Not in Love by Ali Hazelwood

“It’s okay. It doesn’t matter.” He made a gesture with his hand, and I noticed the number I’d scribbled last night on his palm. Just the faint, illegible shadow of it, like he’d washed his hands several times in the interim, purposefully avoiding scrubbing hard enough to erase all traces. “It changes nothing,” he added.

“Nothing?”

“Between us.” He smiled. That knockout, nice-guy, grown-up-surrounded-by-love-and-confidence-and-the-certainty-of-his-worth smile. “I’ll talk to HR, but I don’t think this causes any conflict of interest. We . . .”

He paused, so I cocked my head and took a curious step toward him, entering a new gravitational field. His body was not the reason I’d chosen to message him, but I couldn’t deny that it was beautiful. Big frame. Full biceps. More what I’d expect from a pro athlete than from someone who sat behind a desk for a living. “We?” I asked.

He looked down at me, eyelashes fluttering. “You seemed interested in we, last night.”

“I was.” I bit the side of my cheek. “But last night I had no idea you were trying to steal the company I work for.”

Abruptly, the temperature in the room dropped. Tension pulled, instantly hostile.

Eli’s jaw twitched, and he took a step forward. His expression was outwardly amused, but his muscles were taut. “Steal the company.” He nodded, making a show of considering my words. “That’s a big accusation.”

“If the shoe fits.”

“Remarkably poor fit for a shoe.” He held my eyes. “Did Harkness barge in wearing ski masks? Because that is what thieves do.”

I didn’t reply.

“Did we take the property of someone else without offering compensation? Did we obtain something through subterfuge?” He shrugged. With ease. “I don’t think so. But if you suspect foul play, by all means. There are several authorities to which you can report us.”

I thought of myself as a rational person, and rationally I knew that he was right. And yet, Eli being part of Harkness felt like a personal betrayal. Even though we’d barely spent an hour together. Maybe the problem was that I’d shared about Vince with Eli, shared more than I should because . . . because I’d liked him. I’d liked Eli, and that was the crux of it. Now that I’d finally admitted it to myself, I could let go of it. Of him.

How liberating.

“We didn’t steal anything, Rue,” he told me, voice low. “What we did was buy a loan. And what we’re doing is making sure that our investment pays off. That’s it.”

“I see. And tell me, is it normal for the highest-ranking members of a private equity firm to be on-site interviewing employees?”

His mouth twitched. “Are you an expert on financial law, Dr. Siebert?”

“It seems like you already know the answer to that.”

“As do you.”

We regarded each other in silence. When I couldn’t bear it any longer, I nodded once, silent, and turned around so that—

His hand closed around my wrist, and I hated, hated the scorch of electricity that traveled up my nerve endings at the contact. Even more, I hated how he instantly let go, as if he, too, had been burned.

What I felt was bad enough. The thought of Eli experiencing the same was a recipe for disaster.

“Rue. We should talk,” he said earnestly, any pretense or hostility dropped. His fingers returned to my wrist. “Not here.”

“Talk about what?”

“About what happened last night.”

“We didn’t even hold hands. Not much to discuss.”

“Come on, Rue, you know that we—”

“Eli?”

We both turned. Conor Harkness was leaning in, palms against the doorframe, watching us with the air of a shark who could smell blood from miles away. His gaze focused on our closeness, on the way Eli’s eyes seemed unable to let go of me, on his hand, still circling my wrist.

“A moment,” Eli said.

“I need you in the—”

“A moment,” he repeated, impatient, and after another raised eyebrow and infinitesimal hesitation, Conor Harkness was gone, and I remembered myself.

I stepped back from Eli, taking in the strong set of his brow, his beautiful blue eyes, the tension in his jaw. Someone had to put an end to this. Me—I had to put an end to this, because he clearly would not. “Goodbye, Eli.”

“Rue, wait. Can we—”

“My number.” At the door, I spun on my heels. “Do you still have it?”

He nodded. Eagerly. Hopeful.

“It might be better if you got rid of it.”

Eli dipped his head and let out a silent exhaled laugh. I left the room, not quite sure where his disappointment ended and mine began.





6





A SHORTCUT HIS BRAIN DID NOT NEED





ELI

After the scene Hark had witnessed earlier today, it was no surprise that the first thing he asked when Eli let himself inside Hark’s Old Enfield home was: “What the fuck is up with the girl?”

“Woman,” Minami corrected him distractedly. She was on Hark’s couch, feet in Sul’s lap, frantically pressing buttons on the PlayStation controller. Eli checked the screen, wondering whom she was shooting dead.