Hot Asset (21 Wall Street #1)(35)

“I know how that goes,” she says, running a finger around the rim of her glass in a gesture that shouldn’t be erotic but has my body humming all the same. I want her to touch me like that.

“Do you?” I ask, my voice a little bit lower than usual.

She meets my eyes. “Hypothetically, I may know what it’s like to be aware of someone who’s completely off-limits.”

“Sounds tricky. Do I know him?”

Lara takes a sip of her drink. “You know his type.”

“Good-looking? Good in bed?”

She laughs. “More like arrogant, stubborn, and really accustomed to getting his way.”

I nod. “Ah, yep. I do know him. I can assure you he’s also good-looking and amazing in bed.”

She rolls her eyes at my wink. “I’ll plead the fifth on the first, ignore the second altogether.”

“You don’t have to,” I say before I can think better of it.

Lara’s head snaps up. “What?”

“Look, Lara . . .” I have the most annoying, unfamiliar urge to loosen my tie more. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this nervous. “This thing with us, I know it’s complicated.”

Her eyes are wide with panic. “There isn’t a thing with us. There can’t be.”

“Why, damn it?” I snap. “Why, when this is all over, we can’t—”

“Because you’re you and I’m me,” she says. “Even without the investigation, we’re a mismatch. You’re the life of every party, and I can’t even keep a flower alive.”

The damn orchid again.

“Lara—”

Before I can speak, I smell a wave of sweet perfume, then feel arms wind around my neck.

“Hey, Ian, baby. Haven’t seen you around for a while.”

I turn my head just as a woman who looks vaguely familiar but whose name I’m not sure I ever even knew presses her mouth to mine.

Shit. Shit.

I pull back. “Oh, hey . . .”

“Taya,” she says, winding a lock of hair around her finger and not looking the least bit perturbed she just kissed someone who didn’t remember her name.

Good God. Was that my life?

I look at Lara, braced for her disgust, but she merely looks resigned as she meets my eyes. “Point proven.”

She stands, and my throat tightens in panicked frustration.

“Wait, Lara—” I make a grab for her wrist but miss.

And then she’s gone.





18

LARA

Week 3: Friday Night, Later

“Lara! Damn it, would you hold up a sec?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ian drop a wad of cash on the table and say something to Taya, but I’m already heading toward the exit.

I luck out. There’s a huge group entering the VIP section. I slip out just before the mob moves in, but a dozen or so tipsy patrons block Ian.

You want to know what I was doing back there?

Great question.

I want to know what I was doing. I’ve been wondering for the past twenty minutes.

Here’s what I do know . . . when I looked across the VIP lounge just in time to watch Ian spill a drink all over himself, I felt alive.

For the first time in a long time.

I don’t know what it was exactly. Perhaps just sheer delight that someone so good-looking isn’t perfect after all.

Or maybe it was the fact that after hours spent in front of a computer screen staring at names and numbers, I needed the visceral reminder that I’m dealing with real people in the real world.

I’d told myself that I’d just take a second to apologize for my unprofessional behavior that afternoon in his office, and then I went and topped that with a whole other layer of unprofessionalism.

If my boss found out . . . if anyone found out . . .

Bye-bye, FBI.

No recommendation letter from Steve, and I’d have to wait who knows how long for another opportunity like this one.

Not that I’m wishing for Ian to be guilty. Quite the opposite. It’s just . . .

Well, I’m all jumbled, in case you couldn’t tell.

I’m nearly to the door when fingers wrap around my arm, pulling me back around. I lose my balance a little bit and bump awkwardly into Ian’s chest.

He keeps me from stumbling, but the contact only makes me feel more unsteady.

“You all right?” he asks.

Damn him. He seems genuinely concerned, and that makes it so much harder to walk away.

I mean, it’s not like I want to have a fling with the guy. I’m not the kind of girl who hooks up with guys like Ian.

But . . . I like him. I like him a lot.

He makes me laugh, and he challenges me, and . . .

“I’ve got to go.”

“I’ll help you get a cab.”

“Shit,” I mutter. “I can’t leave Gabby.” I pull out my phone and text her.

“I’ll walk you back to her table,” he says as I type. “Or back to mine. Or we can talk here.”

I push at his chest in exasperation. “Don’t you get it? I’m SEC. You’re suspected of insider trading. We can’t do this.”

His other hand comes up, catches my other elbow. “You don’t have to cushion the blow, Lara. If you don’t want to be seen with me because of the stain, you can just tell me. I can take it.”