Page 112 of Parting Shot

“You—no, I—this is absurd! One does not conduct affairs in this⁠—”

“I do,” he cut off the older man, who was now turning red in indignation. “If you leave now and I never ever see you again, perhaps I won’t partner with Mihovil Cvetko and buy out your shares of your own company. But you have to go now.”

“Mr. Sutter, one is business, and one is⁠—”

“My heart,” he rasped, and I saw the slight shudder run through him. “You are on the receiving end of a great gift, Goran. I don’t have my phone. If I leave here, I’ll have it in minutes. The second I get it back, your company is mine. If I were you, I’d run away.”

“I—”

“Scurry home.”

“I’ll ruin you!” he almost shrieked at Aaron. “Everyone will know of your⁠—”

“Everyone knows already,” he cut the older man off. “This is my partner you put your hands on, and the whole world knows who he is.”

He fainted.

“Holy shit,” I gasped.

I had never actually seen a man faint, and it was weird. He had gone stiff, his eyes rolled back in his head, and then he was on the floor.

Aaron Sutter had frightened the man unconscious.

“Damn,” I muttered, grabbing Aaron and easing him around to face me. “You’re a scary motherfucker, Aaron Sutter.”

I was hoping for a smile, but he was in too much pain. He looked broken.

“Awww, honey, I’m okay,” I promised, wrapping my arms around him, pressing my face down into his shoulder.

“Do not placate me,” he rasped, clutching his fingers into my hair. He massaged my scalp as he placed soft butterfly kisses along my jaw.

“You fucking liars.”

Both our heads snapped up, and when I saw Clay’s face, I understood what had happened.

“He’s not your boy or your slave or your possession,” he snarled, taking a step back toward a phone on the wall. “He’s something ridiculously ordinary. He’s your boyfriend, and you love him.”

“And if I do?”

I really needed to school Aaron Sutter in the fine art of deflection and plausible deniability.

Christ.

“Then that means you have no intention of letting me fuck him,” he accused Aaron. “And he has no intention of going into business with me.”

But we had been doing so well …

“Who are you?” he roared.

“He’s a homicide detective from Chicago,” Aaron spat. “And you killed Evan Polley, and you’re not going to get away with it.”

It was too bad he hadn’t shaken his fist at Wells too. That would have just completed the ridiculousness of the scene.

Clay spun around and lunged for the phone, and thankfully, I was hurt, but not dying, so I could leap off the table, grab him, and drive him face-first into the wall. He slid down it when I let him go, out cold as he puddled to the floor.

Turning, I looked at Aaron and threw up my hands.

“I don’t care!” he snapped irritably, gesturing at me. “You think I’m going to let this go on?”