Page 60 of Sealing the Deal

And yet, Flic must sense my mind starting to spin because she squeezes my hand. “Just check it.”

I reach for my phone. I don’t even go near the red icon on my email inbox and the three digits of new emails I’ve received today; instead I skim my messages quickly. There are several from Donny about the Stormhawks that can wait until tomorrow. Another from Ana’s parents. “Ana’s dad says she’s checked herself into the treatment center.”

“That’s good.”

I nod. “It could be a long road, but at least she’s on it now.”

I show another message, this one from Helena. Three words:

I like her.

Flic smiles. “She has a funny way of showing it, but I’ll take the compliment.”

The final message is from Nicholas. “The jet’s back and refueled,” I tell Flic. “We could fly back to Denver tonight.”

She shakes her head immediately. “I’m not ready for reality yet.” A pause. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I should buy you dinner after what we just did.”

I laugh, the sound easy. “I buy the dinners. I’ll take you anywhere you want. Le Bernardin. Eleven Madison Park. Rao’s. I’ve got access to a couple of private clubs that do a good steak.”

She lifts her head, making a face as she looks at me.

“What?” I ask.

“That all sounds amazing, but… if this is our one night together, we could stay right here.” Her hand moves over my body, across my abs, her fingers tracing the line of hair downward, and I’m hard again in seconds.

We said it would be just one night. A single moment where we both choose ourselves and each other, before reality closes back in around us. If one night is all we’ve got, I’m going to make sure it’s one neither of us will forget.

TWENTY-EIGHT

FLIC

GRAYSON: What are you wearing?

FLIC: Business partners don’t ask each other that question.

GRAYSON: I’m stuck in the world’s longest meeting. I need visuals. Preferably ones involving those cute lacy panties.

FLIC: We said one night. Stop thinking about my underwear!

GRAYSON: I’m a ruthless businessman, remember? I’m looking to renegotiate.

FLIC: Come by the bar tonight and we can discuss terms.

GRAYSON: I’m on a flight to New York tonight.

FLIC: See! There’s a reason we can never work.

GRAYSON: I’ll take that as a solid maybe to renegotiations.

FLIC: You’re impossible.

GRAYSON: I prefer persistent.

Mama’s kitchen smells like coffee, fresh bread, and home. Even if it isn’t the old ranch kitchen in the main house I spent so many weekends of my childhood in, it’s still all Mama. I cradle a mug between my hands and stare out the huge window that overlooks the lake. Weak sunlight catches on the spruce trees, branches heavy with snow. Ice glistens across the lake. It’s hard to believe it will ever be warm enough to swim in that water come summer.

Harder still to believe that two days ago I woke up in Grayson Ashborne’s bed. In his New York apartment. With the city humming outside the windows and his body warm and solid beside mine.

I smile into my coffee before I can stop myself. As soon as Grayson stirred, we broke our “one night” rule. And then again in the shower. But we never actually left the apartment, which we decided still counted.