Page 9 of On The Edge

“I don’t believe you,” I say, to which I get a lopsided smirk. The act is laden with sarcasm but only serves to make him more attractive.

“Whether you believe me or not isn’t my problem.” His phone alerts a text and no sooner than it does, he tosses it onto the table beside him. The clatter eats up the silence in the room.

“Lie to yourself, then. It’s no skin off my back.” I shrug and move toward the refrigerator. I pull out a bottle of water and hold it out to him. He doesn’t look anywhere near fine. In fact, there’s sweat on his brow, and the bronze tone of his skin has paled. “But I know a panic attack when I see one, and it kind of looks like that’s what you’ve got going on there.”

He grabs the water bottle from my hand and downs half of it in one tilt of the bottle. When he lowers it, his eyes meet mine. The tendons in his neck are still taut, and his shoulders continue to rise and fall with a fervid desperation. “Thanks.”

“Sure. It’s just water.”

He nods, his throat working as he does.

“When I have one, it helps if I do box breathing.”

His brows furrow, but his chest continues to rise and fall rapidly as if he’s drawing in air but it’s not abating his need for oxygen. “When you have one what?” he asks, annoyance tinging the edges of his tone.

“A panic attack.”

“I’m not having a panic attack.”

“Okay.” I smile sweetly. Why deny it when we both know that’s what’s going on? “But when I do, it helps if I breathe in slowly to the count of four. Hold it for the count of four. Then exhale slowly to the same count.” My shrug is pure indifference despite taking note of his slow inhale in as if he’s doing what I’ve instructed. “It’s called box breathing. It forces you to—”

“Breathe. Got it. But I’m not having a—I’m fine,” he says, but I notice the tension in his body fading with each second—with each breath—that passes.

His phone alerts again from its spot on the table. The screen lights up but he doesn’t give it a glance. His whole body stiffens again though, and he closes his eyes momentarily before lifting the bottle and drinking the rest of the water.

Silence permeates the room just like my awkward indecision does. “More water?” I ask.

He shakes his head as my own phone buzzes in my hand like a reminder about the huge opportunity I’m getting and how I need to get back to it.

“So, uh, I have to get back to work. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Our eyes meet again. He opens his mouth and then closes it before slipping his sunglasses back on and finally responding. “I’m fine.”

So you’ve said.

“Well, uh, this floor is technically closed right now, but you’re welcome to stay in here until you feel less . . . whatever it is that you’re feeling. I’d say to take your time, but you’ll probably want to get to whatever floor it is you’re wanting to get to before the CEO gets here.”

“Why’s that?” he asks.

“He’s busy trying to make everything perfect for a big client. He might not be too happy to see some random man wandering the halls.”

“Got it.” He tosses the water bottle in the trash can beside him. “He’ll never know I’m here.”

“Good. Great.” I take a few steps back and hook a thumb over my shoulder. “I need to get back.”

“Hey . . .” he says, causing me to turn and face him. “Thanks.”

My smile is quick but sincere. “Of course.”

CHAPTER THREE

Maddix

C-R-U-Z.

I trace the lines of the four letters over and over and then doodle clouds around them. It’s so much easier focusing on this yellow lined pad of paper and my scribbling than the uncomfortable discussion being had at the table in front of me.

“I’m confused.” Cruz Navarro blows out an exasperated sigh and looks from Kevin to the other representatives of Genesee Capital—or rather the ones seated at the conference table around him—not the other lone member of the team sitting against the wall like she doesn’t exist. That person being me. “I thought we were here to ink the deal.”