Page 8 of Sweet (Chicago Underground 7)
Yes, quitting definitely qualified as cutting back. And I would—only to do something that would piss him off even more. Without a word, Drew grabbed a few bottles of water from the fridge and slid one across the table to me. Grateful, I took a sip.
“At least hire a proper trainer,” Philip said. “If you’re relying on my lawyer for your physical therapy, you must be worse off than I thought.”
“Hey,” Drew said without heat. “I played volleyball all through college.”
Philip snorted. “Harvard had a volleyball team?”
Drew gave a small grin. “How else could I afford to go? That scholarship paid for the law degree you get so much mileage out of.”
“Well, thank God for large, undeserved favors. You’ve kept the business from sinking so many times. What would I do without you?”
“Bribe the judge?” Drew said blandly.
“Now there’s an idea,” Philip said with equal languor. “Should I be writing this down?”
“Only if you plan on firing me.”
“Don’t count on it. You’re going to retire when you’re done working for me, and you’ll be a rich old man when you do.”
“I’m counting on it. I’d hate to go back to getting my balls busted to make rent.”
Feeling unsettled, I excused myself from the table. Drew’s gaze burned as I left the room, but I couldn’t meet his eyes, afraid of what I would see there. Afraid of what he’d see in me. Desire. Curiosity. Longing.
I limped my way upstairs and took a hot shower, then reclined in the armchair. I’d wanted to peel back the layers, but I was finding more than skin and sex—there was a man underneath, his dreams and determination as attractive as his body.
I knew Drew had gone to Harvard, but the image of him hustling on a volleyball court or struggling for a scholarship didn’t mesh with the crisp-linen, gleaming-edged man he was today. Had money and success changed him? It hadn’t seemed to make Philip happier. If anything, he was more paranoid, more worried it would all be taken away. Did Drew feel the same way?
A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts.
“Come in.”
Drew stepped inside, carrying an ice pack wrapped in paper towels. “I come bearing gifts.”
The sight of him in my bedroom made my breath catch. He seemed to fill the room despite his casual stance and light tone.
“More like instruments of torture.” Still, I accepted the cold compress and pressed it to my knee.
“Leave it on for a few minutes.” He leaned against the bedpost and crossed his arms as if to wait. “Otherwise it’ll swell up, and Philip will never trust my doctoring skills again.”
I slanted him a glance. “I’m surprised he let you up here.”
“Sent me up here,” he corrected. “He had to take a call. I told him I could handle it. He’ll be busy a good thirty minutes.”
He spoke casually, but my breath caught at the implicit offer. Time. We had time. “Yeah, well, he trusts you with a lot more important things than delivering an ice pack.”
“Nothing is more important than you.” He added, “To Philip.”
My heart thudded in my chest. “Right. So what happened last night was probably a bad idea.”
“He would be pretty pissed.”
“I notice you didn’t say whether you agree.”
His shoulder lifted in a half shrug. “You tell me.”
“And where does your will come into play?”
“Are you asking if I would say no to you, Rose? I can’t imagine that. I can’t imagine what you could ask that I wouldn’t give you.”
