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“What do you want—a contract?” She’d lowered her voice and upped her sarcasm.
“I want to hear you say this is no strings, we go our separate w
ays afterwards and we—”
“Can work together without it being weird.” She eye-rolled her impatience.
He grinned. It was said she was always wound tight. He could see her awful day, the failure of the shareholder meeting, the collapse of the takeover bid and the wrath of the CEO, had her pulled taut like a muscle about to snap. “It’ll be weird.”
She slapped a hand on her thigh and looked down at the carpet. “This is over.”
“You have no sense of humour.”
Her chin jerked up. “And you have no sense of self-preservation.”
That wasn’t news. He wouldn’t be in this conversation if it was. He leant towards her, a little too close to be collegial, definitely in her space. “And that’s exactly why you hit on me.”
She didn’t step back. She wasn’t the type to. That’s what they said about her. But this was a step somewhere deeply unexpected. “You can trust me to be cool, and I won’t trust you at all.”
He frowned, “Then—”
“That’s the whole point.” She closed that leftover politeness between their bodies, coming so close her breath ghosted his throat. “I don’t know you. I don’t trust you. I’m in the mood to tear things down. I want the danger.”
“I’m not dangerous.” So many things, so many people were, like very large explosions that closed off city blocks, and cops striding around in riot gear as if they expected hand to hand combat. Ninety-nine point five percent of the time Mace was the quiet guy; the one who hugged walls at parties, and left early. He so was perfectly safe, he was almost in a sweat thinking about what he was about to agree to.
“To me you’re dangerous,” she said.
He shook his head, he didn’t understand her game. The asteroid might be en route, but if it wasn’t, he still needed a job Monday. If they did this, the rules had to be clear. “I don’t role play. I can’t be your rough trade.”
She rocked back on her six inch stilettos. “God, don’t be so literal. Isn’t it enough I want you?”
“No.” It was, but shit she was cold, and he was out of his depth, drowning in the tsunami.
“You’re built for sex. Look at you, the most unlikely geek in the server room.” She made a vague hand gesture at him. “You don’t get to look like you from testing software.”
He swallowed a mouthful of seawater and coughed.
She laughed. “Am I scaring you?”
“Fuck, yes. You’re Princess Severe and I’m...”
She took a full step back, tugged her suit jacket down as though he’d ruffled it. “Princess Severe.”
Shit. Why didn’t he remind her she was his boss’ boss and then some? Instead he’d gone one princess fantasy grade too far; one snappy comeback above an appropriate risk factor. He sighed, the conversation—the longest he’d ever had with her that wasn’t about this shareholder meeting and takeover gone bad—was closed.
He’d put her fire out all right, just not the way he’d anticipated.
“I drive a silver Merc SL. It’s in the car park, level two. I’m leaving in forty minutes.”
What? No way. He was in. He got to watch her walk away again. He had to keep his act straight; to look like she’d given him a dressing down, but the next time he saw her, he’d be sitting beside her in her roadster, wondering how the hell this was going to play out. He shook his head. It was too wild. Too much like something that’d happen to someone else. But as a random cataclysmic event preparedness strategy, it beat anything else he could dream up.
He went back to the temporary desk and annoyed Nolan some more by avoiding his explain yourself glances and sticking close to Gina, Karen and Trish while he finished packing up. They wanted him to go for an explosion survivors’ drink. It’d give him a decent cover. He could leave with them and slip away at the last moment. He was zipping his own laptop bag when Nolan approached.
“What was that about with Jacinta?”
He tried a dodge. “You know how she gets.”
“She gets that way with me, not you. Why was she talking to you?”
