IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(30)

Whereas I was heartless and soulless and greedy.

The emptiness in my chest turned physical, an ache that actually hurt. I suddenly wanted. It wasn’t desire—it wasn’t sexual. It was larger than that. Deeper. I wanted Conor Newell to see me differently. I wanted him to respect me. To like me. I wanted to prove to him that I could be more.

I wanted to prove that I could be enough for him.





11





Conor





Wells was late to the meeting. Really late. And it was pissing James off. He looked at his watch for the millionth time. “What an asshole,” he muttered. It was loud enough for the others at the conference room table to hear, and they squirmed, visibly uncomfortable. But none of them protested or corrected him.

I stifled a yawn. I’d been up so late that I’d slept through my first two alarms. I’d barely had time to shower and race out the door, and I certainly hadn’t had time to stop and grab a cup of coffee. Wells’s secretary, Deb, had offered me a cup when she’d escorted us into the conference room, but I’d declined because my stomach was still too unsteady with nerves.

I was desperately regretting the decision to skip it.

“Do you and Richard want to have dinner tonight?” I asked, trying to distract both of us from the delay. “I’d love to finally meet him if he can spare the time.”

It was a lie. From everything I’d ever heard about the guy, he was a spoiled douche. But James seemed to love the man, so asking them to dinner was the right thing to do.

“He has fencing club tonight.”

I blinked at him. “He… what?”

“Don’t ask. It’s some group from college that bonded enough to make it a monthly thing for life.”

“Just you and me, then?” I asked. It had occurred to me earlier that I was going to do something stupid and beg my sexy stranger to meet me in the city for hot sex if I didn’t stay busy with other things.

James frowned at me apologetically. “Can’t. Sorry. I have dinner with my banker to go over some things. Richard wants me to invest in Olielle, and I need to figure out how to make it happen.”

“What’s Olielle?”

James flapped his hand. “Pfft. No idea. Real estate, maybe? But it’s important to Richard, so…” He craned his neck to try peering out the windows to the hallway. “Where the hell is that jackass?” he muttered. “We need to get this deal moving so you can get home to your mom.”

James was about to declare mutiny and revolt when the door swung open and Wells strode in. He gave no apology or acknowledgment of his tardiness. Instead, he moved directly to where I sat and deposited a Starbucks cup in front of me before moving to the head of the table. But instead of sitting, he stood behind the chair, hands resting on the back of it.

What the hell?

I glanced at the cup and saw the Sharpie marks on the side noting it was a mocha latte. How the hell had he known I drank a mocha latte?

I snorted to myself. Don’t be ridiculous, everyone likes coffee and chocolate.

After taking a tentative sip, I let a sigh of pleasure escape. Wells’s eyes shot to mine. I couldn’t resist the twist in my stomach at the sight of him. I thought about what I’d texted Trace earlier—that Wells might have been an asshole, but he was still hot. It was true. Even more so today. He still hadn’t shaved, and two days’ worth of stubble turned his jaw to a rugged shadow. It was entirely incongruous with his perfectly crisp suit and piercing blue eyes.

I dropped my gaze to my coffee cup. I didn’t need him to notice me gawping.

“Plans have changed,” he said without preamble or introduction.

That got me looking right back up again. I found Wells staring at me. My heart began to pound fast and loud enough I could hear the swoosh of it in my ears.

Beside me, James stiffened and leaned forward. “Changed how?”

Wells continued looking at me, even as he answered James. “My offer is off the table.”

Panic clawed hot and fierce inside my chest. I was having a hard time breathing. I’d been trying to line up other funding for my mother’s treatment just in case, but this deal was still critical. It still needed to go through.

James placed a hand on my arm, trying to reassure me. “Explain,” he said to Wells with narrowed eyes.

“I’m done negotiating.” He nodded toward Deb, who maneuvered a cart piled high with documents into the room. She began distributed packets to everyone at the table. “I’ve decided to accept Dr. Newell’s original terms. I’ve had legal alter our draft offer to reflect that, though of course there are still details to be worked out.”

When he finished, there was silence in the room. After a moment, one of his VPs cleared her throat. “Mr. Grange, I’m not sure—”

“I am.”

“But—”

He ignored her and turned to me. “Do you accept?”

I glanced toward James, feeling entirely helpless. “I don’t understand. Accept what?”

James continued glaring at Wells. “What’s the trick here?”

Wells held his hands out to the side. “There isn’t one.”

“I’ll want to be involved in drafting the final agreement to ensure there are no surprises in the fine print,” James said.