Page 127 of Bulletproof

“What?”

“Oh, sorry, I’m changing topics. Try to keep up.” He baited me.

Usually, I was the one jumping from one thing to another.

“It sounds like, from what Hayes said, this Synergy thing was not your idea of fun.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“And since maybe working for anyone but yourself is a bad idea, if you decide you want to start your own company back up again and you need capital or a loan or investors, please allow me to help you bankroll your dream. You can pay me back, J. It would only be a loan.”

I reached for his hand, and he took it.

“Or not,” he told me. “I would love it not to be a loan. I would love it if you finally, for once, took something from me.”

“It’s a very kind offer that I promise to keep in mind.”

His face brightened. “How about a million dollars to sleep with you, like that movie with Robert Redford and Demi Moore?”

I rolled my eyes at him as I stood up.

“I want to have lunch with you when I get back into town, all right? Can we do that?”

“You wanna try to be friends?”

“Yes.”

“It didn’t work the last time.”

“Because I didn’t want it this badly.” He gave me a bittersweet smile.

“Okay.”

He nodded, leaned forward, and stopped before our lips touched, a hairbreadth away. If I wanted the kiss, I would have to take it.

I gave him one on the cheek instead.

“You’re exhausting,” he said before he walked away.

I felt good as I ran back to the cottage through the rain. The downpour was amazing—torrential, but not cold. But I was from Chicago, so cold was relative. Inside, I realized I was soaked and was laughing as I looked around.

Sam was on the porch, sitting in a chair.

“Hey, did you get wet?”

Nothing.

“Sam?”

He didn’t move, didn’t turn, and did not even acknowledge that I was there. I moved fast, and when I stepped in front of him, only then did I realize that he was out cold. His head was tipped forward, his chin against his chest.

“Jory.”

My blood froze, and I turned to see a man dressed in black with a ski mask on. He had a gun with a silencer on it, pointed at me.

“Don’t worry, Jory,” the stranger said softly. “It’s just chloroform. He’ll recover in no time.”

“Who are you?” I asked as I stepped between the man and Sam, shielding him.