said. “Something to stall her, but I’ll need—”
Max cut her off. “No charges.”
Two sets of eyes snapped toward him with surprise. Brennan remained annoyingly apathetic and glanced at his watch.
“We’re two weeks out from the launch of a crypto currency payment system that will change the way America does business.” Max leaned back in his chair. “Now is not the time to ring the alarms.”
Vivienne frowned, as she tucked her hair behind her left ear. She darted a glance at the security guys, though Max got the impression it was more directed at Brennan than Hastings. “A massive internal security breach happens on Emma’s computer, and you’re just going to let her get away with it?”
Max narrowed his eyes at the accusation, and Vivienne took a deep breath, dropping her gaze, chastened at the realization that she’d pushed him too far. Brennan’s shoulders stiffened, but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.
Incidents involving Emma Mathison had commanded his full attention twice in as many days. And while he’d infinitely preferred last night’s naked encounter over this afternoon’s occurrence, letting this trend continue on any level was not acceptable.
“I want answers on Monday morning,” he snapped at Brennan, waiting for the man’s curt nod before skipping past Hastings, straight to Vivienne. “You’re working alone on this. Wait for my instructions, and don’t bring anyone else into the loop. No associates, no paralegals, no one.”
“Understood.”
“What about Emma? The plane ticket?” Hastings asked. “Did you want me to—”
“I want you to do your job,” Max said coolly, vindicated when Hastings paled at the reprimand. Max turned his attention to the sheaf of papers on the corner of his desk. “I’ll take care of Emma.”
MAX BANGED ON the door with more force than he’d intended.
He’d been offended by the shabby Villa Apartments that were listed as Emma’s home address on her employment record. Now that he was inside the ancient building, his opinion sank even lower.
He paid her well. Better than well. There was no reason she should be living in this shithole. Which, Max realized, lent credence to Jesse Hastings’s insinuations of guilt.
Despite regular paychecks from him, she obviously needed money for something, and desperation led people to do uncharacteristic things. His chest tightened at the realization that Emma Mathison wasn’t finished surprising him.
Life would have been much easier if he’d kept his hands off her in the first place. He’d managed it for the last three years. Which meant fuck all, since it had taken less than five minutes after she’d resigned before he’d dragged her into his arms. It had seemed a smart play at the time.
Well, perhaps smart was overstating it, but it was low risk.
She’d quit, so she wasn’t technically an employee.
This SecurePay launch had him working every waking hour. He barely had time to shower some days, let alone maintain any sort of relationship with a woman, no matter how casual. Not that what had happened between him and Emma had anything to do with a relationship. It was more like an experiment. A curiosity that needed sating.
Confirmation that their chemistry was as combustible as he’d always expected it would be. And now he was paying for that lapse in judgment.
Max heard shuffling behind the inconsequential piece of wood that was acting as a barrier between her and the outside world, but he didn’t understand how something that barely blocked sound was supposed to keep her safe from intruders. Especially since the peephole was nothing more than a quarter-sized hole covered in ratty duct tape. Which was practically inviting thieves inside in this neighborhood. His left hand tightened on the sheaf of papers he held.
His musings were cut short by the slide of a chain, followed by the snick of a lock disengaging. The door swung open and there she was.
Last night’s seductress was gone. In her place was a fresh-faced ingenue with impossibly wide eyes who looked like she’d stepped out of a laughably wholesome 1960s film.
His gaze slid the length of her body, from the top of her shiny blond ponytail, past her fuzzy white sweater, barely-there jean shorts and down the length of her legs until he reached the tips of her toes, painted bubble-gum pink. Max’s thoughts, however, were anything but virtuous.
Every part of him that she’d touched the night before flared with heat, begging for an encore. He still wanted her. Despite everything he’d found out today. Despite the mounting evidence against her. The heat stirring in his veins iced over at the reminder, and he braced his shoulders against the onslaught of lust. He would not underestimate her again.
“Max?”
Surprised. A little breathless. But no fear. No guilt.
“What are you doing here?”
He ignored the question, shifting his focus over Emma’s left shoulder at the bare, scarred walls of the old apartment. A couple of cardboard boxes were stacked in the middle of the mostly empty room. “If you needed a raise this badly, you should have told me.”
Her forehead creased with puzzlement. “What? Oh.” Her laugh was tinged with embarrassment. “It’s a rental,” she explained, moving out of his way as he stepped past her, onto the threadbare brown carpet. “I never spent much time here anyway.”
Max thought back to the long hours she’d put in at the office. He’d always respected her work ethic. He gestured to the boxes. “Going somewhere?”
She nodded, closing the shoddy excuse for a door, but even as he searched her face for guile, there was none.
“On vacation, actually. Thought I’d see how the other half lives.” Her smile faded at his lack of reaction, and he watched in fascination as her body language grew wary, matching his mood. She’d always been good at reading a room.
“I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, heading toward the outdated kitchenette.
Max foiled her attempted retreat by following her, but he stopped at the nearest side of the counter, allowing her to take cover on the far side of it. “Turns out you’re going to have to reschedule that vacation. Something’s come up.” He tossed her contract extension on the counter between them. It landed with a heavy thud. “Sign this.”
That got her attention. She stiffened, a slight frown marring her forehead as she recognized the document. “What is this?”
“Exactly what you think it is,” he confirmed.
“I have a flight to Dubrovnik booked for Monday.”
“Postpone it.”
“I can’t afford—” She stopped herself. Took a deep breath. Then restarted, the way she sometimes did in their project meetings when one of the board
