by Gina Kincade
Isaac smiles at me like he knows exactly what’s got me so riled up and he’d be happy to recite law terms as he shows me his favorite stress-relief secrets. Suddenly, I’m not sure what I’m more pissed about—the fact that he’s here messing up my weekend with Dom, or the fact that I’m imagining exactly how he might ruin it.
Dom on the other hand is completely at a loss for what’s just happened. I nod to his frying pan.
“Your eggs are burning.”
“Crap!” Dom scrambles to pull the eggs from the burner and I use the opportunity to walk away, marching through the open terrace door and out into the fresh air. Only, it’s already muggy outside and the air is thick and unsatisfying. The sun blankets my neck as I toss back another swig of orange juice to cool me down.
“Sorry, man,” I hear Dom mumble. I look back through the floor-to-ceiling windows and see him toss the eggs in the trash. “I didn’t think this would be a thing. Give me a minute to—”
I look back at the horizon, then lean against the glass railing and peer down the monolith of the building that we’re atop of. It would be quite the fall. I imagine it would feel like soaring: the wind through my hair, the rush, that last moment of excitement before the crash at the bottom. It makes me feel reckless and like I’ve done nothing but play it safe with Dom for the past two years.
“Ilsa, hey—” Dom says, walking up next to me and drying his hands on the skirt of his apron. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”
“Exactly!” I snap, turning to face him. “What if something goes wrong this weekend? I don’t want you distracted. I get that he’s your friend, but what if there’s something—”
Dom puts his hand on my shoulder and I’m startled by it. He’s done this a hundred times before, but right now it turns on my every nerve ending. It fills me with every doubt I could imagine: wanting his touch to mean more, but unsure it ever will. Realizing he invited his friend to crash the one weekend where this could be more, which can only mean he doesn’t see us as ... anything.
“You’re right.” Dom nods, his thumb rubbing against the silk of my blouse. “I didn’t think. Honestly, I didn’t expect him to even show up. Everything about Isaac is unpredictable.”
My eyes flick past Dom to where Isaac is watching us through the glass. Unpredictable is an understatement.
“But yes,” Dom continues. “He’s a good friend, and ... he’s here now.”
I bite back what I really want to ask, which is why he would invite Isaac in the first place. But it’s not a question I can ask. Not right now. Not with the negotiation still ahead of us. I need to leave our personal feelings out of this and make sure we make this merger work. And frankly, inviting Isaac here is the answer in and of itself. Dom never intended for this weekend to be anything but business.
I shake my head in polite agreement, stepping back so his hand falls off my shoulder. “Of course, its fine,” I say. “I’ve overacted and I apologize.”
I drink from the juice carton to distract myself from the knot of disappointment that wrings in my gut. I can’t look at him right now. Not as this truth washes over me. Dom and I are brilliant together—but only as business colleagues. That’s all we’ll ever be.
“I must be more nervous about this deal than I want to admit,” I say to cover my silence, pushing through the lump in my throat. “Of course your friend can be here.” I laugh forcefully, rolling my shoulders back and making myself look at him. “I just like to focus. You know that.”
“Hey, you said it yourself last night,” Dom counters, that regal confidence he effortlessly exudes sparkling in his green eyes. “We’re going to be great. Everything is planned. The only reason this deal won’t go through is if they’ve been jerking us around.”
I nod, unconvinced by my own defense, and my eyes flick over his shoulder to Isaac again. Only Isaac isn’t in the kitchen anymore.
“What if there’s something we didn’t anticipate?” I ask. “Something we misjudged, or took for granted? A move we’re not expecting? What if we’re blindsided?”
“Do you trust me?”
Our eyes catch, and there’s so much compassion and devotion sparking in Dom’s gaze I feel overwhelmed by his intensity. I bite my cheek to remind myself that this is my boss asking and not the man I’ve imagined a hundred other ways, asking me to trust him with my heart. This is the man I’m supposed to trust with my career. And of course, that’s how he intended his question, even if it unearths everything else I’m uncertain of.
I give him a non-committal nod. “Of course. You’ve always known what you were doing.”
That’s true. Dom is a brilliant lawyer and a smart businessman. I’m the one who’s muddying the waters with personal emotion and losing sight of what’s truly important—which is to stay sharp. Focused. And get the job done.
“Then trust me,” Dom says confidently, reaching up to take both of my shoulders in his hands. He squeezes them like a coach encouraging his star player to keep her head in the game, and I nod again, tossing him my best smile. It seems to convince him.
But when he walks back to the kitchen I find myself looking down the side of the building to the ground below. Down there, nothing is in focus and everything is a blurry mass of color and shape. There’s no clear path except to fall. And it scares me that so little—a friend, a single person, a pebble thrown into a giant pool—could cause such a ripple.
Chapter Four
Isaac
The sun is setting as I pour the whiskey into a tumbler glass and slide it across the kitchen island to Dominick. I’ve spent the day on the couch sending emails to my suppliers and making sure everything’s ready for our launch next month. Dom thought I was crazy when he and Ilsa got back from their negotiations and he caught me typing away at the keyboard like a crazy man, which is when I explained to him that I quit my job at the firm.
“You left your job to do what? Build a software company?” Dom asked.
“Hey, software’s the wave of the future,” I defended, to which he frowned at me. I’m not sure his pale face could get any whiter with his Irish blood and all, but I swear it did. It was the kind of frown that asked how I could throw away a six-figure salary and years of schooling on a reckless business venture. Which I suppose is what makes Dom the man he is. I’m the entreprenerual maverick, while he’s the one up here at top of his game, making multi-million dollar mergers with Hong Kong’s elite, but still playing it safe. “You always said I’d never hack it in a business suit,” I say. “You can’t deny who you are.”
Dom unfolds his arms quickly to catch the drink I’ve slid across the counter before it topples over the edge.
“Whoa, okay!” he says quickly. “Someone’s ready to party. Maybe we should wait till my deal is signed and you haven’t flushed your entire life savings down the drain.”
“It wouldn’t be any fun without a bit of risk,” I say, raising my glass. “And if I’m going down with the ship, I’m going out in style.” I take a reckless drink, savoring the smoky flavor.
Dom swirls his whiskey carefully. He’s watching me cautiously, his expression a mix of concern and condemnation. “I’ll be fine,” I say to ease the tension that creases his face. “You know I’ll be happier hotel-hopping and working from my laptop and pissing off the side of the Swiss Alps.”
“Yes, I believe that’s what normal people call a vacation.”
I smile at him and shake my head. “Yeah well, I’m not normal people. And—” I nod out the window to where Ilsa lounges in a deck chair next to the pool. “I don’t have a hot brunette to keep me addicted to my life at the office.”
Dom follows my gaze out the window to Ilsa, who’s wearing a bikini under a gauzy wrap that puts her legs on display. I won’t deny it, she’s magnificent. Especially with her hair down and her body soft and relaxed and no longer stuffed into her business clothes. The sun sets behind her, lighting up the space between her bent knees and setting the whole pool on fire as it reflects the sky�
��s orange blaze.
“It’s not like that,” Dom says tersely, and I’m pretty sure that’s a complete lie. I mean, look at her. He has to have a thing for her. What hot-blooded man wouldn’t? In fact, I’m not sure how they aren’t already together. After all, Dom told me they go on business trips like this all the time. Only ... something is off between them. I could feel it earlier when they returned from their business meeting. Ilsa dismissively stalked into her room, changed out of her business clothes, and then came out here in that outfit. She’s either trying to get a rise out of Dom, or a rise out of me. And from the embarrassed way she bit her lip this morning with her robe half-open, I’m already having dirty fantasies.
I sip the whiskey, eyeing my friend. “This is the good stuff,” I say, encouraging him to drink. “Straight from your neck of the woods. Pound-your-blood Irish stock.”
“Of course, yes.” Dom eyes his glass, before tentatively raising it to his lips, still distracted by Ilsa and the sunset. There’s definitely something unspoken between them. Maybe they fucked in the past and it’s all business now. Or maybe he wants to fuck her, but Dom being Dom, he’ll never make a move and jeopardize his job or position.
“You want a glass?” I call out to Ilsa, who looks up and catches us watching her. She pulls off her sunglasses and shakes her head causing all of those long locks to spread out over her exposed shoulders. It takes a second to realize she’s shifted her gaze to Dom, squinting at him as if it’s weird to see him drinking. Is that concern? Confusion? Affection? “You’re missing out,” I say, tossing her a smile that makes her rolls her eyes.
When I turn back to Dom, he’s staring at me, a tiny flush under his scrutinizing gaze. I know that look. I’ve seen it a hundred times in college when the two of us would go out to a bar. It’s jealousy. He used to ask how I could get any girl to come home with me, but he never liked the answer. It’s not a big secret. “It’s business,” I’d tell him. “You decide what you want and you go out and get it. Simple. You don’t wait for permission. You make it happen.”
Dom knows how to do that—in business—but he’s never had the same determination with women. For example, take Dom’s shirt. The cuffs are rolled perfectly. Intentional. Not a button out of place. His attention to detail is impeccable, and yet that’s also what holds him back. He never lets anything get messy. Even now as we have a drink and relax, his guard is up. And I’d bet my left-nut he’s in love with Ilsa, but he’s never taken the initiative. Never told her or shown the slightest hint of intention. Not to mention the way I’ve heard him talk about her—smart, friendly, someone he can confide in. The question is: does she want him back? And would Dom ever make a move if she did? The two of them have been partners for two years, so if it hasn’t already happened ... maybe it won’t.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Ilsa since they left for their meeting this morning. My pants feel tight at the thought of taking what I want and playing out the fantasy. What would’ve happened if I untied Ilsa’s robe this morning and exposed her to me. Slipped the terrycloth off her shoulders and tasted the scent that warmed her skin. But Dom’s my friend, and I can’t do that. It’s shitty back-hand business. You don’t fuck over the people that are loyal to you, even if your cock has a different agenda.
Ilsa’s gaze lingers on us again, smiling sweetly, and it’s hard to tell if she’s smiling at me or Dom, but there’s something in her expression that’s curious.
“She’s got a thing for you,” I say to Dom, and he coughs viciously, completely thrown off guard.
“What? She—” he coughs again, raising his wrist up to his mouth to clear his throat, but the flush of pink that runs up his Paddy-white neck hides nothing. “She doesn’t. She’s my colleague. We work together,” he defends, throwing back half his whiskey and shaking his head as if the two of them together is the last thing that would ever cross his mind. He straightens his shirt and I see the pansy-ass friend from college who’s afraid to take what he wants. “I mean, I wish a girl like Ilsa had a thing for me,” Dom says, brushing it off. “But we work together. Even if we didn’t, a girl like that doesn’t go for a guy like me.”
“What are you talking about?” I shake my head at him. “Why not?”
“Like you need to ask that, asshole.” I smile, happy to see his wits are back, and that he’s finally drinking his whiskey. But I know he’s talking about all the nights in college when he went home alone and I didn’t.
“Those are flings. One night stands,” I explain. “A girl like Ilsa ... I mean, she’s your confidant. From the way you talk about her, it sounds like you two talk about everything. Deep conversations, business strategy, no secrets. I don’t do that.” I shake my head. “I know you think I have some magical charm that makes women’s panties evaporate, but trust me, a woman like Ilsa ... she wants something else.” I fill my mouth with another hot gulp of whiskey and swallow it down. “Hell, she’s barely said two words to me since I got here.”
I grab the bottle to refill my cup, not mentioning the conversation I had with Ilsa this morning or the incredible view.
“That’s because she’s attracted to you.”
“Excuse me?” I look at Dom, whose expression is dead serious. I frown at him. “That’s not true. You’re deflecting now. I see the way she looks at you.”
“Oh no, trust me,” Dom reaches over and takes the whiskey bottle from me, pouring himself a generous glass. “I’ve known Ilsa a long time. She sees me as a friend. Like a brother. She opens up to me because I’m not a threat. Our connection, as you call it, isn’t that kind of connection. I’ve seen her around men she’s attracted to. She does exactly what she’s doing right now. She clams up. Ignores them. Goes and sits next to the pool and pretends they don’t exist. If you weren’t here right now, we’d be eating take-out and chatting business strategy, but instead she’s sitting over there all by herself with her guard up.”
“You’re reading too much into this,” I say, but he shakes his head and throws back another swig.
“Trust me, Isaac. I know her. She’s acting like this because she wants ...” He doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he looks into his glass somberly, and my imagination can’t help but play out the possibility: me lying on one of those lounge chairs with Ilsa straddling me, the sun lighting her from behind as my hands clutch her pumping hips.
“Look, man,” I take another sip, moving my attention away from the terrace. “Maybe she’s got a mild attraction, but it doesn’t matter. You’re clearly into her, so I won’t—”
“Why not?” Dom puts his empty glass onto the countertop with a clank, the buzz of alcohol softening his eyes. “Seriously.” He looks at me. “I’m her boss. The friend. Her eyes have a whole different sparkle when she looks at you. Sure, I get the late-night strategy sessions, and philosophical conversations, but you, my friend—you can get the conversations that don’t require talking.”
“Dom,” I shake my head at him, grabbing his glass and refilling it. “I can’t. I mean, yes, she’s beautiful.” I slide the glass to him. “But come on, you’re clearly—”
“—not the guy she’s into.” Dom looks at me hard, and I don’t know why he’s pushing this. “I said it once, I’ll say it again. I’m her boss. And honestly, it’s for the best. Tell me you’re not into her. You can’t, right? The two of you—”
“Dom, you’re my friend!” I say, eyeing his third drink.
“Don’t let me stand in your way,” he insists. “Trust me, she’s into you. I can tell. She gets the same way when we’re around powerful men during our deals. Flirty then quiet. Usually it helps us close. It clouds their minds and makes them think she might ...” He shrugs, drinking again.
“But she doesn’t. Does she?”
“No, not with them. Of course not.”
I lift my glass. “Exactly, so maybe it’s an act.”
“It’s not. She just knows when she shouldn’t mix business and pleasure.”
I watch him
carefully. His eyes are hard and I don’t know why he’s pushing this so much, except maybe he really isn’t into her. Maybe he means what he says about business and pleasure, and knows the two of them together would ruin everything.
“So you’re saying ...” I start. “I’m not business, so ...”
“Exactly,” Dom says definitively, looking out at Ilsa and avoiding my gaze. That wasn’t exactly permission. In fact, it sounds like the opposite. “I adore her,” he says honestly. “And if you hurt her, I’ll pound your face in.” He laughs at his big-brother act. “But she’s an adult. You’re both adults, and ...” He drinks again, the flush of a buzz running up his neck. “I’m not going to stand in your way.”
“But you like her!”
“That’s never stopped you before.”
His drunk eyes catch mine and that comment stings. It’s not entirely true, of course. Dom could have any girl—in college and now. He just doesn’t believe it. And, I never took any girl from him. Ever. Though I suppose he believes my presence alone was the problem, and they chose me over him, which is why his insistence that I make a move on Ilsa is ... weird.
“You’re my friend,” I assert.
“And she’s my business partner,” he replies. “We won’t. Ever. So ...”
“People have business flings all the time.”
“Yeah? And how does that turn out? How many of the women that you’ve done business with and fucked, do you still do any business with?”
“None.”
“Precisely. Me and Ilsa ...” He waves his hand back and forth, gripping his glass, definitely drunk now. “That would mess everything up.”
“Are you seriously standing there and giving me a free pass?” I face him, because if he’s going to say shit like this out loud, I’m going to call him on it. “You’re saying if I want to pursue her—which I will, and you know I fucking will—you’re giving me your blessing? One hundred percent, no strings attached?”
