family?”
He arched a brow.
“Your life can’t possibly be all work… You do have friends and family, right?” I asked.
“What I have are boundaries, Miss Stone. I don’t talk about those things for a reason, and that won’t be changing anytime soon.”
Of course…
He stared at me again—making my body react against its will, and I was tempted to ask if he could write the reasons why I needed to be here since he wasn’t going to say them.
“I think you and I can skip the entire ‘What do you do here?’ conversation,” he finally spoke. “We can just jump straight to your current pay grade, if you’ll be okay with that.”
As if I have a choice.“That’s fine.”
“Good.” He opened a folder. “I’m assuming that your current listed salary is a typo, so…”
