“Have you ever slept with someone to close a deal?” I ask.
I see the answer on his face before he opens his mouth. I pull out of his arms, but he tightens his hold.
“Let go of me,” I say.
“That’s not a simple answer, Elsa,” he says.
“Yes, it is. Have you ever slept with someone to close a deal? Yes or no?” I snap. “If you’re not willing to be honest with me, then we’re done here.”
“Fine, honesty,” he says, finally dropping my arms, leaving me feeling suddenly cold.
I cross my arms.
“When I was much younger,” he says. “Yes.”
For a second, I can’t hear anything except the rush of blood in my ears, hot and loud, like my body is trying to drown out the words.
I swallow with a lot of difficulty.
“What’s ‘muchyounger’?” My voice comes out hoarse.
He doesn't flinch, but something in him seems like it’s bracing for impact.
“Eighteen, nineteen. The kind of stupid that thinks with its dick and thinks it’s too clever to be affected.”
He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture so full of frustration it looks like he wants to pull the strands right out of his scalp.
“The kind of stupid that gets someone hurt before it learns a single goddamn thing about how the world actually works.”
A beat of silence hangs between us, thick and ugly. He doesn't look away.
“Am I proud of it?” he asks. “No. Is it something I sit around and regret? No. I did what I did, and I learned my lesson."
I look away from him, toward the window, toward the impersonal cityscape. The world outside is just glass and steel, orderly and distant.
"Have you?" I ask quietly, turning back to him. "Learned your lesson?"
His jaw works for a second. A muscle ticks in his cheek. He looks at me like I’m holding a knife to his throat.
“More than you know,” he says, and the words are heavy.
"And you haven't done it since?" I ask.
"Not in over twenty-five years," he says.
I bite my bottom lip as I consider him.
“Look.” He sighs. “I’m not going to sit here and lie to you and tell you I’ve never slept with someone who I’m also trying to do business with. It’s happened, but on a personal level. Not to get something out of it. I don’t have a problem mixing business and pleasure when there isn’t a conflict.”
He takes a step closer again. “What I have a problem with is letting my family down. I have a problem with jeopardizing this deal for them because I did something without knowing all the facts."
My throat is tight. My arms are crossed so tightly over my chest that it’s starting to ache.
“So this is about protecting your family, trying to make sure I don't reject the acquisition on principle," I say.
"It's about my family. And you," he says, and there's a raw honesty in his voice that makes my stomach clench. “Because the thought of you walking away—of you thinking this was all some calculated play—makes me want to put my fist through a goddamn window. But the thought of this deal falling apart and Be— And somebody else getting Northstar when my family worked so hard for this deal, it makes me sick."
It was a quick slip, almost imperceptible, but was he about to say Bellandi?