Page 52 of Turn Me On
“Fair enough. And I hope to see you in New York. Since I’m leaving early, dinner will be on me,” Priyam says to Zane.
“I look forward to it,” Zane says.
We grab our bags, and Priyam hops into the cart and motors off.
Zane looks at me with expectant eyes. “So? That went well, right?”
At times like this, Zane isn’t the commanding man who wants to have his way with me in bed. He’s the young star looking for me to guide him toward good decisions.
“It went great. I think you won him over. And I’m not the least bit surprised.” I wish I could hand him the deal memo right now, but I can only say, “I should be able to wrap this up soon.”
“Good. He’s a cool dude. And did you notice I was on good behavior? I didn’t even flirt with you during lunch,” he says, flashing me his trademark smile.
I laugh. “You get a gold star. Or maybe you should reward yourself with a strawberry daiquiri when we have that dinner in New York.”
“Don’t tease me. I really do like those drinks. But are you actually going to be in New York when I’m there playing the Comets at the end of the month?”
He sounds so hopeful, but I sidestep my wishes and give a businesslike answer. “A lot of brands and marketers are in New York, so I’m there several days a month. Usually stay at the Luxe. I travel a lot for my job.”
That sounds like I’m justifying my travel. Why do I need to explain my schedule to him?
Ah, hell. Because I’m already mentally rearranging my schedule to see him, like I did today. I’m a little surprised my subconscious is working against me. Clearly, my subconscious likes Zane too. “So, yeah, I’ll be there,” I add, trying to sound casual.
But failing.
“I travel a lot for work too,” Zane says drily, calling me on my BS.
But no way am I going to admit the depth of my feelings, so I double down. “Well, I was in London, and now I’m here, and then I’ll be in New York.” My savvy is circling the drain.
“It’s all good,” Zane says, but there’s no sarcasm in his tone this time. Now he sounds awkward too. His eyes dart around the course. I’m not used to seeing Zane’s nerves, and I don’t know what to make of them.
“Do you want to get back to the game?” I ask, reaching for my bag, trying to recalibrate before we both spin out.
“Yes, but I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he blurts out.
When someone says that, it’s often bad news. It certainly was the last time I was serious with a guy. Wesley hadsomething to tell mewhen he took me out to a hip new restaurant in Venice I’d been wanting to try, then he sprang the question about opening our relationship.
But you’re not serious with Zane, and you’re not having a romantic relationship with him, and it’d be against the fucking rules if you did. Check the ethics code for your profession—sleeping with a client is forbidden.
“Sure. What’s on your mind?” I ask, bracing myself as I set the golf bag on the grass.
Zane gestures to the cocktail tattoo on his right wrist. “You were right,” he says, running his thumb across the umbrella.
“About the ink?”
“Yes. It’s true that I got it in Miami, not Cabo, but it was a dumb bet with my buddies about riding a wave, like you said. Not about taking some guy back to a hotel room.”
Ah, the plot thickens. “So why did you make that up?” I ask. Then the answer smacks me in the forehead. Oh.Oh, shit. “Is that your go-to line to get a guy?”
“No,” he says quickly, like he needs to slice that notion to shreds. “I’ve actually never used it before.”
I arch a brow, a little dubious. “Never?”
“Never,” he says with emphasis. “I made that up on the spot for you. I was really trying to get you to go home with me that first night.”
This intel thrills me too much for my own good. His undivided attention sends tingles down my chest. The man was relentless when we met. The strength of his desire is the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced, and the riskiest. “Why did you do it?” I ask, my voice rough from the heat rising in me.
Zane scratches his jaw like he’s trying to make sense of it himself. “You know how you said that night was the first time you’d ever hit on a client?”