Everything.

  "Whatever you want to share," I answer before eating another spoonful of my dessert. "I'll just sit here and listen."

  Ethan taps his fingers on the table. "Let's see..."

  ~

  "I don't believe you," I tell Ethan as we continue our conversation on the balcony.

  In the distance, the city lights gleam against the night sky like gems in a mine.

  "It's true," he says. "That dog could climb trees, and in seconds, too. I actually wondered if he was a squirrel pretending to be a dog."

  I chuckle. I've heard of dogs climbing on top of furniture like cats. But dogs climbing trees like squirrels?

  "Speaking of squirrels, I had a dog that ate a squirrel once. I thought he was going to be sick but he turned out fine. The weird part is he died years later from a chicken bone."

  Weird, indeed.

  "How many dogs did you have growing up?" I ask him.

  Ethan starts counting on his fingers, first on his left hand and then on his right.

  Don't tell me he had ten?

  "Eight that I remember," he answers.

  Still a lot.

  "You said you had one, right?" he asks me.

  I nod. "A Labrador. We got him from the shelter when he was a year old. He was mostly my dad's dog, but sometimes he would sleep at my feet. He was pretty normal, didn't like to climb trees or eat squirrels, though he was friends with the neighbor's cat."

  Ethan grins. "I had a Labrador, too, but the one who followed me around everywhere was a..."

  He stops suddenly, his attention clearly caught by something. Curious, I turn around and realize he's staring at a fluffy white dog sitting beside a boy of about five or six years old.

  I touch my chin. What's that breed again?

  "Samoyed," Ethan provides the answer.

  "Right, that's..." I pause as I realize he's smiling. "Oh. That's the same breed as the dog you had?"

  "He looks just like him, too," he says before starting to walk towards the dog and the boy.

  Wait. Is he going to pet the dog?

  I keep my distance, watching and hoping that nothing goes wrong. The boy looks a little scared. The dog, however, looks interested.

  Ethan kneels in front of the dog and starts to speak to the boy in German. I don't hear half of it and don't understand the rest because Ethan is talking too fast. I guess he asked the boy permission to pet the dog, because moments later he tries to do exactly that. He extends his fist. I hold my breath. The dog sniffs it, then gives it a lick as it wags its tail. I let out a breath of relief.

  The dog climbs onto Ethan and licks his forehead. Ethan laughs. I smile. Somehow, I feel like I'm catching a rare glimpse of how he was as a boy, carefree and adventurous.

  And even more lovable.

  Suddenly, the boy cries. The dog goes back to him and licks his face. Ethan approaches him, too, but backs off when two adults arrive. I'm guessing they're his parents.

  They talk in German but only briefly, the child's parents in a hurry to whisk him and the dog away. Ethan lets out a sigh.

  I stand by his side and touch his arm. "Are you okay?"

  He says nothing. He doesn't look okay. In fact, he seems upset. Is it because the dog's gone?

  I squeeze his arm. "Hey. It's fine. You can get a Samoyed when you get back to Chicago."

  He can probably afford a hundred of them.

  "I don't have time for a dog," he replies.

  Right. If I don't have time to take care of a dog, Ethan has even less.

  "Well, at least you were able to pet this one," I say. "And he seemed to really like you."

  Or was it a she? I wasn't able to tell.

  "But the boy cried."

  I look at Ethan with arched eyebrows. Is that what he's worried about?

  "That wasn't your fault," I tell him.

  He doesn't look convinced. In fact, he looks like he's about to cry next. He's bothered by such a small thing? I find it both surprising and amusing.

  I stand in front of him, place my hands on his shoulders and hold his gaze. "Hey. You asked the boy if you could pet his dog, right? And the boy agreed?"

  He nods.

  "Then you didn't do anything wrong."

  "He cried, though," Ethan says.

  Why does it bother him so much?

  "Maybe because his dog liked you and he doesn't want it to like anyone else," I answer with a shrug as I stroke his hair. "He probably didn't want you to pet his dog but didn't have the courage say no. Or he changed his mind. At any rate, he said yes, so you didn't do anything wrong. You didn't hurt him or bully him."

  Ethan looks away and says nothing.

  Don't tell me he still doesn't believe me.

  I cup his face so he's looking into my eyes again. "Children cry all the time. Even boys. He'll be fine. He has his dog and loving parents."

  Still nothing.

  "And you have me," I add playfully as I touch my forehead to his.

  As soon as I do, I feel something sticky. I step back, frowning as I realize my mistake.

  "The dog did lick my forehead," Ethan reminds me.

  "Yeah." I wipe mine with the back of my hand. "I remember."

  And now, the drool is on on me. Yuck.

  Ethan chuckles. Well, at least he seems to be in a good mood again.

  I look at my hand. "I think I'll go wash."

  I head to the unisex restroom I saw earlier and step in. I'm about to close the door with my clean hand when Ethan stops me and slips inside. I give him a puzzled look.

  "I need to wash my forehead, too," he says as he locks the door behind him.

  Okay. I guess that's true. Couldn't he wait for his turn, though? Oh well. I just hope no one saw him come in after me. I know the Swiss mind their own business and are rather discreet, but I still don't want to cause a scandal in a foreign country.

  I wash my hands and my forehead. Ethan does the same. I grab a paper towel to dry my hands with and then toss it into the trash can.

  "I'll go out first."

  I'm about to grab the doorknob, but Ethan grips my wrist. He pulls me towards him and seals my lips with his.

  I was afraid this would happen.

  I put my hands on his chest and push him away gently.

  "Ethan, stop. We're in a public restroom."

  "Would you rather I kiss you on the balcony?" Ethan asks with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Just like last time?"

  I blush. "Not funny."

  "Don't worry," he whispers in my ear. "I just want to kiss you. I've been wanting to since we got here."

  He has?

  Then he licks my ear. I gasp.

  He grasps my chin and kisses me again. He tugs on my lower lip, then captures both lips and rubs his tongue against mine. His hand strokes my cheek.

  Heat stirs in my mouth. It spreads to my chest, to my belly and between my legs. My knees quiver.

  Shit. When is Ethan's kiss ever just a kiss?

  I know this is wrong. We're in a public restroom and someone might knock any second. But as usual, Ethan's tongue and lips melt my common sense and my fears. I resist just another moment before clutching his chest and kissing him back fiercely. He pulls me closer. I want more of him.

  I'm about to put my hand on Ethan's crotch when his phone rings. He pulls away with a groan and answers the call.

  "What?"

  I hear a man's voice on the other end of the line. One of his brothers? His father? They're the only ones I know who have his personal number.

  Ethan frowns. Not a good sign.

  "Okay. I'll go back to the hotel right now," he says. The expression of concern remains on his face after he hangs up.

  "What's wrong?" I ask him.

  "Everything," he answers before opening the door. "We have to go."

  ~

  Ethan doesn't give any further details about the call as we walk to the car, or during the ride back to the hotel. I don't ask because he looks troubled enough. I haven't seen him this troubled in a while.

  When we get to the hotel, I follow him straight to our floor. Ryker is waiting in the hallway. They disappear inside his room. I wait outside and pace the floor.

  I know I look like someone in a hospital corridor, restlessly waiting for an update on a surgery. I should probably go to my own room. Whatever Ethan is dealing with, I don't think I'll be able to help him. Still, I can't help but worry. I want to make sure he's alright.

  Or at least that he will be.

  Please let everything be alright.

  After what feels like an eternity, the door opens. I hold my breath, hoping to see Ethan and talk to him, but it's Ryker who comes out.

  "Is everything okay?" I ask him.

  If I can't get an update from the surgeon himself, maybe I can get one from the other doctor in the room.

  "No," he answers. "There's a chance the acquisition of Odermatt Corp. might not push through."

  My heart stops. What?

  "What do you mean?" I ask curiously.

  "Exactly that, but the details are complicated at this point." He gives me a puzzled look. "Have you been waiting here the whole time?"

  "Yes," I answer. "I'm worried about Ethan. I was with him when..."

  I stop talking as I notice Ryker's eyebrows arch slightly. Blood rushes to my cheeks as I realize I've just slipped. Shit.

  "I mean Mr. Hawthorne," I correct myself quickly. "Mr. Ethan Hawthorne, that is. Sir Ethan."

  Ryker narrows his eyes at me but doesn't speak. A lump forms in my throat.

  He knows.

  He backs me against the wall. I swallow and clutch the scarf around my neck. Ethan's scarf. Shit.

  "So it's true," Ryker says. "Ethan's sleeping with you."

  What does he mean? He already knew? Did Ethan tell him? I thought we weren't supposed to tell anyone.

  I grip my chest. What do I do? Deny it? But if Ryker already knows, if Ethan already spoke to him, I have no choice but to tell the truth.

  I draw a deep breath. "Yes."

  Ryker nods. "I see."

  I hear the disapproval in his voice.

  "I'm sorry." I look away as I feel a stab of guilt. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

  "But you allowed it to."

  I did. And I know I shouldn't have. That's why I can't look him in the eye.

  "I'm sorry," I tell him again.

  I don't know what else to say.

  "I'm not saying this is entirely your fault," Ryker tells me. "But I'll tell you this. Both of you are making a mistake. Ethan is your boss and you're his assistant."

  I know that.

  "That means Ethan is never going to allow himself to feel anything for you, which means he'll only hurt himself. And you're going to get hurt, too. Is that what you want?"

  Of course not. Why would I want to get hurt? I didn't even ask to fall in love with him. It just happened. But I did ask to have sex with him, even knowing that it was wrong. Why? Because I thought the pleasure would be worth the price? Did I even stop to think about the price?

  I'm a fool.

  "When that happens, the two of you won't be able to work together," Ryker goes on. "You'll lose your job. Ethan will lose a good assistant. Who knows how that will affect his work and the company?"

  I do. Ethan will keep working hard for the company. He isn't going to let anything get in his way. But do I really want him to do that without me by his side? Do I want to watch him succeed from afar?

  "Hopefully, it's not too late. Ethan can be stubborn. He goes after what he wants, sometimes without caring about what he loses along the way, but he also knows when to give up. If you're smart, and I know you are, Miss Quinn..." Ryker looks into my eyes. "You know what to do."

  He holds my gaze a moment more before he starts to walk away. I stay where I'm standing, unable to breathe, unable to move. His words feel like an iron ball chained to my foot keeping me in place, weighing me down so much I might just sink into the floor.

  "Oh, and I don't think Ethan will be coming out of his room anytime soon," Ryker adds once he's a few feet away. "So please go to your room. Rest. Tomorrow, I might ask you to help me with something."

  "Yes, sir," I mutter.

  He heads over to the elevators. I walk slowly to my room. When I finally get inside, I sit on the floor by the bed. I take off the scarf around my neck and stare at it. Before I know it, tears fall on the wool.

  Did I really think Ethan and I could keep doing this, traveling around the world and having sex? Did I think no one would find out? Did I think we'd just be able to get away with it?

  I've known it was a mistake to sleep with Ethan from the start. Still, I did. And I kept doing it. Not just that. I let myself fall for him. I even started hoping that he'd fall for me. But that's not going to happen, is it? Not according to his brother.

  Ethan is never going to allow himself to feel anything for you.

  Of course not. He's my boss. He's the head of his family's company. To him, the company and the family always come first, which means he'll never do anything to cause them trouble.

  I know. I've known it all along. That's why I tried to fight this feeling. That's why I tried not to hope. But I failed. Terribly.

  I bury my face in my hands.

  I've been naive, so naive. And I thought I was smart.

  If you're smart, and I know you are, you know what to do.

  Ryker's words echo inside my head. As bitter and painful as they are, I swallow them and wipe my tears away.

  Because he's right.

  I am smart. I do know what to do. And I am going to do it. I'm going to stop this madness right now, for Ethan's sake, mine and everyone's, before it's too late.

  Enough messing around.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ethan

  This is a fucking mess.

  I slam the lid of my laptop shut and lean back on the couch. Then I rub my temples as I contemplate the current situation.

  The acquisition of Odermatt Corp. is on hold, thanks to that fucking employee who disappeared with the company's program files, including Simone Odermatt's original code. No one knows where he is or what he's planning to do with the files. We don't even know if he did this all on his own or if he's working with someone, possibly another company. If it's the latter, we're screwed. There won't be any point in continuing with the acquisition. Odermatt Corp. might even shut down while another company rises because of their hard work. If that company turns out to be one of the handful that have been trying to bring down Hawthorne Holdings for the past several years - and I know some of them were interested in Odermatt Corp., too - the problem will be even bigger.

  One of our major stakeholders, an elderly fellow named Reuben, called just to chew my head off about that, though I don't even know how he learned about what happened. For all I know, he has someone spying on me here in Zurich. Paranoid old man. If so, then he might already know about me and Stella. Is that why he's blaming me for all this? Because he thinks I was too preoccupied with other affairs to keep it from happening? How the hell was I supposed to know one of Odermatt's employees wasn't right in the head?

  Even so, I've done everything I can to make things right. I've already commissioned my own investigative team to track down that prick. I've already called in favors. I have people keeping an eye on those other companies. Thank goodness this happened in Switzerland so I don't have to deal with a media circus, too, though I still have someone watching the internet. If anyone on the web mentions Odermatt, I'll know. What else am I supposed to do? What else can I do?

  Nothing. That's the thing. I've done all I can. There's nothing left to do now except to wait. And hope that another company isn't making use of those files right now to accomplish what I've been planning for the past several months, hope that this acquisition isn't going to blow up in my face.

  Still, I can't wait forever. I'm scheduled to go back the day after tomorrow, and I will, no matter what. If that thief is found with the files, the acquisition process will continue and I'll go back to my office triumphant, ready to take the company a step further as soon as everything becomes official. If not, I'll have to spend the next few weeks locked up in my office dealing with the fallout and racking my brains to come up with a plan to somehow still keep the company not just afloat but at the top of the game. I'm getting a headache just thinking about it.

  I pour myself another glass of Scotch - I've lost count of how many I've had - and gulp it down. The bitter alcohol blazes down my throat and sends my head buzzing. I close my eyes. If only it could make me forget this hell I'm going through, even for just a moment.

  Just then, I hear a knock on the door. I almost say "Come in" but remember I'm in a hotel room and I'm the only one with the key. Unless Asher borrowed one from the receptionist again, in which case he wouldn't knock.

  I put my glass down and walk to the door. Who knows? It might be Simone Odermatt himself, come to bring me news or some plan to save both our companies.

  As soon as I open the door, I see it isn't. It's Stella in a knitted white dress, half her hair pulled back and the rest loose behind her shoulders. I see my folded scarf in her hands. I realize I haven't seen her for nearly a whole day.

  I'm seized with an urge to wrap my arms around her so I can feel hers around me. Maybe she can do what the Scotch can't. But she clears her throat.

  "I thought I'd return this..." she says as she offers the scarf to me. "Sir."

  Sir? What's with the sudden formality?

  Then I see the lack of warmth in her eyes. Is she mad at me? I'm not sure, but I am sure that I don't see any glimmer of concern in her expression. And here I thought she'd be worried about me since I haven't come out of my room. But she's just here to return the scarf.

  I go back to the couch feeling annoyed. "You can just put it on the bed."

  Stella enters the room and does that. I sit down and pour myself another glass. I'm about to bring it to my lips but realize she's still standing there by the bed. She's just standing there with an expression of awe on her face. Or is it disgust? Is she appalled by the sight of the nearly empty bottle of Scotch in front of me, the plate of grilled cheese sandwiches that someone delivered to my room but which I couldn't muster any appetite to eat, or the fact that I haven't changed since she last saw me? I'm still in that same pale blue button-down shirt, albeit unbuttoned.