Hard Sell (21 Wall Street #2)(53)

I let out a little laugh. “I’m not mad.”

“You look a little mad,” Kennedy says into his glass.

“No, I’m just . . .”

Hurt.

“Concerned,” I finish. “I can’t do my job if Matt doesn’t give me all the information.”

“I will say, his schedule’s been crazy,” Kate says kindly. “He’s barely had a free minute between meetings.”

The balcony door opens, and the sound of male laughter fills the air as Ian and Matt step back into the living room.

I’m already off the barstool, wineglass in hand, as I stomp toward them.

Ian gives me a wide-eyed look. “Don’t hurt me.”

I ignore him and, putting a palm on Matt’s chest, push him back onto the balcony. “You and me, outside.”

Matt gives me a slightly amused look. “Can I at least get another drink first?”

My only response to that is to shut the door on the rest of the group so it’s just the two of us, forty-something stories above Manhattan.

Too late, I realize my mistake. It’s cold out here. The guys all came from work, and their suit jackets are enough to protect them from the worst of the fall air. My thin blouse? Not so much.

“Why do you look ready to cut someone?” Matt asks, shrugging out of his jacket and handing it to me.

I ignore the jacket. “Did you meet with Jarod Lanham on Monday?”

He goes still for a moment, then steps toward me, wrapping his coat around my shoulders when I make no effort to take it myself. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was getting around to it,” he says simply.

I pull his coat closer around me. “But you told Kennedy first.”

Matt tilts his head curiously. “Sure. I work with the guys. I see them all day, every day.”

“Yeah, but we’re . . .”

He steps closer, starting to grin, even as his gaze grows sharper. “We’re what?”

I blow out an irritated breath. “We’re . . . colleagues. Of a sort. Not like you and the guys, but—”

He dips his head and kisses me. Not like he wants to shut me up, not like he’s trying to win an argument, but because he wants to.

I stubbornly keep my lips closed, my stance stiff, but he’s just as stubborn. His lips brush over mine, gently but insistently, his hands slipping inside his jacket to rest on my waist.

Matt’s kiss is all the more compelling for its tenderness, his touch more convincing for its patience. His tongue gently touches the center of my bottom lip, and I relent with a sigh, opening my mouth to his, lifting my arms to wrap around his neck.

His jacket slips off, but neither of us notices. He wraps his arms all the way around me, tilting his head, and I forget all about the autumn chill, Jarod Lanham, even our friends just on the other side of the glass doors.

My eyes fly open. Glass doors . . .

I pull back and whip my head around. Sure enough, all four of our friends are watching us unabashedly. Lara and Kate are grinning outright. Even crusty Kennedy seems amused.

But my eyes lock with Ian’s. The guy’s my best friend, and I know him well enough to know when he’s concerned.

About me?

Or for Matt?

I want to tell him that he doesn’t need to worry. That even though we’re full-on playing with fire, we won’t get burned. Our hearts are damn near inflammable.

I feel Matt’s right hand move and glance down to see him giving our friends the finger. A laugh bubbles out of me, and I’m surprised at how girlish and happy it sounds.

Our friends laugh and take the hint, moving away from the windowed door. Most of them do, anyway. Ian lingers a bit longer, his smile tight until Lara whispers something in his ear that makes him smile for real.

Matt brings my attention back to him, setting a palm to the side of my cheek. “About my lunch with Lanham . . .”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know.” His brow furrows. “I got the feeling he was more interested than he should be in the status of our relationship.”

“And that bothers you?”

He gives a slight smile. “Turns out I might be the jealous type.”

“Even when it’s just a fake girlfriend?” I say, keeping my voice teasing to hide my thrill at the thought of Matt being possessive. Of me.

“Apparently,” he murmurs before taking a deep breath. “I need to ask another favor.”

I smile. “If it’s dinner with your parents again, you better have some more flowers.”

He blows out a breath. “It might be worse. It’s about Lanham. And our . . . arrangement.”

“Okay . . .”

“He’s close to signing,” Matt says, sounding more indifferent than I’d have expected. “I wasn’t sure, because our meeting on Monday seemed more like a battle of wills than anything else. But The Sams called me into their office today and said that he’s narrowed it down to me and a senior director from Schmitt and Sons.”

“Damn,” I mutter. “Schmitt’s the best in the business.”

He gives me a look, and I pat his chest reassuringly. “Besides Wolfe, of course.”

“The Sams are more intent than ever that I don’t mess this up for them, especially after they found out that the Schmitt guys pulled out all the stops with a trip to Newport last weekend.”