Page 93 of Boardroom Sins

My face burns. “What are you even?—?”

“You work a job where you take orders. You defer to everyone around you. You’ve spent years taking care of your brother, your bills, everyoneelse’sproblems.” His tongue darts out to lick a stray drop of whiskey from the corner of his mouth. “You’re exhausted from being in charge of your own survival.”

I want to argue, but how can I? He’s painfully right.

“What you want,” he continues, “is someone who can handle things for you. Someone who doesn’t need to be managed or coddled or reassured. Someone who just…does.”

The plane bounces for a moment through a patch of turbulence. When it settles, I squeak out a meek, unconvincing, “You’re wrong.”

Lukas levels his gaze at me. “Am I? Then prove it.”

“How?”

“Tell me to take you home.” His gray eyes hold mine. “Right now. Say the word and I’ll turn this plane around.”

He waits.

I wait.

He waits…

I wait…

And…

… he grins.

“That’s what I thought.”

He’s so sure he’s won. For a second, I’m inclined to agree. It’s only because he’s so good at stirring up that hot flood of liquid shame in me. It surges through every inch of my body and makes me feel giddy and insane.

He enjoys doing it; I can tell. Part of me enjoys it, too.

But if I keep letting him fizz me up like a soda bottle, I’m going to lose myself in Lukas Lazarev.

And Kir already warned me of what happens if I let that come to pass.

So I have to fight back. Ihaveto.

Two can play this game.

“You know so much about me,” I say, sitting up straighter. “But what about you, huh?”

His eyebrow rises. “What about me?”

“Fair’s fair. You’ve clearly done your homework. Dug through my finances, my family history, my underwear preferences.” I force myself to hold his gaze. “So tell me something about Lukas Lazarev.”

“What would you like to know?”

“I want to know what happened to your wife.”

The change is instant.

One second, he’s lounging in his seat, whiskey in hand, radiating that predatory amusement, content to tease and banter. The next, it’s like someone flipped a switch.

His face goes blank.

His shoulders lock.