“I was going to ask Mandy her thoughts, but apparently she’s busy.” Aaron is not looking at me but at the drink menu. “Maybe I’ll take her out tomorrow to discuss.”
This motherfucker.
Aaron continues. “Did you know she had a hangover-cure basket sent to my hotel room on Saturday?”
“A what?” I snap.
“Bacon, egg, and cheese bagels, piping hot. Advil. Ginger ale. She’s quite something. She has the personal touch.” Aaron smirks. “Your fucking face. For someone who’s fake-dating his assistant, you sure are bent out of shape that she’s sending me personalized gifts.”
I weigh the pros and cons of punching him in the face and killing the port contract or just nodding, smiling, and not ruining the biggest deal of my life.
Fuck it, I’m probably not getting that port contract, anyway. Aaron hisses when I reach across the table and grab his collar.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” I say. “I don’t want you anywhere near her. Don’t talk to her. Definitely don’t take her out to dinner.”
Aaron is unshaken. Though both of us have had shitty fathers, his dad makes mine look like the love child of Princess Diana and Gandhi.
He slaps me lightly on the side of my face. “You fucking piece of shit, you like her.” He huffs out a laugh as I release him. “You’re such a cliché—billionaire falls in love with his assistant. I don’t think they even bother to make movies like that anymore.”
I scowl at him. “She’s age appropriate.”
“And manages to handle herself in corporate situations. It’s impressive. I wonder how she’d feel about potentially relocating to the East Coast.”
“Don’t,” I warn. “Where the hell is the waiter? I need a drink.”
“I’ll say.”
The door opens, and a server brings in two scotches. I drain mine then Aaron’s before he can take a sip.
“Two more?” The waiter’s tone is perfectly neutral.
“Keep it coming,” I say. “It’s going to be that kind of lunch.”
Aaron’s studying me with those unyielding green eyes. With the way he grew up as a child, he’s used to being hypersensitive to people’s micro behaviors. Not doing so could have resulted being on the receiving end of violence or starvation. That skill was further honed in insurance, whereyou can save hundreds of millions of dollars by ferreting out when people are lying or withholding part of the truth.
Aaron’s the best. And I basically just did the equivalent of letting him read my diary.
“Why do you care so much about her?” Aaron digs.
“I don’t.”
“She’s involved in this deal—I need to know.”
“Like I said, forget the deal.”
“Our esteemed CEO thinks this would be a potentially lucrative deal, especially since we had to pay out after the Svensson Investment debacle that you caused.”
“Worth it.”
“Besides,” Aaron adds, “Wolf’s thinking about purchasing a French insurance company to make more inroads for large international projects. We’ve seen some interest.”
“From your brother, you mean.”
Now it’s Aaron’s turn to be annoyed. “You can’t seriously want Grayson in the deal.” He scowls.
“Depends on the cut I get from the tidal-energy generation. Does he structure his deals to pay out capital costs first?”
“I think he’ll have to, if it’s taxpayer money.”
