Moonlighter (The Company, #1)(95)

Eric pulls out my chair with a flourish. “Thank you.” Now that he’s had thirty-six hours to sober up, he’s a perfect gentleman.

I’m seated directly across from Xian Smith. Now that Max has shared his suspicions, I’d wondered if Mr. Smith would seem even more sinister to me than he did before.

If I’m honest, he’s too beautiful to be truly terrifying. He has the smoothest, most flawless skin that I’ve ever seen on a man, and intelligent dark eyes. But his gaze is too knowing to make me comfortable, as if he can see more of me than I can see of him.

“Do you come to New York often?” I ask.

“Four or six times a year,” he says with that unblinking stare. “I prefer New York to California, but I have more West Coast clients than East Coast.”

“I’ll bet,” I say easily.

“Where did you grow up?” Eric asks, picking up his menu at the same time, as if the question isn’t truly interesting.

“Oh, where didn’t I?” He laughs. “Military brat.”

“Mmm,” Eric says noncommittally.

“Have you eaten here before?” Xian asks.

“A few times.” But never with a hacker who was trying to ruin me. “The scallops are wonderful.”





After everyone orders, I feel I can finally dispense with small talk. “Before the food arrives, I need to ask if you can still help me with my motherboard situation. We’ve had a rough go of it.”

He nods stoically. “I heard about the fire. So unfortunate.”

“Yes,” I say as goose bumps rise on my arms. Were you the cause of it? “Back in August, you offered to help me produce motherboards at a seventeen percent savings. And I should have taken you up on it.”

“Yes, you should have.” He gives me a small smile that only increases the size of my goose bumps.

“Mea culpa,” I say. Although I’d rather kick him under the table. “Could you help me shore up my production now?”

“I can,” he says quietly. “Although I’m afraid the seventeen percent discount was for a three-month lead time.”

“At this point I only have a six-week lead time. That’s when I run out of inventory.”

Another stoic nod. “The shorter time frame is still possible. But the discount will only be eight percent.”

I make my mouth into a tight line, which is not difficult to do, considering how fed up I am with the whole problem. “If that’s the best you can do, I will have to accept that.”

“We’ll need a signed contract immediately,” he says.

“My legal team is ready when you are,” I reply, picturing Whitbread’s jowly face. If that man knew what I was doing right now, he’d have a litter of kittens.

“Bread?” asks Eric, passing me the basket. “Ooh, herbed butter.”

At least one of us is happy.





34





Eric





“C’mon, Eric. Give me three more.”

Slowly, I straighten my knees, my legs shaking with effort. The weight on the leg press is about half my usual. But I’m sweating like a pig in a sauna. And every muscle in both knees is screaming.

This is rehab. It hurts. It’s exhausting. And the results are depressing.

“Two more!” Chip calls. “You’re doing great.”

I bear down and bend my knees again. The shaking is worse this time.

“Breathe,” Chip coaches. “One more.”

I finish the set, but it’s ugly. The plates clang back into place when I’m through. And I’m panting like I just went seven rounds with a grizzly bear.

“How you feeling?” Chip has the balls to ask.

“How does it look like I’m feeling?” I snarl.

But the man is not offended. He’s used to pushing people further than they think they can go. “You look like a man who wants to kill me. That’s how I know we’re done here. Good work today, Eric. Nobody works harder than you.” He tosses a clean towel at me.

I catch it and wipe the sweat out of my eyes.

“Go stretch out one more time. I’ll see you Friday.”

“Thanks,” I grunt.

I limp into the warmup room with all the mats, tossing down my towel and then easing my body down onto it. This is the low point, right? It had better be. I need a shower and some food. Maybe a nap.

Everything seems impossible today. I should be scheduling my other knee surgery right about now. But the idea of doing all this again on the other side makes me want to howl.

I’m asking my hamstrings for a little more stretch when I hear the trainer’s voice just outside the door. “You ever try injectables? They can make you stronger real fast.”

“Yeah? Like, how, man?” And, hell, that’s Anton’s voice.

“Injections right into the muscle. I know a guy. You’ll be unstoppable.”

“Dude, really? What’s in it?”

The young trainer drops his voice, so I miss whatever he says next.

But I’ve heard enough. I struggle to my feet and walk out into the hallway. “Hey.”

“Hey, man,” Gino says. “Need something?”