Anything For You by Sarah Mayberry

desolate look had faded from his eyes. “Maybe I should have waited a little longer then. She needs a comeuppance, in my humble opinion,” she said instead.
    “There’s nothing humble about your opinion,” Sam said wryly.
    He moved toward the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine.
    “She was on about those shares again. I swear, if Jim’s getting a cent from them I’d be amazed. But he loves cranking her up. He keeps hinting at things every time she makes contact. It’s like a hobby for him,” Sam said, shaking his head in disgust.
    He poured two glasses of wine, sliding one toward her before leaning back and sipping from the other. Delaney stared at her wineglass as reality crashed in.
    “I—I can’t stay, Sam,” she said. Whatever impulse had brought her to his door had dissipated now, and all she could think about was what had happened between them—and how he hadn’t even acknowledged it.
    “Oh. Right.”
    A dull blush colored his cheekbones, and he fumbled the glass as he poured the wine down the sink. Suddenly, constraint was like a third presence in the room.
    Delaney stared intently at him, willing him to say something. Earlier, at the office, she’d dreaded their inevitable confrontation, fearful that he might have guessed her true feelings. But not talking about it was worse. Far worse.
    Sam didn’t pick up on her cue. Instead, he avoided eye contact and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Thanks for coming to my rescue, anyway.”
    She bit her lip. If he wasn’t going to say anything, it was up to her. She was part of this, too. She opened her mouth.
    “It was no biggy,” she said. Not quite the brave words she’d framed in her mind. Not even close, in fact.
    “Yeah, it was.”
    Sam glanced up at last, locking eyes with hers. She saw gratitude and friendship and warm, fraternal love in his gaze, and her courage failed.
    She wanted him to be the one to bring it up, she realized. She’d pined for him for years. Obsessed over him, fantasized over him. She was sure that her true feelings had been more than obvious as they thrashed around on her living room floor—what woman ravished her best friend that way without being secretly in love with him? It just didn’t happen. She’d already exposed herself enough. She needed him to take a single, small step in her direction.
    And he wasn’t going to take it. Because Sam saw her as a friend. Just a friend.
    While she stood in front of him, quivering with the need to touch him, to have him touch her, to have him inside her again.
    Hurt and humiliation and regret welled up inside her, and she said the first thing that came to her mind.
    “Have you spoken to the bank about buying me out?” she asked abruptly.
    Sam’s face stiffened.
    “No. Not yet.”
    “Do you want me to set up a meeting?”
    “I can do it,” Sam said tersely. “I said I’d do it.”
    “I’m free most mornings for the rest of the week. I’d really like to get the ball rolling,” she said, pushing. She needed to get this done fast, try to minimize the pain.
    Sam’s eyes flickered with anger. “Fine. I’ll set it up.”
    Delaney nodded tensely, then turned for the door. He didn’t say another word, and she kept her back stiff until she heard the door close behind her. Her shoulders instantly sagged and she closed her eyes for a long moment. One breath…two, three.
    Then she opened her eyes again, straightened her shoulders and went back downstairs to her solo dinner.

    SAM CHECKED HIS WATCH for the fifth time.
    “She should be here soon,” he told their bank manager, a stiff-backed, balding man named John.
    “Perhaps we could discuss the preliminaries?” John said, opening up the thick folder in front of him on the conference room table.
    Sam forced his concern at Delaney’s no-show to one side. It was Friday morning, four days since he’d slept with her. He’d put a call through to the bank the first thing Wednesday morning, and arranged for John to come