4. Sleepless

CHAPTER 4

Sleepless

Dominic

Fool , I thought to myself as I stalked the hallway from the West Wing to the gallery and the grand staircase. Rash fool . The night was silver and bright, with moonlight pouring through the windows, the midnight sky cloudless.

What possessed you to bring him here? I asked myself as my lips twisted. I reached the ground floor, chased from my bedroom by a particularly bad case of insomnia. The house was silent as it had been the entire day. Zain Rashid had a secret talent for moving around the house without making a sound. He had given the signed contract to Orwell early this morning, but that was the last I heard of him.

I didn’t insist on his company over dinner again. I didn’t ask where he ate or where he went. Doubts plagued me the entire day and kept me awake all night. I had leaped at the opportunity to snatch him from his pitiful life when his old man couldn’t honor his word, but I wondered ever since if it had been a lapse of judgment.

My eyes were sandy as I flicked on the small lights in my study. The room was not very large, containing a mahogany desk, a leather chair, and several bookcases with contemporary books, business records, and folders on various people I had yet to deal with. There was a short ottoman with armchairs and a coffee table, although I had no true use for any of it.

In there, I sat behind the desk and turned on my laptop. HVB records filled my screen from the very first minutes of the first meeting to the present day. There were records of every deal they had made, every transaction, every invoice, and I wanted to know if any of the three brutes had so much as brought a Popsicle with company money. But my time was not well spent on it, so Zain seemed like a perfect solution. Who was he going to tell? Nobody knew him; nobody had a reason to trust a word from his mouth.

I told myself it was Zain’s insignificance that made him perfect for this. I told myself that it was a stroke of luck that Amar Rashid couldn’t afford to settle his debt but had raised a valiant son who was willing to work for it. And even as I repeated this to myself, I knew they weren’t true.

My teeth gritted as I came across the photos of the three men who had bullied me mercilessly throughout my Harvard years. It made me oddly hungry to see them so happy on some hunting trip, standing proudly in front of a mountainous background, wearing camos, hugging the way real men hugged. Pathetic. The hunger that opened up in me was for their reputations, their brands, their names. The hunger wouldn’t be satisfied tonight, so I left the study and walked downstairs to the kitchen.

Cook Beard wouldn’t mind me lifting a few snacks from the fridge. And if she would, the word would never get to me.

As I turned the corner and entered the elegant, functional kitchen, I paused. The fridge door was open, and Zain rummaged through it, possibly inspired by the same idea as I was. He took out a cheese platter and set it on the kitchen island, then felt my presence.

“Oh,” he gasped, taking a step back in surprise. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Sorry,” I said.

Zain’s gaze went over my bare torso and to my pajama bottoms, then returned to meet my eyes. “You don’t mind…”

“Not at all,” I said. “I had the same idea.”

Zain’s lips quivered shortly, almost as if he were about to smile. He took off the tinfoil and pushed the cheese platter between us on the counter. He wore a white T-shirt that was perhaps just a size too small to wear during the day, the bottom edge of it short enough that it revealed an inch of flesh when he straightened. Lower, where my gaze traveled in the shortest jumps, he wore black cotton shorts that ended well above his knees.

I resolved to look into his eyes instead. “Is something keeping you up?”

Zain rolled his shoulders. “Moonlight. Or the new mattress. Who knows?”

“I see,” I said. “We can change the mattress.”

He let out something like a chuckle. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” He popped a bit of cheese into his mouth, then searched for crackers in the cupboards with the kind of proficiency that said he had done this the night before. I was oddly glad that he was roaming the house instead of sitting in his room like a fearful bird in a cage.

“I received your contract,” I said.

He nodded. “It’s a…generous offer.”

I said nothing. Generosity had not been my intent.

Last night, he had asked me several times why I had picked him for that job. By all means, he could have been put to landscaping, and the results would be the same. But he was at a disadvantage as it was. A Muslim Mexican from the run-down Hudson Burrow and all the experience of a cashier. It didn’t ring the bells of a bright future.

I knew a thing or two about fighting the odds. Besides, he was interesting in a way I couldn’t fully grasp. Something about him made my gaze linger for a little longer than it usually did. The fact that he had tracked me down and found a way into my apartment in the city just to face me said he had more courage than most seasoned bankers, lawyers, and investors I faced daily.

“Do you always haunt the house late at night?” he asked.

“Often,” I admitted.

“It’s a big house,” Zain contemplated. “You won’t run out of places to haunt.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” I agreed.

We snacked in silence for a while. Suddenly, he looked at me, his gaze dragging over my torso before he met my eyes. “I heard you don’t leave this place that much.”

“Why would I?” I asked.

He shrugged. “To be around people?”

I thought about it for a heartbeat or two. “I’m not afflicted with the need for companions. They cost me time. And I can use my time more efficiently if I focus on business.”

“Why, though?” Zain asked. And when I didn’t answer, he added, “Why would you focus on business? What’s the point?”

That was why I found him entertaining, even if the question was flawed. “Why focus on anything ever?” I retorted.

Zain seemed to think about it shortly. “But you have everything.”

Our gazes met like sparring blades.

He let a hesitant smile touch his lips. “Sorry.”

“I see how it would seem so,” I murmured. “After all, I grew up on a Midwestern farm.”

“Seriously?” he asked.

“You really don’t know me?” I asked. “That’s a pretty public piece of information.”

I remembered the days when magazines still made the mistake of wanting to interview me for their front covers. The self-made wonder . The American dream come true.

“I just assumed you were…you know, an heir or something,” Zain said.

“People have a habit of making assumptions about me,” I said carefully. Like Harvard students, who had assumed I would never amount to anything. Or my parents, who had assumed I would marry a nice girl and take over the farm. “It ended many a career.”

Zain let out a sudden, startled laugh. There was a gentle, almost effeminate way in how his shoulders swayed. “Is that what keeps you up at night?”

Our gazes locked like clashing blades. “Careful, Zain,” I said in a low voice. “You’re about to make assumptions.”

His small smile froze on his face. Those big, warm eyes were melting, pouring like a chocolate fountain, and burning at the same time. “I can’t help it. This is like nothing I ever saw.”

“The house?” I asked.

“You.” He held a bit of bread in his hands, breaking it thoughtlessly, leaving crumbs all over the counter. He didn’t look at it; instead, he gazed into my eyes with a mix of fascination and repulsion. I was familiar with the look. He hesitated as if gathering his courage in order to speak his mind. It was both admirable and deeply foolish. “I signed your NDA,” he said. “Your secrets are safe with me. Believe me, I have no desire to feel your anger, but I have to ask. What’s your endgame?”

“Endgame to what?” I asked.

He rolled his slender shoulders. “So you grew up at a farm,” he said softly. “And now you own everything—Baron of Manhattan. You keep climbing higher. When does it stop?”

“People always get this wrong,” I said, aware of a tingling sensation uncoiling in my stomach when Zain dropped his gaze from my face to my chest and lifted it back again. “This isn’t a ladder that you climb to the top. There is no top.”

He scoffed. “Sure. It’s a lot nicer than at the bottom, though.”

“I worked for what I have,” I said. “And I’ll admit it, the more you have, the more you want, but…” I inhaled and held that breath of air inside my lungs. Frustration simmered inside of me. My jaw tensed as I looked away from Zain. “But it’s not about the money anymore. It’s now about power or influence.”

Silence fell between us. Zain didn’t pull away from the counter, from me. Instead, he lifted his chin bravely. “You’re settling scores.”

“So what if I am?” I asked. For a moment, I’d thought we were on even grounds. Now, some tightness leashed my voice. “There are worse things people do than settle scores.”

The space between Zain’s eyebrows creased. It struck me so suddenly that he was beautiful when concern took over his facial expressions. “Doesn’t that make you…bitter?”

My appetite was leaving me. I stepped back from the counter. “I don’t like to be owed, Zain. And the job you need to do tomorrow will settle more than one debt.”

Zain looked down at the counter and nodded. “I know. And I will do it.”

“Good.” I turned on my heels and took several steps toward the hallway.

Zain’s voice made me halt. “But don’t you worry what that will turn you into?”

My shoulders tensed as I turned around and walked slowly around the counter. I approached him, forcing him to look up into my eyes. It was a pitiful power move, but it always worked. He lifted his head begrudgingly to meet my gaze.

He smoothed his face and looked at me stoically. “Or has it already left you heartless?”

Every muscle in my body was tense as I stared down at Zain. “Heartless? Is that what you think I am?” I lifted my broad shoulders and shrugged. My voice dropped lower, grazing the range of a growl. “Perhaps. But my heart has nothing to do with this. I wouldn’t be here if I let my heart meddle where it has nothing to contribute. And if you’re so worried about my soul, pray for it, but spare me the boring details.” Abruptly, I knew I had made a mistake when I approached him. In making myself so imposing, I opened myself to the heat of his body. It washed over me together with the breath of air he exhaled through his nose. It made my skin prickle and the hair on my neck rise. But I remained firmly planted a few short inches away from him, not surrendering any ground. “I can assure you, it’s not my concern if this weighs heavy on your conscience. You agreed to the terms. You will do what I ask.”

He barely blinked at that. “Of course I will. I know what I signed.” His voice was soft and calm. It made me question who was truly in control. “But do you think it’ll make you feel whole?”

My body swayed forward, halving the distance that was already too short for anyone’s good. “Don’t test my patience,” I said, the sting burning hotter than I anticipated. “It’s not about feeling whole. It’s about giving them what they deserve.”

“According to you,” he said.

“Is my word not good enough?” I asked.

Zain had plenty of room behind his back to withdraw, but it seemed he was much more stubborn than I’d imagined. He let the short distance remain between us unchanged. His calm exterior rubbed me in all the wrong ways. It made me feel like a petulant boy who wasn’t allowed ice cream before dinner. “Billionaires dispensing justice is scary enough.”

“Have I wronged you?” I demanded. “Truly. Do you believe your father’s debt should have been forgiven simply because he’d taken it with good intentions?”

Zain winced for the first time. A slight pout formed on his lips, and his intense eyes pierced straight through me.

I leaned in, making sure my torso was still separated from his, but my face was nearer now. “I have the right to settle my scores however I like. And you have a right to quit this if it clashes with your morals. By all means, have your father deliver cash instead.”

Zain exhaled, his warm breath washing over the skin on my neck and chest.

Fire filled my bones and veins. I took a swift step back, turned away from him, and marched out of the kitchen before I could do something stupid. I was in control of myself. Always. That control had served me well for years and gave me the world. I wasn’t about to lose it to a stubborn twenty-two-year-old brat.

By the time I shut myself in my room, the heat had reached my face. Was this not the reason I allowed him to work off the debt? To be surprised by his unrestrained fierceness like the night he had come into my penthouse?

Or is there more that you don’t want to admit? I wondered. It had been a long time since anyone had attempted to check my moral compass.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.