Hard Sell (21 Wall Street #2)(64)

I walk to her front door, knowing she won’t stop me. She wants love. I want her to have it.

And I wish like hell I had it in me to give it.





30

SABRINA

Monday Lunch, October 16

“So, are we going to talk about it, or are you going to keep pretending everything’s cool?”

I look at Ian over my Diet Coke. “You mandated this meeting. You have something say, say it.”

It’s Monday afternoon, a little more than a week since Matt basically proposed marriage.

Sans love.

I’m trying really hard not to think about it. Or him.

But Ian’s making it difficult. Because as much as I know that he’s my best friend and loves me like a sister, he also loves Matt like a brother.

It’s hard to share a meal with this man without thinking of the man.

Ian pushes aside his plate and, crossing both arms on the table, studies me with his piercing blue eyes. I can’t help but compare them to another pair of blue eyes. Ian’s are ice-blue, slightly almond-shaped. Matt’s eyes are dark blue, the ocean on a sunny day, wide and bright and . . .

I suck in a sharp intake of breath as the pain hits. Again. I know it’ll pass. Eventually.

But damn, this sucks.

Damn, it had hurt to stand there and put my heart out there, knowing he didn’t feel the same, and have him all but shake my hand and wish me well.

I take a bite of my tuna Nicoise salad and pretend not to notice Ian’s scrutiny.

“He’s irritable,” Ian announces.

I nip a green bean cleanly with my front teeth. “Who?”

My best friend’s look is withering. “Really?”

Fine. I sigh and set aside my fork. “I’m sorry Cannon’s acting like a juvenile, but it’s really not my problem. I sent him an email letting him know that I’d be happy to continue our working relationship through the end of the contract despite our personal entanglements. He’s yet to take me up on the offer.”

“An email,” Ian repeats. “You two make love and war like both are going out of style for the better part of the past God knows how many years, and you sit there and tell me you sent him an email?”

“What do you want me to do here, Ian? What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me what happened.”

I sip my soda. “Ask him.”

“I did ask him. Kennedy asked him. Kate asked him. Half the office thinks he received a six-months-to-live sentence from his doctor, that’s how unhappy he’s been.”

“And that’s my fault because . . . ?”

Ian throws up his hands in frustration. “I swear, I don’t know why I try to talk to either of you.”

“Well, I just don’t see why I’m supposed to shoulder the blame for Matt’s irritability. Maybe it’s work related. Has he heard anything on the Jarod front?”

I keep my voice casual, careful not to betray the real reason I agreed to meet Ian for lunch. It’s not that I don’t enjoy my best friend, but as I said, seeing Ian makes me think of Matt, and, well, lately . . . that’s painful as all get out.

Ian’s eyebrows lift at my question. “Jarod? You and the world’s most famous billionaire are on a first-name basis?”

I fiddle with my fork, knowing that I’m going to have to rip this Band-Aid off sometime. Might as well be now.

“He’s been in touch.”

Okay, so I chickened out a little bit. That’s the truth but not the whole truth. We’ll get to that part later.

Ian reaches across the table and snags an olive from my plate. “You and Lanham have been in touch . . . how?”

“Mr. Lanham got my email and reached out.”

Ian sits back in his chair. “Ten seconds ago, he was ‘Jarod.’ You can’t go all formal on me now.”

“I can do whatever I want.”

“Cut the bullshit, Sabrina. You’re the most direct person I know, so this whole cagey thing isn’t suiting you.”

I swallow, a little stung by the rebuke, even though I know it was well deserved. “Jarod wants to hire me,” I say, sipping my soda.

“For what?”

“That’s between him and me.”

“Sabrina—”

I hold up a hand. “No, I draw the line there. I don’t share my clients’ requests with anyone, even you. You’d expect the same privacy if you hired me.”

“I have hired you,” he points out. “You got me the best lawyer in the city when I needed one.”

“I did that because you’re my best friend,” I say, waving my hand. “The point is, when someone asks for my help, I’m a vault.”

“But the whole group knows about your ruse with Cannon.”

“Because it was half your idea,” I point out. “Had Matt come to me for help on his own and asked me to keep it between us, I wouldn’t have told a soul.”

“Not even me?” Ian gives his best smile.

“Not even you, you pain in the ass.”

“You and your pesky professional ethics,” he says, shaking his head. “Okay, fine, don’t tell me what Lanham wants. Can you at least tell me what happened between you and Matt? As a friend?”