“Hoped more than assumed, I think. I kept things light and full of talk about the office, but I’m almost positive he doesn’t know anything. He’s the kind of person who would insist on reporting anything sketchy. And if he thought someone was embezzling, he would say so.”
In other words, a dead end. “At least you know. So…you interested in him now that you know he doesn’t play for the other team?”
“No. He’s a nice guy but not my type.”
Don’t ask. Don’t you fucking ask. “Why?”
Sloan sighs like she’s really loath to answer. “He just doesn’t have any balls. Metaphorical ones. I know he’s got literal ones but…around guys like him, I end up feeling as delicate as a steamroller. It’s not something I enjoy.”
That makes sense. A woman with a strong sense of self and an implacable drive would want a strong partner in life. Is Sloan single because she hasn’t found her equal?
Maybe. And maybe you’re it.
And maybe I’m crazy, too. “Any other options?”
“No. I wish you were here to help. I get the feeling you’re a lot more practiced at sweet-talk-with-a-point than I am.”
I don’t dare tell her that she’s right, so I force a laugh. “But I’m not there, so you got any other ideas?”
“Unfortunately, unless Carissa is full of information, I’ll still be in the dark by tomorrow. And all of this will have to wait because Shane Rawson called me into his office this morning.” She doesn’t sound pleased.
Then again, why should she be? It must be shitty to stand in the same room with a man she’s related to—whom she can work absolute circles around—and know that, not only will he refuse to recognize her as family, he’ll probably be openly hostile if she squashes his undocumented projects.
It would suck to be in her shoes.
“And?” I prompt.
“I got ‘voluntold’ to travel to Cleveland for the next two weeks. Shane claims he needs me to see how a tech company belonging to a buddy of his recently pitched to an overseas giant and secured the contract—”
“Wait.” My heart stops. “So that’s something Reservoir will definitely be doing soon?”
“Yeah. There’s a UK company expanding their footprint in London, so their storage needs are increasing. Little birdies have told me that Stratus already pitched and that Satan—I mean, Evan Cook—and his swaggering asshole of a sidekick have spoken to this company. Apparently, it went well, so the bar is high, but I think our product is better for them. They don’t have many offices to service, and the CEO of this company likes the idea of being able to see where his data is backing up.”
Holy shit. I had to infiltrate her organization to get the scoop on my competition, but she has spies somewhere who have already told her about our meeting with Wynam? Fuck. I need to stop mooning over Sloan and step up my game.
“Do you have new products to pitch to this potential customer?”
“Yep. They’re almost ready to roll. That’s what we’ve been waiting for. I’ve done the heavy lifting. As soon as testing and documentation are complete, I’ll be helping the organization roll out this new server technology, and we’ll be in a great position to grab this big customer. Frankly, I think we have a leg up on Stratus.”
“That’s great,” I manage to choke out. “Would you like me to roll through the product specs? The pitch? I can help you refine everything.”
And I’ll know exactly what you’re doing.
“It’s top secret for now, but I’ll be back week after next. We can talk in-depth then. And now I’ve got to go. Carissa is waiting.”
Damn. Damn. Damn. “Have fun tonight.”
“I will. Thanks. I’ll probably be up to my eyeballs while I’m gone, so I’ll talk to you once I’m back home.”
“Hang on.” I can’t just let her end this call and leave her free to perfect her pitch. Evan tasked me with stopping this. I promised him. I owe him for my stupid heart tripping all over Becca. But my heart is only proving it’s dumber than ever, because I’m weirdly panicked at the thought of not talking to Sloan two whole weeks. “If you need me for anything at all—even an ear while you unwind and drink vino after hours—I’m here.”
“Thanks.” Her voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. “There are days around here where I feel like I could sure use a friend. Maybe it makes no sense, but you feel like you could be one. Talk to you soon.” She sounds reluctant to hang up, but she does.
After that, days drag by—fourteen of them. I try not to think about Sloan. God knows I have enough work that I should be too busy to think about anything else. But nope. Despite pushing myself hard in the gym, going full throttle at the office, then working well past dinner, the minute my head hits the pillow, she’s there.
Why? What does it mean? What the fuck is wrong with me?
The most likely culprit? I need to get laid. It’s been too long. But I’m unmoved to change it.