Page 93 of Parting Shot

“I understand that you’re not going to quit your job and stick around our house all day or travel with me whenever I want. I understand that kept is not something you will ever be. I know that. But what you have to wrap your brain around is, your life now includes staff and charity fundraisers and events. During the day, at work, you’re Detective Stiel. Nights, weekends, you’re Aaron Sutter’s partner, and you have to look the part.”

I had to give. I never had, and it had yielded me nothing and no one. Letting the man go because I had too much pride would be a bonehead move.

“You can’t manscape me,” I threw out after a minute.

“Do you have any idea what that even means?”

I thought for a second. “No, not really.”

He bent close. “Stop spooking over every little thing.”

“Stop saying what I can and cannot do,” I cautioned.

“Agreed,” he said.

“Okay.”

And then he kissed me.

On the jet, Aaron was immediately on the phone and his computer at the same time. I was basically at a standstill until we got to the resort. Everyone knew where we were—in a holding pattern until the next step of the adventure.

I spotted some magazines on the small table by my chair, although none that I normally read. But I picked up the Forbes because Aaron was on the cover. The inside article had a cheesy title, “Here Comes the Son.” With Gordon Sutter on the left side of the page with his arms crossed and Aaron on the right with his hand out like he was ready to shake, you got the idea the two men were not close.

It was interesting, reading all about Aaron’s recent battle with his father for control of Sutter. There were lots of names the company was called, but Sutter, plain and simple, was what Aaron liked on the letterhead. The article cited many reasons why the company was better served with the son at the helm and not the father. Aaron was quoted as saying his father’s tenure as CEO had been fraught with mismanagement, plagued by poor investments, and riddled with scandal. Gordon volleyed back with his son’s lies about his homosexuality. Luke Levin—I really was crazy about the man’s name—was on record as saying that what mattered to the board and investors at Sutter were results and results alone.

Under Aaron’s leadership, the Chicago-based real estate and development company was apparently on course to finish up a fifth straight year with a net return in excess of twenty percent. That was apparently very good.

The man was listed as a billionaire in the magazine, 11.2 billion altogether. He was not the richest, but neither was he the poorest of the exclusive club. His money was diversified, coming from hotels built all over the world, other properties, and the value of his shares in Sutter. All there in black and white was a lot of reality in a short time frame.

“Hey.”

I put the magazine down to survey him in his crisp blue whipcord suit and to admire the contrast of the white dress shirt, open at the collar, and his deep gold skin. The man just did not know how to go slumming.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m reading,” I said instead of meeting his eyes. “Go back to what you were doing.”

Seconds later, the magazine was gently taken away, and Aaron was on his knees in front of me, his hands on my thighs, holding tight.