“And you possessed such little confidence in yourself?”
Her head snapped back, her eyes suddenly filled with anger. “No. That isn’t it at all. It isn’t that I had a lack of confidence in myself. I wanted to make sure. I think I would’ve won either way.”
“And yet, you have no way of knowing. You stole not only from me, but from yourself.”
“That’s excellent, Gunnar. You should be a life coach. But this isn’t inspirational Internet bullshit. I had to win.”
“Yes. You’ve yet to give me a good reason why.”
“Because it mattered to my father, and if it mattered to him, it mattered to me.”
“Then why prolong it? Why go back to my penthouse? Why make the game into something sexual?”
“It wasn’t the same thing. I wanted to win the contract for Dad.” Her voice broke. “I wanted to do what he’d set me up to do, and I couldn’t take a risk. You... You’re a different part of that. I wanted you, and I... I needed to be done wanting you. I needed to be done being confused by you. I needed to be rid of you.”
Her voice was low, trembling.
“It was so bad that you wanted me?” His voice was rough, almost a stranger’s voice.
“Yes. I needed to be above it. Better than it. I hate that when I go into meetings I spent all of my time mentally undressing you. I just wanted it done. I wanted a clean break.”
She cringed when she said the words.
“You’re embarrassed about this?”
“Yes. Of course I am. Are you not embarrassed?”
“I don’t spend any time being embarrassed of my inclinations. Whatever they may be. In life, things can be as simple or as complicated as you make them. For me, desire is a simple thing. If I want someone, I have them.”
“So you had never wanted me before that moment I took my sweater off in your penthouse?”
It was a deliciously delivered barb, one that hit its mark.
Because she had in fact pegged him as a liar. She had been the one thing he had ever denied himself, and he had never really thought of it that way. He had never put it into words.
He was not a man given to self-denial or self-delusion, and the fact that he had such a blind spot there enraged him. Especially because she had called it out.
Had he ever wanted her?
It was such a complicated maelstrom of feeling. He could remember the first time he’d noticed the sweet lines of her body when she’d been eighteen, wrapped tightly in a black gown at a charity function, her lips painted red.
He could remember also, her being a sad, lonely-seeming child, and how he’d felt a strange mix of resentment and pity for her. Resentment because she was like an external echo of his own loneliness.
He could remember watching her give her first business presentation, being in opposition to her and wanting to protect her from failure all the same.
He could remember that pity and desire mingling when he’d held her after her father’s funeral.
Had he ever wanted her?
It seemed so base to describe the way she’d gotten a hold on his soul all those years ago.
“I suppose,” he said slowly, the words cutting his throat, “you intersect an uncomfortable line for me. I do not mix business and pleasure.”
“Well, I was trying to disentangle those things. Get out from under the business, have the pleasure...”
“Why don’t you sit down and eat. You look as if you’re going to fall over, and I do not wish to be put in the position of having to cushion your fall again.”
“What a trial for you.”