Page 21 of His Turn

I’m still silent. Letting Jordan field this one.

“Because I was intrigued. But Elias has already written me off as a poor loser. I don’t know if the two of you deserve my full attention.”

“So walk out,” I say. “If you’re waiting for me to beg you to stay, well”—I laugh—“you’re gonna grow old waiting for that to happen.”

“It’s just fun, Nadia,” Jordan says, shooting me a let-me-do-the-talking look. I suddenly feel like I’m playing the game as someone else. As Smith, actually. I’m usually the one in control and he’s the one being a dick.

And that’s a little bit sad. I miss that old game.

“We’re just here for the fun. Just ignore Bric’s bad mood, OK? He’s getting over some shit.”

She lifts one eyebrow at me. I roll my eyes in return. “Now that is interesting,” she says. “What is it you’re getting over, Elias?” She sips her wine and waits.

“Nothing that concerns you.” I don’t bother shooting Jordan a chastising look for bringing my personal life into this little meeting. He’ll get an earful later. I won’t put on a show for this stranger.

“OK,” she says, dropping it and refocusing on the papers in her hand. “This says payment. We’ve already discussed this. I don’t want it, you’re insisting on it, so I am scratching this out.” She actually has a pen too. Where she just pulled that from, I have no idea. She draws a line through the section about money. And then begins to write something in.

I don’t want to crane my neck to get a better look. I don’t want to show her that I’m intrigued. But I can’t help it. She’s renegotiating my fucking contract.

“Do you want to know what I wrote?” she says, still writing.

“Yes,” Jordan says. God, this guy. Sometimes I think he has no game at all. He’s way too eager for this girl. What makes her so special?

OK. So she’s a ballerina. I admit, that’s pretty cool. And she’s beautiful with her pale skin, long legs, and sweet face. But all the players are pretty. I think Jordan likes her because she’s aloof. Distant. And she tries to dominate him. It gets him off. He likes her public displays of anger.

And if I’m being honest, that whole slapping gig she pulls on him—it’s fucking hot. It might be the only reason I’m here.

I wonder if I could get her to slap me in this restaurant?

I look around at the country-club types, all buttoned up and proper, sitting at their impeccably laid out tables covered in expensive food and drink, and almost laugh.

I should show her who’s in charge here.

“Write whatever you want in that contract, Nadia. I’ll sign it.”

“You will?” she asks. I can tell she doesn’t want to look up at me. She’s trying very hard to not look up at me.

But when she fails, I get a thrill of victory as I meet her eyes. They are brown. Just plain old brown. But not plain, either. They are lit up with fire. With determination. With strength.

Maybe that’s what Jordan likes about her? The fierce look in her eyes?

“Of course,” I say. “I’m gonna get what I want out of it no matter what you do to that contract.”

“And what’s that?” she asks.

“You.”

She looks back down at the contract, quickly averting her gaze. Maybe she even blushes a little, but the light in here is too dim to really make that determination for sure.

I’m so going to win this game.

“I wrote what I want out of it. Since you’re so easy to please, Elias.” She puts her pen down and pushes the contract over to me with one finger. “Sign then, if you’re so agreeable.”

I pick it up and read her hand-written words.

Payment to Nadia Wolfe to include something dear from Elias Bricman and Jordan Wells.

I shrug and hand it over to Jordan’s outstretched hand. “What’s that mean?” he asks. “Something dear? Like… my car? Or something from my apartment?”