Worth Any Cost: (Adam & Mia #4) (Gaming The System Book 6)

by Brenna Aubrey

  “You took a lot of notes,” he murmured as I set his plate down in front of him and went to pour him some ice water to drink with dinner.

  “Well, I figure you can’t be the only overachiever in the family. I’m going to have to run to keep up with you. That’s the realization I came to today as I was poring over that.”

  “Well, it takes one to know one.”

  I shook my head, laughing. “You’re no average overachiever, Adam Drake. You’re in, like, the one percent of overachievers. I mean…I don’t even understand half the stuff in that portfolio. Those notes you saw are stuff I had to Google on my phone to figure out what was being listed—the mutual funds, the venture capital shares, the vested funds, the charitable institutions, the licenses, the NPOs. It’s endless. No wonder I hardly ever see you.”

  He shook his head. “Most of that stuff takes care of itself. I don’t deal with it on a daily or even a monthly basis. That’s all stuff for the financial managers and whatnot. Did you…did you get a chance to go over the contract?”

  I nodded grimly. “Yeah, I have objections there.”

  His brows knitted, and he appeared disappointed. “Really? Well, we can rework it however you need.”

  I leaned forward, my elbows resting on the counter in front of him. “Good, because there’s no mention whatsoever of a free lifetime subscription to DE in the event of a divorce. I might someday have to learn to live without you, but I’m not going to live without DE.”

  His jaw dropped before he started laughing. “Ahhh, I think I can work that out.”

  I nodded. “And sex?”

  He raised his eyebrow, but didn’t speak as he slowly took in a forkful of herbed mashed potatoes.

  “Guaranteed number of orgasms per week?”

  He choked on his food. I pushed the glass of water forward so he could reach it easier. Once he was through coughing, he sucked down a gulp and replaced the glass, watching me with narrowed eyes.

  “I didn’t think you could put that kind of stuff in there.”

  I waggled my eyebrows at him. “You can put anything in those. Another factoid I learned from Professor Google today.”

  He took another bite and then—taking care to swallow first before continuing—he continued, “I’m going to make sure I ask this with a clear windpipe but…anything else you’d like to add?”

  I rested my chin in my hands and stared off into space, thinking. “Workweek hours limitation. Definitely.”

  His expression turned skeptical.

  “No more than forty-five hours a week, I think? Sixty under special circumstances.”

  “Jesus. I hope you’re kidding. And how would I even prove special circumstances?”

  “A signed note from your CFO.”

  That made him belly-laugh—and realize that I’d been pulling his leg, hopefully. I’d never be serious about him getting a signed note from Jordan.

  I busied myself about the kitchen, and we chatted about other stuff while he finished eating. I insisted, like an overprotective nanny, that he clean his plate.

  Then we moved into the living room, where I checked his throat and ears with my otoscope. I also touched his neck glands to monitor tenderness and swelling.

  “Noticeable improvement. You’re being a good boy and getting your rest.”

  “I may be getting my rest, but I’m not a good boy,” he said. To reinforce his point, he reached out, hooked an arm around my waist, and pulled me into his lap where he sat on the couch. “I’m having dirty, not-nice thoughts about my sexy doctor.”

  “Now, now…better not go there. We don’t know what that spleen looks like.”

  He heaved a deep sigh. Likely, he’d been hoping that smaller neck glands meant he could return to certain activities he very much enjoyed before getting sick.

  “You’ve gone for longer without sex before, and you weren’t even sick.”

  “Well, it doesn’t help that I have to see you and all your sexiness walking around the house, every damn minute of the day.”

  I quirked my mouth at him. “I wasn’t trying to be sexy in my shabby yoga pants and big t-shirts and my hospital greens. I’m sorry, but how can you find hospital greens sexy?”

  “You’re wearing them.” His hand slipped down to the small of my back, holding me against him. “That makes them sexy.”

  I kissed his cheek then gave his beard a good-natured tug. “Enjoying this? Because you’re losing it before the wedding, you know.”

  “I am? What if I want to be the beardgroom?”

  I groaned. The pun didn’t merit acknowledgement of its awfulness. As I tried to get up out of his lap, however, he held me fast to him. I turned, and he was watching me with serious, even concerned, eyes.

  “So are you really okay about the prenup stuff?”

  I hesitated. How much should I tell him, really?

  The truth. Put it all out there and trust that he’ll know enough about himself and me that he won’t have to go nuclear…

  “Okay, so if I tell you the truth, I don’t want you to freak out and go into overprotective mode. We’ve had problems with that.”

  He blinked. “Okay, now I’m concerned.”

  I shook my head. “If you want me to spill all, then you have to promise not to go into beast mode.”

  He sighed, glancing away.

  “Promise!” I repeated.

  He rolled his eyes. “Okay, I promise. Now tell me the truth.”

  “Well, it’s freaked me out a little, but not why you think.”

  “How do you know what I think?” His forehead wrinkled—frown almost concealed by the thick beard.

  “We’ve known each other a while.” I idly combed my fingertips through the coarse hair on his jaw. This thing on his face was oddly fascinating. “I’m suspecting you think I’m getting all emotional about the business details and the implications that you don’t trust me.”

  “And that’s not what has you upset?”

  I traced the line of his cheek. “Upset is too strong a word. I’m not upset. Just…uncomfortable?”

  “About?”

  “About the coldness of a contract.”

  Despite his mouth being mostly shrouded in darkness, I could tell that was a cocky smirk hovering on his lips. “You can say that without even a little a sense of irony?”

  I shook my head smiling. “Oh, I get the irony. Our whole relationship started with a contract…or did it? Our relationship started long before all the paperwork came along.”

  His gaze flicked off to the side and then back to me. “True.”

  “It’s…hard to imagine, I guess.” I tilted my head slightly, our temples touching. “I know how I feel now. I know how I hope I’ll feel in ten years, and looking at that agreement…” I shook my head to mask the hesitation. “It’s hard to imagine a time when you and I will part ways and become strangers again—or distant acquaintances at best.”

  “That’s because it’s not going to happen.” His arms around me tightened almost imperceptibly.

  “But it could.”

  “Any marriage could, Emilia. That’s the risk you take. But ours isn’t any more likely than anyone else’s. In fact, less so. Studies show that couples who were friends before they became lovers have a better chance of making marriage work. And we were friends—good friends. For over a year.”

  I grinned at him.

  He narrowed his eyes, and I grinned wider.

  “What’s the smile for?”

  “You’ve been reading studies. About marriage. You’re such a nerd.”

  “If you’re only realizing that now, I don’t hold out much hope for you.”

  “You’re a nerd’s nerd, Adam Drake. A goddamn sexy nerd.” I shifted in his lap to hug him around his ribcage. He rested his head on my shoulder.

  “So that means I can keep the beard for the wedding?”

  “Hell no.”

  “How about some…panky?”

  I shook my head. “Consider this good pr
actice. Abstinence can help us for when we’re old.”

  His hands were on my butt again. “You think old age is going to stop me?” he asked, his thick brows rising as I smoothed my fingers over his pale forehead, noting the dark circles still under his eyes. He might be feeling a lot better, but he wasn’t looking it. Not yet, anyway.

  “Oh really?” I kissed his nose. “So you’re already planning on being a dirty old man?”

  That cocky grin that usually made my panties start to smoke… It really should be illegal for a man to be this sexy. “With you, my thoughts never really leave the gutter. I won’t lie.”

  I smiled. “So in my retirement, I’ll need to take up knitting so I can fight you off with my knitting needles.”

  “Even that won’t stop me. Come here.” He pulled me flush against him. “When we are old, I will take every opportunity to jump you. I won’t need Viagra.”

  I hummed, scouring his face. “Not all that different than the present, except when a virus is stopping you.”

  “All right, I get it. No panky. Let’s cuddle.”

  “Huh.” My mouth quirked.

  “What, huh?”

  “I mean…that’s probably the very first time you’ve ever suggested cuddling to me and meant that you wanted to cuddle.” I pushed against his chest in order to pull away, but he didn’t budge.

  “I feel bruised by your implication.” His tone of voice told me the exact opposite.

  “No, you don’t. ‘Let’s cuddle’ is every dude’s euphemism for ‘I’m going to convince her to have sex. She just doesn’t know it yet.’ Except newsflash, dude, she knows it.”

  He frowned. “Have you been reading an illegally gained copy of The Bro Code or something?” His arms slackened, and I pulled away, sitting back. Turning, I ran my hand over his tousled hair, attempting in vain to tame it. Not only did he need a shave, but also a haircut.

  “I’m an observer of life. I know how you not-so-smooth operators work.” I winked. “So you’ve got me all snuggled up against you, right? And then you slowly, subtly start to ‘rub’ me somewhere seemingly innocent, like my back or my stomach or something. Your hand moves in circles, growing wider and wider so that you eventually touch more ‘interesting’ spots, like the bottom of my bra or the top of my panties.”

  “Sounds about right.” He reached out as if to demonstrate, and I knocked his hand away, laughing.

  “And then oops, your hand slips under the elastic, all while cuddling.” I made air quotes with my fingers. “You wonder why suddenly she’s in the mood because you’ve been not-so-subtly putting the moves on her, all in the name of cuddling.”

  His features were all innocence. “I can’t help it that my hands and innocent touches drive you insanely wild with desire. It’s not like I can turn that off.”

  I snorted. “You’re way too full of yourself.”

  He licked his lips. “I can’t wait till you are way too full of myself.”

  My head leaned forward, touching my nose to his “Well, you’ve got the dirty and man parts down perfectly. It’s a matter of time before you get the old down.” Reaching out to smooth his cheek, I could tell he was exhausted. Despite his frisky talk, he was leaning his head on the couch again, eyes drooping. “Now, I think you have sleep in your future, and I have to get back to that girthy tome. C’mon, old guy. Time for bed, gramps.”

  And by the way he hardly protested, I could tell I was right.

  Chapter 15

  Adam

  Three and a half weeks after mono body-slammed me and demanded I slow down, I completed a half-day at work. It was the longest half a day of my life. Or it felt like it, anyway.

  Nevertheless, I managed to keep a brave face for the duration before going home to collapse. And wisely, on Emilia's advice, I'd scheduled hat day a Friday so I wouldn't need to show up the following day, even if I wanted to.

  One of the first things I did was something I'd studiously avoided before falling ill—met privately with Jordan.

  Just as two years before, when I'd taken a leave of absence, he'd had to do the heavy lifting for me while I was sick. All this in spite of the tension that had boiled up between us.

  Emilia was right. I owed him a lot. I owed him an apology.

  Yeah, I was still sore from the things that were said. But since my conversation with Emilia, I'd had a week to think things through.

  Jordan sat across from my desk, methodically running down the checklist of the most important items to be handled now that I was here. I listened carefully, jotted notes to myself, and asked few questions. When he finished, he gave a pointed glance at his watch and pushed himself out of his chair.

  I capped my pen and leaned forward. "Can you stay for a few more minutes?"

  Jordan's brows twitched together briefly as he sank again into the seat. "Sure, man. What do you need?"

  "I need to apologize. To you."

  He blinked then jerked his head to gaze out the window, ducking to examine the sky. "Huh."

  "What?"

  "Just checkin' to see if pigs are flying. No flying pigs yet."

  I leaned the chair back, watching him. "I deserved that."

  He didn't say anything, instead clenching his jaw so that his cheek bulged. Then, getting up, he turned away from me and he went to the window to peer out of it.

  The silence grew, and I cleared my throat, suddenly uneasy. I stood from my chair, and for lack of anything better to do with my hands, I stuffed them into the pockets of my jeans. "I said some shitty things—"

  "Shitty things were said all around," he interrupted. "And I get it. Tensions are high. Emotions are high. You're facing a huge life change. But I can't help but wonder, after this, if being the best damn company officer I can be and being your friend are mutually exclusive."

  I straightened, studying his posture—the rigidity of his shoulders, the hands clenched into fists. "Of course not," I said quietly.

  "Really?" He turned to me. "Because that's sure as hell not what it feels like from here."

  I paused, realizing that I should have expected this. I should have prepared for the pushback. I had no idea, in truth, what I had been expecting. A few jokes. Jordan blowing the whole thing off with his usual brand of salty humor. Maybe some well-deserved putdowns aimed in my direction. His usual BS. I braced myself to take my lumps.

  He put a hand out toward me. "We've been friends for a long time, Adam, and business partners for almost as long. I've messed up in the past. I fucked up huge last year, and you had my back then. I'll always be grateful for that. And if you know me, you know that loyalty means a lot to me. And you've earned my loyalty many times over."

  I blinked, at once touched and troubled by his speech. It was true. He was loyal—sometimes to a fault. In so many other ways throughout our history, he'd been there for me. Jordan had even been an asshole to Emilia when we'd had our relationship troubles—out of protectiveness toward me.

  "But I like to think that I've earned your loyalty repeatedly as well. And your trust. And I felt neither."

  My jaw dropped—it wasn't hard to hear the hurt in his voice, and I was a first-class dick for having caused it. "I do trust you, Jordan."

  "Really? You have a strange way of showing it. You treated me like I was only out for myself. And you wouldn't meet with me so we could find a solution everyone could live with."

  "Well, like you said, we all screw up sometimes. I'm trying to tell you I'm sorry."

  He took a step toward me. "And I'm not trying to be a hard-ass here. As far as I'm concerned, this is already the past and water under the bridge." He mirrored my stance, putting his hands into his pockets. "However, that doesn't mean that I'm convinced this isn't going to keep happening over and over again."

  "This was a…special case. I saw this as an attempt by the board to control my personal life."

  "Yeah, control. That's a big issue for you, man. We've talked about it before. Your need for control is based on the fact that you don
't trust anyone else to do as good a job as you can." He sighed.

  I opened my mouth to contradict that statement, but shut it again. He was right. And I'd been a colossal asshole, because Jordan had done a good job. He'd always done a good job. He'd been doing his job when he broached the prenup issue, and I'd blown him off, insulting him in the process. My face flushed hot with shame. I looked away to cover the uncomfortable moment, and he continued to talk.

  "The outcome of this company is in the board's best interest, too. And yeah, sometimes you have an employee who can't get his shit together—like Alan—and you have to can them. But the rest of us are right there with you on the front lines, trying to make this the most awesome company it can possibly be." He shook his head, his own face flushing—I assumed with anger or frustration. Probably both. "You've gotta loosen up on the reins and let us do our job."

  For lack of anything to say, I nodded. I felt like a fool standing here speechless like a chastened schoolboy, but what the hell else was I going to do? I knew this was a problem. Emilia pointed it out to me often, and I'd fooled myself into thinking I'd been listening to her all this time. Did she feel this same level of frustration with me, too? Did everyone?

  "I'm saying this as your friend, not your CFO," he continued. "There are only so many hours in the day for Adam, the control freak; Adam, the visionary who's going to change the world; and Adam, the loving husband. You can’t be all of these people all of the time, so you're going to have to make some choices—hopefully good ones. Or continue to drive yourself to an early grave, not giving a shit and letting everyone who loves you pay the consequences."

  I sucked in a breath, folding my arms over my chest. My lumps indeed. Jordan was dishing them without hesitation today—and without buffer. And as hard as it was to hear, I resolved to take his words to heart. Because they echoed that voice that had been talking inside my head since I got sick. They echoed what Emilia had been saying for some time now. Everyone I cared about had been singing the same tune, and now their voices were unified into a great chorus in my imagination.

  And it was my choice to listen or blow them off, yet again.

  I swallowed. "We all have learning curves. This one has been mine."