Billion Dollar Beast - Olivia Hayle Page 0,27

I try to ignore the thrill that his nearness brings, that it always brings, especially when he’s suit-clad like this.

The fact that we haven’t spoken a word alone to one another since the poker game hasn’t helped.

We’ve seen each other half-naked.

That fact hangs in the air, unacknowledged and undiscussed, a steady presence. It’s there when he unlocks his Land Rover without another glance at me. It hovers between us as I slide into the passenger seat.

He pulls out into the central Seattle traffic. I’ve never seen him drive, and despite the odd mood between us, my eyes stray to his hands on the wheel. The backs of his hands are wide. Knuckles broad. Tan, slightly rough skin.

His displeasure is heavy. That makes two of us, I think. There would have been no awkwardness with Gina here. How are we to survive the one-hour drive?

I break the quiet fifteen minutes in. He might be perfectly content with pressured silence, but I’m not.

“You don’t have a driver,” I note. My brother had had one for a long time, treasuring the time it saved him—most of his texts and calls were handled from the back of a car.

“Astute observation,” Nick says. His tone is just the way he likes it: dismissive and mean, all rolled into one.

I glance out the window. “I was just comparing it to Cole.”

He’s quiet for a beat. “I’m not dependent on anyone,” he says. “Cole is right about it being a time-saver. But you have to trust a driver.”

And I don’t trust anyone. He doesn’t say the words, but my mind speaks them for him regardless.

“You trust a pilot to fly a plane,” I point out. “You trusted the pilot up in Whistler on the helicopter ride.”

“I can’t fly a plane or a helicopter myself,” he says. Are the words spoken through gritted teeth? I bite my lip to hide a smile.

“So you only trust people when you have no other choice.”

He shakes his head. In profile, the rough cut of his jaw stands out sharply, as does the dark stubble on his cheeks and jaw. “You’re impossible.”

“But correct?”

“Potentially.” In the silence that follows, his voice softens, but it’s not with kindness. “I trust you won’t say anything about our game in Whistler.”

I cross my arms. “Do you think I would?”

“I don’t know.”

“If you’re worried about Cole, don’t be. I’m not in the habit of telling my brother when I get undressed with a man.” I pull open one of the binders at random, opening it in my lap. “Let’s focus on the day instead. Do you know who we’re going to meet?”

I don’t let him answer. I dive into an explanation instead, preparing him in short, concise sentences. Be Gina, I tell myself. If Nick wants to kill whatever attraction exists between us with professionalism, well, two can play that game.

We arrive at the store with time to spare. Pulling into the backlot, he reaches for his phone. “They might not like us here,” he warns me.

I frown at him. I’d had email contact with the head of this warehouse. She had been nothing but accommodating.

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“They have a hiring freeze, same as all the others,” he tells me. “They will have been working double shifts. They know bankruptcy is looming.”

A response blooms on my tongue but dies as it reaches my lips. But we’re here to save the store. That might be my intent, but I know it’s not Nick’s, not really. The endgame for him is profit. If it’s by saving the brand or by eventually selling the individual stores and supply chains to the highest bidder, it’s all the same to him.

Nick turns, as if he’s read this and more in my eyes. I follow him into the warehouse with steel in my spine. If he expects me to fail, I won’t. The binder Gina’s prepared?

I’d written most of the content.

Nick and I emerge nearly an hour and a half later in tense silence. I’d kept my sentences short, but civil, and straight to the point—not an extraneous word.

He didn’t comment much, either, apart from a few questions here and there. We’ve been civil to the point of rudeness, and as we get back into the car, the tension between us has in no way lessened.

We’re halfway to Seattle, deafening silence reigning, when the car begins to slow. I look over at Nick. Has he forgotten where the gas pedal is?

He steers to the side and turns on the warning light of the