Page 16 of Only the Wicked (The Sinful State #1)

“I’m not heavily involved in hiring.” He glances sideways at me. “But yeah, some of that. My partners went to business school with me.”

“Business school? Which one?”

“Harvard.” He shrugs. “Don’t get too impressed. I dropped out.”

He lowers his chin, avoiding my gaze. He’s actually embarrassed.

“I mean, it all worked out for me. But it was a huge gamble. One my father will never forgive me for. You don’t walk away from Harvard. At least, that’s what dear old dad said.”

“How many years’ tuition did he pay?”

“Oh, it wasn’t about the money. And I paid him back. It was his friends. Having to tell his friends his son dropped out, after he’d bragged… He’s old school conservative.”

“Ah,” I say. “He lit into you?” I haven’t picked up on any of this in my research, but I noticed there was essentially no mention of his parents in any article, and his maternal grandmother is the only family member I picked up on who followed his ex-girlfriend’s socials.

But all that could mean is that Nana was the only family member who got along with his ex. Or the only one who uses social media.

“It was the most classic conservative male bashing imaginable.” He crosses his arms over his chest and rears back, exaggerating his mouth movements.

“You drop out, you are on your own. Don’t come here groveling if you need something.

No, sir. A Harvard MBA is gold. You leave that young man…

it’s a colossal mistake. We will have no part in digging your grave.

I don’t care if you find yourself homeless. I won’t give you a dollar.”

“Wow.” I bet his father ate crow. “And now?”

“He’s still an asshole.”

I laugh and he sort of grins.

“He can’t still be upset? How many years ago was that?”

“Is that an age jab?”

He gestures for us to continue on our hike, and I step forward, leaving the open area and leading us onto the narrow path.

I’m not supposed to know that he’s hailed as a wunderkind, or that he went to Harvard straight out of undergrad. But I do know all of that and it’s impossible to conceive a parent taking issue with his choices.

“You’re taking a long time to respond. Are you mocking my age?”

He pinches my ass, and I squeal, swiping his hand away. “No, it’s just, college feels like a long time ago.”

“Well, almost ten years for you. A decade is a long time ago.”

Wait, did I tell him my age? Yes, I did. At dinner, we shared ages.

“It was a long time ago for me too,” Rhodes concedes.

“For any other father, the disagreement would be settled history. But my actions injured Dad’s pride.

” I sense there’s more to be said, but he’s swallowing it down.

“But yeah, those were some tough years. Lots of self-doubt. And I leaned on connections. Not for a handout, but for investments. I mean, truthfully, the connections helped. But…I didn’t need the diploma. ”

“So, what do you do now?”

“I own a company.”

That’s an understatement . “And how’s it doing?”

“Let’s just say I’ll never be homeless and Dad will never get the great pleasure of denying me a place to stay and sending me to the streets.”

“I’d think saying he’s proud would be a bigger pleasure.”

“You’d think that.” He clears his throat but maintains his pace. “Anyway, I don’t normally share any of that. But the point I was trying to make is that I understand what it’s like to be uncertain about the future. And I also understand the value of connections. If I can help, let me know.”

“You never said what your company is, what it does.”

“It’s a software company that deploys data integration and analysis platforms. In a nutshell, it processes information into useful formats.”

That’s a highly simplified take on ARGUS.

“You started that company straight out of Harvard?”

“No. I started a boring backend systems company. Sold it. Took that money, started another one.”

“Must be nice to start a company without any financial pressures. I mean, I’m assuming you did well when you sold your first company.”

“We did well. But there are always financial pressures.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Just ask my CFO. And, by the way, I’m not saying that you’d be a fit for my company, but I am connected. If you have a target list, I might know someone.”

“Six degrees and all that?”

“Exactly.”

We reach a steep incline, one that will require me to haul myself up a boulder or take a longer loop around the protrusion. When I stop, taking in the options, he’s right there, and we’re inches apart. He looks down at me, and there’s that pull, drawing me in.

“You know, for what it’s worth, your father was wrong. He should’ve supported you. Believed in you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, you didn’t make a mistake, but even if you had, if you love someone, you rally behind them, you don’t…”

I don’t have the words, I’m so frustrated that his father would do anything other than support his incredibly gifted son.

He cups my chin, tilting my head, and his thumb strokes my cheek. His eyes in this light are shades darker than the foliage, his gaze intense.

And then we’re kissing. Heat seeps down my spine and pools in the cradle of my hips.

His skin is hot to the touch. My palm glides along rippling muscle, smooth and toned.

His breath coats my neck, simultaneously cooling and heating my skin, and it feels like he’s holding me close, but straining to control himself. And I feel the same. I want him.

It's a problematic reaction. Because everything I’m feeling, all the desire, none of it’s manufactured.

Everything I’m feeling is 100 percent real.

In training, we learned about the Mata Hari complex that occurs when sexual relations mix with undercover roles, and I didn’t think I’d be susceptible.

But I recognize what’s happening, and that’s the first step in preventing emotional entanglements, so I’m ahead of the game.

I didn’t think of the Mata Hari complex when I was on the phone with Caroline this morning, but I should’ve.

He breaks the kiss and brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. Then lifts my hand and presses his lips to the back of it, entangles our fingers, and leads the way.

I like sex. Hell, I love great sex, as elusive as it is.

That’s why I’m doing this. We’re having fun.

As long as I remember my training, I’ll be fine.

I can do this. And when the week comes to an end, he’ll go his way, I’ll go mine, and I’ll be a woman he met on vacation, and he’ll be a man I got to know on a personal level, for professional reasons.

The most successful operatives are as true to themselves as possible. That’s what Caroline meant. This week, I’ll be true to myself, and Rhodes and I will both enjoy this vacation. I’ll go down as a memory, and he’ll never know I’m part of the team infiltrating his private company.

Infiltrating his company. I can’t think like that. So I brush that thought away, and instead focus on his hand holding mine, the swoony sensation when he kissed the back of my hand, and the mix of leaves, grass, and dirt beneath my feet.