Hard Sell| ETHMA

15

Ethan
Tuesday Evening, September 26

"Let me get this straight. You had lunch with Jarod Lanham. And our bosses. Lanham told you he'd be in touch. And you're looking like someone kicked your puppy?"

I glare at Michael . "I don't have a puppy."

"Evading," Kennedy chimes in, pointing at me accusingly. "Michael's right. You're not nearly as happy as you should be."

"I don't have Lanham's business yet. You'll have to excuse me if I'm not popping the champagne."

The guys and I are at one of Wall Street's favorite after-work watering holes, and I'm halfway through what I expect to be the first of many cocktails tonight. And not the celebratory kind.

My friends are right. I should be ecstatic that Jarod didn't laugh me right out of the restaurant. That he knew about my Vegas notoriety and still seemed to entertain the idea of working with me.

Hell, the man ended our lunch meeting with the implication that I was on his short list of potential brokers.

"Lanham say why he's in the market for someone new?" Michael asks. "He's been with Herbert Bishop for a hundred years."

"Precisely. Bishop's practically a hundred years old. He's retiring," I answer.

"So why not stay with Morgan Stanley? Surely Bishop's got a half dozen protégés itching to take over."

"Probably. But the last thing I wanted to do was plant the seed that he should stay where he is. Besides, I got the sense the man thrives on change."

Michael takes a sip of his Negroni, a bitter red gin cocktail he orders wherever he goes. "Wanna flip for him?"

I grin, knowing my friend's joking. "You'll have to pry his billions from my cold, dead fingers."

"Jarod Fucking Lanham." Kennedy shakes his head. "Unbelievable. You realize that you're on the cusp of achieving everything you've ever wanted at twenty-eight. It's hard not to hate you."

I smile reflexively, but I'm taken aback at Kennedy's words: Everything you've ever wanted.

Is that right?

Is getting an elusive billionaire client my life's dream? Is it really everything I've ever wanted?
I suppose that's right.

So why do I feel so hollow?

Because Jarod Lanham was looking at Emma. And she was looking right back.

Okay, so I'm not entirely sure about the last one.

Emma had been in her role as my girlfriend, and to give credit where it's due, the woman rivals any Academy Award winner when it comes to her acting skills.

Even I'd have been convinced that she was into me if I didn't know better.

But I'm definitely not imagining that Lanham had been looking at her. And if I know anything about the man from my years of watching him from afar, it's that he gets what he wants.

He'd wanted Emma.

I can't blame the man. She'd been sexy as hell in a blue dress that matched her eyes, her hair long and tousled, her heels high and begging to be wrapped around a man's waist . . .

I look up at Michael as I reach for the complimentary nut bowl in the center of our table.

"You talk to Emma today?" I ask.

"No, not in a few days. Why?"

I hate myself for it, but I feel a tiny stab of relief that Emma hasn't gone running to Michael to talk about how miserable she is in her and my current arrangement.

Though I know her and Michael's relationship has never been romantic or sexual, I'm always . . . aware of it. Aware that she'd do anything for him, whereas she won't do a damn thing for me unless money and an ironclad contract's included.

And no sex.

That part has been worse than I expected. Of course, I've always known how hard it is to be around Emma and not touch her. I just figured I'd . . . get over it. I figured that if a line was drawn in the sand, my constant boner for the woman would get over itself.

Not so.

I want her more than ever.

Which, I've been trying to assume, is just the result of the age-old "wanting what I can't have," but I'm terrified it's something worse. Terrified that I want her more because I'm spending more time with her. Talking with her. Studying her. Seeing how her brain works.

Everything you've ever wanted . . .
Damn it.

"She's meeting Olivia for drinks, though."

I look up at Michael . "What?"

He rolls his eyes at my distractedness. "You asked about Emma. I said I hadn't talked to her, but Olivia mentioned she and Emma were going to grab a drink before dinner."

"When? Where?"

"Never had you pegged for a clingy boyfriend," Kennedy says, snatching the nut bowl away from me. He looks down, then glares at me. "You ate all the almonds and left the shitty peanuts."

"So ask for some more almonds. And I am not a clingy boyfriend. You know we're only—"

"Posing for the people, I know," Kennedy interrupts. "But no need to keep up the pretense for Michael and me."

It's a trap. One of the subtle, barely noticeable verbal traps that Kennedy Dawson is legendary for.

Kennedy's got a low, almost monotone voice. He never yells, rarely laughs. All three of us are sarcastic, but Kennedy's humor is dry to the Sahara level.

I'm sure Kennedy and Michael expect me to either deny the comment or jump to reassure them that Emma and I still hate each other, that we're just pretending. But I'm feeling ornery, so I surprise them. And myself.

"Lanham wants something from her."

"From who?" Michael asks.

"Emma. Keep up, man."

"I thought you said she left lunch as soon as he and The Sams showed up."

"Yeah, but she didn't Irish goodbye. She chatted. Made nice. Then excused herself."

"I see," Michael says, grabbing the nut bowl from Kennedy, then setting it aside in disgust when he sees it's empty. "And at what point in this interaction did Lanham slip the note into Emma's locker about having a crush on her?"

I point my glass at him. "You don't get to be sarcastic about this. We had to listen to you overanalyze Olivia's every blink for months."

"He's got you there," Kennedy tells Michael. But my reprieve is temporary. Kennedy turns back to me. "So what if Lanham likes her. Hell, it could work in your favor."

I'm already shaking my head. "She's supposed to be my girlfriend. Hell, the entire reason for that is so I don't lose out on clients like Lanham because of my wild ways or whatever."

"But you've already got Lanham halfway there," Kennedy points out. "Which means either The Sams overstated the impact of the WSJ article, or Lanham doesn't give a shit, or you and Emma were damn convincing at lunch and he thinks you're a settled man."

I toss back the rest of my drink. "It's not the last one. Or if it is, he wouldn't hesitate to make a move if given the chance."

"So? Let him. You want Lanham. He wants Sabrina. He'll probably crash and burn with her as every man does. What's the harm in letting him try?"

"Guess we'll find out."

I turn toward Michael . "What?"

"You were so into your ranting, I didn't have the chance to tell you that Olivia and Emma were meeting here for a drink. I just got a text from Olivia that she's running late, but it looks like Emma found someone to keep her company while she waits." He nods his chin toward the bar.

My head whips around, and hot possession rips through me.

Emma's at the bar, all right, still wearing the sexy blue dress from earlier. Her head tilts back as she laughs at something the man next to her said.
A man who's none other than Jarod Lanham.