Hard Sell (21 Wall Street #2)(35)

I smile reflexively, but I’m taken aback at Kennedy’s words: Everything you’ve ever wanted.

Is that right?

Is getting an elusive billionaire client my life’s dream? Is it really everything I’ve ever wanted?

I suppose that’s right.

So why do I feel so hollow?

Because Jarod Lanham was looking at Sabrina. And she was looking right back.

Okay, so I’m not entirely sure about the last one. Sabrina had been in her role as my girlfriend, and to give credit where it’s due, the woman rivals any Academy Award winner when it comes to her acting skills.

Even I’d have been convinced that she was into me if I didn’t know better.

But I’m definitely not imagining that Lanham had been looking at her. And if I know anything about the man from my years of watching him from afar, it’s that he gets what he wants.

He’d wanted Sabrina.

I can’t blame the man. She’d been sexy as hell in a blue dress that matched her eyes, her hair long and tousled, her heels high and begging to be wrapped around a man’s waist . . .

I look up at Ian as I reach for the complimentary nut bowl in the center of our table. “You talk to Sabrina today?”

“No, not in a few days. Why?”

I hate myself for it, but I feel a tiny stab of relief that Sabrina hasn’t gone running to Ian to talk about how miserable she is in her and my current arrangement. Though I know her and Ian’s relationship has never been romantic or sexual, I’m always . . . aware of it. Aware that she’d do anything for him, whereas she won’t do a damn thing for me unless money and an ironclad contract’s included.

And no sex.

That part has been worse than I expected. Of course, I’ve always known how hard it is to be around Sabrina and not touch her. I just figured I’d . . . get over it. I figured that if a line was drawn in the sand, my constant boner for the woman would get over itself.

Not so.

I want her more than ever.

Which, I’ve been trying to assume, is just the result of the age-old “wanting what I can’t have,” but I’m terrified it’s something worse. Terrified that I want her more because I’m spending more time with her. Talking with her. Studying her. Seeing how her brain works.

Everything you’ve ever wanted . . .

Damn it.

“She’s meeting Lara for drinks, though.”

I look up at Ian. “What?”

He rolls his eyes at my distractedness. “You asked about Sabrina. I said I hadn’t talked to her, but Lara mentioned she and Sabrina were going to grab a drink before dinner.”

“When? Where?”

“Never had you pegged for a clingy boyfriend,” Kennedy says, snatching the nut bowl away from me. He looks down, then glares at me. “You ate all the almonds and left the shitty peanuts.”

“So ask for some more almonds. And I am not a clingy boyfriend. You know we’re only—”

“Posing for the people, I know,” Kennedy interrupts. “But no need to keep up the pretense for Ian and me.”

It’s a trap. One of the subtle, barely noticeable verbal traps that Kennedy Dawson is legendary for. Kennedy’s got a low, almost monotone voice. He never yells, rarely laughs. All three of us are sarcastic, but Kennedy’s humor is dry to the Sahara level.

I’m sure Kennedy and Ian expect me to either deny the comment or jump to reassure them that Sabrina and I still hate each other, that we’re just pretending. But I’m feeling ornery, so I surprise them. And myself.

“Lanham wants something from her.”

“From who?” Ian asks.

“Sabrina. Keep up, man.”

“I thought you said she left lunch as soon as he and The Sams showed up.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t Irish goodbye. She chatted. Made nice. Then excused herself.”

“I see,” Ian says, grabbing the nut bowl from Kennedy, then setting it aside in disgust when he sees it’s empty. “And at what point in this interaction did Lanham slip the note into Sabrina’s locker about having a crush on her?”

I point my glass at him. “You don’t get to be sarcastic about this. We had to listen to you overanalyze Lara’s every blink for months.”

“He’s got you there,” Kennedy tells Ian. But my reprieve is temporary. Kennedy turns back to me. “So what if Lanham likes her. Hell, it could work in your favor.”

I’m already shaking my head. “She’s supposed to be my girlfriend. Hell, the entire reason for that is so I don’t lose out on clients like Lanham because of my wild ways or whatever.”

“But you’ve already got Lanham halfway there,” Kennedy points out. “Which means either The Sams overstated the impact of the WSJ article, or Lanham doesn’t give a shit, or you and Sabrina were damn convincing at lunch and he thinks you’re a settled man.”

I toss back the rest of my drink. “It’s not the last one. Or if it is, he wouldn’t hesitate to make a move if given the chance.”

“So? Let him. You want Lanham. He wants Sabrina. He’ll probably crash and burn with her as every man does. What’s the harm in letting him try?”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

I turn toward Ian. “What?”