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“Whether you’re with me or the intern, you’ll get your two million. Isn’t that what it’s all about? The zeroes on the check?”
In some ways, yes.
But admitting that would be like exposing my throat to a vampire, so I just watch him coolly. I can practically see his blood pressure climbing.
“Just so you know, I’m not impressed by big money, Mr. Foster,” I say. Though he doesn’t look at me, the corner of his mouth twitches. “I grew up rich.”
“Cole Lancaster? Yes, he’s done quite well for himself selling everyone their morning high,” he clips.
Now he’s making it personal?
My eyes snap to the half-empty mug on his desk and I glare.
“Emphasis on ?everyone,’” he growls. “I’m not immune to your father’s brand. Half of Seattle grew up on Wired Cup, and this office runs on their Pioneer Campfire blend.”
Nice save, damn him.
“Whatever. Money isn’t worth much unless you make it useful,” I say.
“And how do you define useful, Miss Lancaster?” he challenges.
I actually don’t mind.
I want to meet him head-on.
Iwantto push his buttons and find his weaknesses, the things he truly hates. I want to flay him open and see what’s really under all the jagged antisocial rock.
His dormant volcano temper is weirdly compelling. Like walking into a lion’s den with a big, juicy burger and wondering how long it’ll be until you wind up lunch.
“Useful?” I let the question linger, then I smile. “How about saving creatures who can’t save themselves without it?”
“Animal conservation?” Foster’s eyes narrow. For a second, I see the way my words press into him. The weight of them sit uncomfortably against his skin. “We might have one thing in common then, Miss Lancaster. Shocking, I know.”
Oof.
I’m speechless.
And he closes off, shutting his flicker of emotion behind an icy wall I imagine he throws up a lot like a shield.
The air in the room thickens.
Adversarial, charged, yet somehow, questioning.
Canwe set our own crap aside? For the greater good?
I don’t know.
He’s taken up arms, and so have I.
I’m not sure who even decided to declare war, but it doesn’t matter now. There’s no earthly way I’m backing down and giving him the satisfaction of thinking I’m a quitter.
Especially not when there’s so much good on the line.
I hate how his eyes are so gorgeous, though. Blue and sharp and compelling.
I can’t imagine them ever being soft, but now with our gazes fused, I notice flecks of brighter color. Grey and yellow and brown. All the fragments that make up that ice-blue.
It reminds me of the sea a little, reflecting the world around it while it looks on with its own unyielding strength.
