Page 33 of A Sinful Gravity

A knock came. I snapped back, shoved the ring in the drawer.

Before I could say "come in," the door swung open.

Marco strolled in with his usual lazy vibe. He dropped into the chair across from me, crossed one leg over the other, all casual. "Numbers look good this year, huh?"

Marco was one of the few I could call a friend and a damn strong partner. We met in business school; he was a couple years behind, but sharp as hell. We teamed up on projects back then.

After graduation, we drifted apart until a cocktail party two years ago. He was stuck in some dead-end spot, wasting talent. I was expanding the company hard, needed someone solid, so we clicked instantly.

He hadn't let me down. In just a few years, he'd helped nail down projects big and small.

"Cassian, you gonna say something?" Marco sat there, leg jiggling, smirking at me.

"King Group expanded for the third time in six years—this one swallowed our biggest West Coast rival whole. Normal people wouldn't just sit there zoning out in the boss chair."

"It's fine," I said. "But Southeast Asia's got two new players entering the field next half."

He threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Whoa, can I celebrate for five minutes first?"

"Go celebrate in the conference room," I said. "I've got work here."

He dropped his hands, exasperated. "Cassian, normal people would ride this high for a day. You can't even last three seconds."

I didn't bite.

"Fine, straight talk," he said, leaning forward, ditching the slouch.

"I want to throw a victory party for this project. Bring in the key partners... You know deals get sealed over drinks. It's not just celebrating. It's networking for the next move. You in?"

"No."

"You're the core of this thing." His eyes widened. "You skipping looks bad. Those guys asked about you a bunch; I can't say our main partner's some recluse monk."

"I'm not a recluse." I leaned back. "I just skip pointless events."

"This isn't pointless." Marco uncrossed his legs, planted his hands on the desk, dead serious.

"Cassian, tell me, in these six years, besides work, have you actually connected with anyone? Given yourself a damn break?"

I didn't answer, my gaze drifting to the drawer.

Marco sighed.

"I'm not pushing you," he said, voice laced with real concern. "I just think this isn't healthy. You can't live on numbers and files forever. You're shutting yourself off too tight."

"Marco," I finally said. "This isn't your worry."

He stared at me a beat, then sighed again. "Fine. Just the party—you going or not?"

"Two hours." I paused for a few seconds, then gave in.

Marco slipped back into his easy grin. "Deal. Tonight at eight. I'll text you the spot and who's coming."

"Fine."

He stood, headed to the door, then turned back. "Wear something decent. Don't look like a stiff old-timer."

"I'm not helpless yet."