The Fine Print (Dreamland Billionaires #1)(25)

Thankfully, I have enough control over my impulses to stand down and take a step back.

She tilts her head at me. “What’s wrong with you?”

I readjust my already perfect tie. “Nothing.”

“Right.” She turns toward the drawing and stares.

Does she like it?

Of course she likes it, you self-conscious fuck. Who wouldn’t?

Her eyes pop open as she traces the design. “This is amazing.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding in. At least I still have some of my drawing talent like Grandpa said. I’ll give it to the old man. He was right after all when he said talent doesn’t disappear—passion does.

My throat constricts. Focus on the task at hand.

Although the drawing took multiple attempts and over twenty-four hours to finalize, the process of recreating Zahra’s design was easy. Too easy. By the time I realized I had finished the final product an hour ago, a weird emptiness had washed over me. My fingers itched to keep going and chase after that all-consuming feeling where the world shut off around me.

I hate that I want more of it. It makes me feel weak and like I’m teetering on the edge of no control.

“I better get going.” I step toward the entrance of her cubicle.

“Wait!” She bolts out of her chair.

“What?” Does she know I drew it?

Fuck. How could she?

She waves her hand. “It’s missing a signature.”

“What is?”

“The drawing.”

I freeze and consider my words as carefully as I can during this kind of circumstance. “And?” Smooth.

“And whoever designed it deserves credit for their work. It’s the right thing to do.” Her eyes drop to the floor.

Interesting. This is the second time her trust issues have come to the surface. Is this because of Lance Baker publishing a similar proposal to hers? Or is there something else that affects her ability to put faith in someone else?

Rather than feel pleased with my assessment, an inky feeling slithers through my chest. I might be many things, but I’m not a thief.

I shake it off. “The artist is a contact I have from the Animation Department. It’s a half-assed rush job, so don’t worry about giving them credit.”

“Will you share their number with me so I could tell them thank you?”

I frown. “They want to remain anonymous.”

“Okay, how about you give them my number then. If they don’t want to text me, then they don’t have to. No hard feelings.” She blows out a breath.

A dark lock of hair drops in front of her eyes. She tucks it behind her ear that’s covered in a row of unique earrings. I take a step forward to get a look at the designs, only to pull back when she takes a deep breath.

My groan thankfully gets stuck in my throat. “And what do you stand to get out of this conversation?”

She looks at me with knitted brows. “Are you always this cynical about people’s intentions?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes roll. “Expressing gratitude isn’t exactly an exchange program.”

“I won’t take your word for it.”

She laughs as she bends over her desk, giving me a prime view of her firm backside while she scribbles something on a sticky note. Heat spreads from my chest to places that have no business being turned on at the moment.

For some god-forsaken reason, I’m suffering from some kind of physical ailment in her presence that makes me act like a sex-deprived lunatic. My fingers tap against my thigh to keep my hands to myself.

You should be keeping an eye on her motives, not her body.

There’s something not right about her. Maybe her niceness is a front for what really lies beneath the surface. I don’t believe for a second that she hasn’t thought about exploiting me because of my position after I kissed her. Anyone in her kind of financial position would.

She turns and passes me the hot pink sticky note. “Here.”

Don’t grab it. Tell her no and leave before you make a big mistake.

My hand swoops in and plucks the sticky note out of her hand before I give it a second thought.





13





Rowan





I stop at a trash bin near the entrance of the warehouse. Accepting Zahra’s stupid note was only meant to appease her and save me the awkwardness of denying her.

Right. Because you care so much about making others happy all of a sudden.

I linger by the bin, staring down at the hot pink note like it holds my fate. Look who’s believing in destiny now, you broody, hypocritical asshole.

Zahra’s dainty cursive handwriting sticks out to me.

I’d love to say thank you if you are willing to text me (that is if Rowan wasn’t annoying enough to throw this out before you got it). -Zahra Gulian The sticky note crumples beneath my fist. What’s so damn difficult about throwing this away? She would never find out. I covered my bases and made sure she understood that the Animator values his privacy and that he’s busy, which is the truth.

You could find someone to work with her with a snap of your fingers. A good solution as any, yet the idea leaves a bitter taste in my mouth for some unknown reason.

I pocket the sticky note and step away from the trash can. The walk through the Catacombs is a decent trek. Fewer and fewer employees pass by me as I near the underground gated tunnel entrance to Grandpa’s old house. When I was a kid, I thought it was the coolest thing to explore the tunnels with my brothers at night. Our father would make it into a game, with Mom and him making spooky noises. It was their failed attempt to scare us into never doing it again, but it only worked until the next time we visited Dreamland.