“You said he was a VP?”
She nodded, but I saw her wariness.
It didn’t hurt me, because, even though I’d made an offer I had zero idea how to follow through on, she wasn’t scared of me. If anything, my irrational suggestion seemed to have opened something up inside her. Throughout our date, her natural reserves had lowered. At first, because it was so cold outside and she’d snuggled into me as we walked into the restaurant. But after, she’d touched me, had reached out to brush my fingers, had—by the end of the meal—stopped flinching if her knees knocked mine.
Now?
I felt those reserves, sensed them like a wolf naturally sensed the parameters of its territory, and knew she’d lowered them and let me in.
In her mind, I’d gone from someone who could potentially hurt her, to someone who wanted to protect her.
I had no idea where to find a damn hitman. I was a fucking businessman, and while some might think capitalists had ‘specialists’ on speed dial, especially ones as wealthy as me, I didn’t have those kinds of contacts.
For her, though, I would have found someone and paid highly to give her peace of mind.
“He was a VP. He might have retired by now. And no, I’m not going to tell you his name or where he worked.” She licked her lips slowly and lowered her lashes; though I knew she was looking at me through them. “Not after your generous offer.”
“It wasn’t generous. I hate knowing that bastard might still be roaming the streets after what he did to you.”
“You think I don’t?” She blew out a breath, then sliding her fingers down over my wrist, along my Henley-covered forearm and up my bicep, she didn’t stop until she was cupping my cheek. The brush of those delicate digits against my throat and jaw had me closing my eyes in response.
What this woman could do to me with the most innocent of touches…
I felt my body stir and hated the instinctual response.
It seemed so wrong considering our discussion, but it was just her. It was her effect on me. I couldn’t help it, couldn’t and wouldn’t stop it, but that didn’t mean to say I wouldn’t control it.
“Let me do something.”
The words were more of a plea than I’d have liked, especially when she shook her head.
“There’s nothing more to do,” she murmured softly, sadly. “It’s in the past.”
When fear and pain flashed over her face, I wanted to kill the bastard myself. With my bare hands, never mind hiring someone to do the damn job.
But, sometimes, there were more ways to hurt a man. Ways in which I specialized—finance.
I’d taken great pleasure last year in stripping the VPs on my own board—who’d been fired for harassment of employees—of all their bonuses. I’d found ways to ensure they received nothing from the company. It had cost me a small fortune, and was one of the reasons why Derek had met his current squeeze, Kayla, because she was a part of the team I’d taken on for that express purpose.
When a VP is fired, they have safety measures tied into their contracts. It usually means they leave with nice golden handshakes, are safe from the reason behind their dismissal being announced to the public ensuring they can swim from their current position into the market and be scooped up by another company.
I’d stopped that in its tracks. That cycle wouldn’t happen on my watch.
With the law firm’s help, I’d established a means of cutting off their golden handshake and thanks to an old friend from college who’d studied journalism and had been in need of a scoop, had revealed all to her—those bastards’ reputations were permanently scarred. Exactly how they should be.
I wanted to do the same to the motherfucker who’d hurt Jessica, but even now, she was shaking her head, taking away the one legal means of hurting him like he’d hurt her.
“I can’t, Max. I can’t. I’ve been placed under a gagging order. If I say anything, then I get hit with more fines because he can sue the ass out from under me.”
“I can pay them,” I told her dismissively. “That doesn’t matter.”
For a second, she stared at me, then a smile curved her lips and though it did my heart good to see her respond that way, it was a strange smile.
“I forgot, I’m now in a parallel universe where tens of thousands of dollars don’t mean anything.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Is that a criticism?”
“No, just a statement.” But her voice sounded remarkably cheerful.