Page 39 of Level With Me
We’d decided given there were no complaints about her, there was nothing particularly egregious going on and no action needed to be taken. But tonight, knowing it was Trish bringing Blake and Eli their food, I’d questioned that decision. Then I was run through with shame. What was I, jealous? But when she left with their dishes, I’d glanced toward Lila, who I saw watching the server like me. But her expression didn’t reflect anything like the schism in my stomach. It seemed more like exasperation. But maybe I’d been misreading things.
“Well, I’m glad this wasn’t out of the ordinary for you,” Lila said, knocking me out of my thoughts. “This is probably the worst client dinner we’ve ever had. Absolutely no fault of the client, of course.”
“Oh, it’s definitely the client’s fault,” I said. “Grim is my brother’s middle name these days.” I couldn’t see inside the restaurant from where I was, but I knew Eli was sitting at the bar like a human thundercloud. Even though he drove me nuts, worry tugged at me too. “I meant it when I said it was a good thing Blake kept him occupied.”
This seemed to give Lila some relief.
“Is he going to be okay?”
“Absolutely. It’s just a quick stumble home.”
Once we’d parted ways, I should have headed home myself. Instead, I turned on my heel and went to my office. I sat at my desk with the lamp on low as rain began pinging on the darkened window. I took care of a few loose ends, but after an hour, I’d actually run out of things to do. Since I’d handed over much of my work to department leads for the duration of the review, only the most pressing issues were now ending up in my inbox. Unless I wanted to start something new at ten o’clock on a Saturday night, it was time to go.
Then I remembered the contract.
I pulled the envelope from my purse, then slipped the folded paper out.
Blake had stuck a yellow sticky note on the front page.
Hope this is to your satisfaction.
His writing was smooth; confident, with long, almost lazy strokes. If writing could be sexy, his was.
“What a stupid thing to think, Cass,” I said out loud. Yet I still ran my finger over the lines his pen had made.
I hated how Blake made me feel. Hated the way I wanted his hand back on my cheek, his thumb on my lip.
Hated the way he’d looked physically pained when I’d accused him of lying when he’d first come after me.
I flashed back to the moment in the lobby when he’d angled himself in front of me to hand me the envelope. He’d been so close I’d felt like I was breathing him in. But I hadn’t wanted anyone seeing the envelope, so I hadn’t moved away. I’d still been reeling from our earlier handshake—ourhandshake—how his skin had lit up like fire against mine.
I brought my hand to my lips, as if he was still there somehow. Then I pulled my fingers into a fist, pressing it first against my mouth, then down on the desk.
Fuck you, Blake Harrington.
Was he still here in my hotel, sitting at the bar next to Eli? Or was he in a dark corner with that server who’d been fawning over him?
An angry heat twisted in my stomach.
I hated that I knew I clearly felt more than professional curiosity—that ever since he told me about his non-marriage, it was like my brain knew it could go ahead and replay that moment on the island on repeat, heat running through me at every replay.
I took a breath. It was fine. It was only thoughts. I was allowed thoughts. I wasn’t breaking my promise to myself not to trust again. I couldn’t get hurt by thoughts, could I?
I forced myself to focus on the contract. I was sure I’d have to read it several times due to my problem focusing right now, but after a few minutes I found myself reading with growing surprise. The terms of our arrangement were deeply favorable for me. Had I been thinking Blake had some other angle? That he would show his shark self by slipping in ways for him to get out of his work if things weren’t looking like they’d turn around?
I wasn’t a lawyer, but everything I saw before me painted a picture where I was getting the best package Harrington Consulting offered for nothing. Even when it was time to pay—and only when we were turning a positive cash flow—it wasn’t the rate we’d talked about over email. Not even close. It was way lower.
He cared that much about keeping his secret.
I wanted desperately to know why it was so important to him. Did he honestly think I would tell everyone the truth about them? The risk of damage to their business and reputation could be catastrophic for their company if they were turning the kinds of profits I thought they were, sure.
But I felt like there was something more. There had to be.
Still, I was no fool. I pulled a pen out of my blazer and signed on all the required lines. My lawyer hadn’t seen this latest iteration, but the only thing that had changed since our last email was the figures. After signing, I tucked the contract back into the envelope, sealing it before I could change my mind. I realized I could hand it back to Blake right now too, if he was still here. Then there would be no going back at all.
The lobby was relatively quiet when I came back down. The spas were closed at this hour, so the regular stream of people coming from that area downstairs was gone. The only other people here were a rain-soaked couple at the check-in desk—I’d vaguely noticed the rain pinging against the window in my office—and a small group leaving L’Aubergine, laughing.
I passed them, striding back into the dim light and soft music of the restaurant.
