“Hold on. Let’s think this through.”
Think? She almost laughed. “Deal’s done, Rogan.”
“Please. Listen. You’re spread out on my desk like this and stil out of reach?” He lowered his voice. “I’m going to die if I don’t have you. Right here. Right now.”
“This is business, Rogan. Stick to the deal.”
“Deal. Right.” With obvious effort, he lowered himself into his chair.
She picked herself up and re-clasped the bra, then hopped onto the floor. “I’m off.”
He stood up. “Oh. One thing.”
“What?”
“I’m assuming the odds are pretty high you’l be able to pay back the loan, right?”
“Wel … sure. I mean, what are you asking?” She wished she could put off thinking about next month’s problems, especial y after what she’d just done to resolve this month’s.
“What are the odds—I mean, realistical y—that you wil , a) have the money to pay this back, and b) not need more?”
“High.” The business world ran on lies, right? Ask anyone on Wal Street.
Rogan slouched against the desk, hands in his pockets, and gave her a gentle smile. “That’s good. Because next month, the deal won’t be quite the same.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that if you come to me next month and for any reason can’t pay back that sixty-three grand, the terms are going to become significantly less attractive.”
He leaned forward and whispered the revisions to the terms in her ear. Two items involved his Maserati. One, a speakerphone. And a fourth, an act so technical y chal enging as to be impossible without guide wires and a spotter, Joss thought, wide-eyed.
“But,” he said cordial y, “I’d be wil ing to forgive the loan right now—for a little consideration.”
Joss knew exactly what sort of consideration he was talking about. She took a deep breath, and considered her options.
