Trade Me (Cyclone #1)(25)

No matter how I try, he’s present, lodged under my skin like unshed tears.

I inhale and smile harder. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s go in and I’ll show you Fernanda.”

She takes my hand in hers. Here’s one thing that’s not a lie: Touching her makes me feel better. My smile comes a little more easily.

“Hey, Blake!” someone calls from the field as we pass.

I wave, smiling. “Looks like you’re getting creamed again, Steve.”

“What? We’re only down by two.”

“For now,” I call back with fake cheer.

Any further reply is lost in indistinct trash-talk. We walk to the main building side by side, and I can pretend that this is nothing more than a nice, sunny afternoon.

On my way to my dad’s office, I stop at every occupied cubicle. I smile. I greet. It’s been weeks since I last stopped by.

“When are you coming back?” everyone asks. Half of them add, with conspicuous glances down the hall in my dad’s direction, “It’s not the same without you.”

I don’t answer. Instead, I introduce Tina.

The door to my dad’s office is open by the time I get there.

“Hey.” He glances up at me and slides a stack of papers as thick as his thumb across the table. “Legal sent these over. Walk her through this, will you?”

“Sure thing.” I give him a cocky smile.

Maybe too cocky. Dad raises an eyebrow. “Don’t get frisky, kids,” he growls.

I’m not sure what he imagines we will get up to signing NDAs. But Tina smiles at him. “That’s what disinfectant spray is for,” she says.

Dad chokes. My imagination jumps instantly to all the many ways that might work out. Dad stares at her for a moment in disbelief, and then realizes that she’s joking. He bursts into laughter. “Get out of here. And no, Blake, don’t you dare. There are interior windows. I can see into your office. There are some things I don’t ever want to know. Ever.”

We go three doors down to my office. Someone must come in here to clean regularly. There’s no dust on the glassed picture on my desk. The plants are lush and green, newly watered. There are fresh pens in the holder.

I don’t close the door. I can see my father across the way, and even though his attention has wandered elsewhere, I still feel like I’m on display.

Look, Dad. I’m okay. I like this girl. Everything’s normal.

“Only my father,” I say to Tina, “would imagine that anyone could find paperwork arousing.”

“What?” Her smile is a touch too wide, a little too faked. “Don’t tell me your media training didn’t cover this, either.”

I set the stack of papers on the flat surface of my desk and gesture Tina to sit in the leather-bound executive chair.

“What am I supposed to say, then? Come on, baby. It’s a nondisclosure agreement. You’ll like it. I promise.”

She gives me an unimpressed look. “God,” she says. “And I thought you were supposed to be a good liar. That’s not how you do it.” She bites her lip and then she leans toward me. Her eyelashes sweep down, and when she talks, she lowers her voice toward sultry.

“I don’t know, Blake.” She bites her lip and reaches gingerly for the papers, stroking her thumb along the edge. “It’s so…big. I’m not sure it will fit.”

I almost choke. She looks up with a touch of a smile.

Fuck. I started this.

“We’ll go nice and slow.” I pull a chair beside her and sit down, and very slowly take a pen from the holder. “Tell me if it hurts and I can stop anytime. I promise.”

“Be gentle.”

I know we’re just joking. I know this doesn’t mean anything. Still, my body doesn’t know this is a show when I lean toward her. I don’t feel like I’m lying when I inhale the sent of her hair. It goes straight to my groin, a stab of lust. “Trust me,” I murmur.

She’s sitting in my chair. She’s smaller than me and all that dark leather surrounds her, blending in with her hair. But when she looks up, tilting her head toward me, she doesn’t seem tiny. She pulls the first paper-clipped section of pages to her, glances at the first paragraph, and wrinkles her nose.

“Ouch,” she says in a much less sensual tone of voice. “It hurts already.”

“It basically says that if you tell anyone anything about Cyclone business, we get one of your kidneys,” I translate helpfully.

“How sweet.” She hasn’t looked up from the document. “Do your lawyers know you summarize their forms like that?”

“Disclose two things,” I say, “and we get two kidneys.”

“Mmm. Playing rough. What happens if I disclose three? You shut down my dialysis machine?”

“You get a commemorative Cyclone pen,” I say mock-seriously. “Come on. We’re not monsters.”

She cracks a smile at that. She’s not one of those girls who always smiles, and that means that when she does smile, it means something. Her whole face lights up and my breath catches at the sight. I lean in, as if I could breathe in her amusement. But then she drops her head and goes back to reading. When she finishes, she signs with a flourish.

“What’s next?” she says. “Bring it on.”