Page 55 of Ruthless Wars

“We’re seriously going to eat every last morsel of food if you two don’t stop fucking like bunnies and get your asses downstairs.”

Coop and I roar with laughter before he shouts back, “Save us some pastries.”

Chapter Thirty

Coop

The weekend with Margot is over way too soon. With my work ahead of me, I let out an agonized breath.

I’m doing my damnedest to focus on some actual business rather than daydream about Margot and how good she feels when I pound into her. The strain in my pants is frustrating the shit out of me, and the last thing I need at the office is a boner.

It’s not like I don’t have enough to do to occupy my time.

At the top of my list? Figuring out which member of my team is a goddamn traitor. God help them if they’re doing this for some dumbass reason like money. Fuck, I’m practically paying twice the going rate to some of my employees.

With a dozen people to consider, I can easily eliminate Allison. The most conniving thing about that cute little workaholic is her current need to have what she calls “strategy sessions” with Gabe.

True, this morning’s meeting did actually turn up a very promising joint-venture strategy with the East Coast company DGI, which fills me with equal parts excitement and concern, but I’m still calling a spade a spade. Or in this case, a probable engagement by spring, at the latest.

Okay, Alli’s clear.

At least half a dozen of my employees who were at the negotiating table at Long Multinational have worked with me for years, and if there’s one thing they know, it’s not to fuck with me. Not surprisingly, the information Corey has dug up on them so far hardly qualifies as a smoking gun. Which means whoever’s behind it is savvy. Careful.

So, I’m going a different direction with this one. I’m getting creative. All the stories broke fast, which means whatever seed we decide to plant will make the news in about an hour. Well, I’m giving it two. I’m feeding different stories to different people, just to see which one breaks.

“Sorry, Coop, I wasn’t sure I heard you right. We’re going into what kind of business?”

Baiting Simone isn’t exactly the highlight of my day, and I’m pretty sure Austin will kill me when he finds out. If he finds out. And not just because it’s Simone, but because it’s probably the stupidest bait I’ve ever used.

Hey, you try coming up with a dozen different news-worthy ideas that are so preposterous, they’re easily dismissed, and see how far you get.

“Well, with the twelve companies we acquired controlling interest in from Long Multinational, several need a serious overhaul. One of them has to be converted entirely. To toilet seat manufacturing.” Noticing her dubious expression, I double-down on my play. “Toilet seats are an eight-point-seven-billion-dollar market. But this is where you come in. We’re not just converting it to any old toilet-seat manufacturer. There’s no way we’ll break into that market. We’re going high end. Luxury brand. We’re bringing in the big guns. Memory foam.”

“Memory foam,” Simone says slowly, repeating the words as her eyes narrow on mine ... like she knows I’m totally bullshitting her.

But I keep a straight face. “Yes, I need you to find out, as quietly as possible, what patents we might infringe on.”

“You ... think we might have a patent battle on our hands? With memory foam toilet seats?” This time, her enunciation of each syllable is exaggerated, like I’m a four-year-old.

Holding in my laugh, I nod solemnly with a squeaky mm-hmm.

“I’m guessing not,” she says, her expression completely devoid of anything, least of all interest.

“Mark my words,” I say, not even sure why I’m still pushing this story. “This is going to be a complete game changer to one little company.”

Intrigued, Simone sits taller, readying her pen to take notes. “Which company?”

Not thinking it through, I throw out the first company name that comes to mind. The only company that comes to mind when I think of Long Multinational. “Steele Holdings.”

“Steele Holdings? Is that why you wanted that company so badly? It’s the linchpin to cornering the memory foam toilet seat market?” Her tone is disbelieving and amused, but something in what she said grabs my interest.

“You know we gained control of a dozen companies. Steele was just one of them.”

Simone relaxes back in her chair, crossing her legs and giving me a money shot I didn’t want. Reactively, or desperately, I focus on my planner where I scribble a reminder to myself for a new business rule for the office. Everyone wears pants!

“Come on, Coop, you can tell me.”

“Tell you what?” I ask impatiently as I underline the words.

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