Page 10 of Ruthless Wars

“Don’t worry, Dad,” I say softly to the family photo watching me from his desk. “Jaclyn might have your drive, but I’ve got your impeccable timing and solid-brass balls. I've got this.”

Alone in my reverie, I take a seat in the custom oversized leather chair, well-worn from an industry giant’s ass being planted in it for a quarter of a century.

With a deep inhale, I smile, enjoying the faintest whiff of Dad’s cologne permanently soaked into the rich cowhide. I might not be the CEO, or even the CEO-to-be, but I'm perfectly suited for the role I've always played.

Puppet master. The socialite-slash-ringleader no one ever suspects. Gambling where others fear to tread. Because I'm good at it. Known for it. Trusted by everyone because as Jaclyn says, when I roll the dice, the dice fuck and make lots and lots of money.

As I relax back, the chair tilts into a light recline, giving me just enough of a double dare burst of energy to prop my feet up on the desk. I half wish Dad would walk in on me getting a little too comfy in my temporary office. But the brisk knock at the door jolts me, prompting me to return my feet to the floor.

I can’t believe he’s checking on me.

Sitting taller, I clasp my hands with a balance of power and elegance before summoning my visitor. “Come in.”

“Hey, Margot.” Jean casually strolls in, making me relax with her familiar carefree smile. She wastes no time on pleasantries before fixing herself a lowball of Four Roses bourbon. Elliott’s Select is Dad’s personal favorite. Leaving a bottle of it behind was his way of passing the torch.

With a playful smirk, the vice president of strategic relations shoots a taunting look my way. “Settling in? I half expected your feet to be on the desk.”

“Moi?” I say innocently, then glance pointedly at her glass. “And look who’s talking.”

“Everett says booze is only off-limits for him, but no one else should suffer. He insists that whenever I need a glass, I should indulge in the good stuff. And this is the best damn bourbon in the world.”

“Isn’t that fifty percent alcohol?”

“Nearly fifty-five, and it tastes like a liquored-up candy bar.” But Jean’s long sip doesn’t unknot her tight brow.

“What is it?”

“You wanted to know who Richard’s backer was.”

Damn straight, I do. Richard, aka Davis R. Black. Tech mogul of Black Industries. Mad genius behind over a hundred industry-changing inventions. Ultimate king of ruthless games who raised two-and-a-half billion dollars in cash in an attempt to buy Long Multinational. Oh, and my future brother-in-law.

Skeptical, I ask, “Does that put you off? Me spying on Richard?” I swallow my guilt, knowing Jaclyn wouldn't exactly be thrilled.

“Oh, hell no. I spy on everyone. Trust-but-verify girl here.”

“Me too,” I say with a nod. “I just want to know who might be interested in our company. After all, it’s not every day that you’re backed by someone sitting on that kind of cash, and Black Technologies doesn’t have it. Richard Black may be inches from being family, but that man’s a vault. He won’t say boo, and I’m terribly curious.”

Jean huffs. “Well, curiosity killed the cat.”

“Oh, but I’m such a fast little kitten. Scrappy too,” I say with a grin, but Jean’s skepticism is putting way too much of a damper on the discussion. “Why the long face? Who is it? I figured Alex and Paco were involved.”

Alex Drake, the founder and CEO of Drake Global Industries, is one of the richest men in the world. If he didn’t fund it, no doubt Paco Robles—his right-hand man and one of my best friends—did.

“His major backer?” Jean takes another sip before letting out a slow breath. “The Alliance.”

Blankly, I stare back with a shrug, but Jean’s silence is unnerving. “Should I know them? Who are they, the mob? A foreign nation? Seriously, much more of this face, and I’ll hold you down and give you Botox myself.”

With a slow shake of her head, Jean starts apprehensively. “That’s just it. I don’t know who they are. And none of my contacts do, either. They hit the scene hot and heavy this year, but they're completely shielded. Their website showcases their recent acquisitions, says that they’re US owned, but not a whole hell of a lot more. Except that they’re right under our nose—based here in Dallas.”

Drumming my fingers on the desk, I smile. “A cloaked company right under my very nose? Now, that’s intriguing.”

“I’m glad you’re happy about it. A stealth firm nearly steals the company out from under you, and you’re giddy? I’m nervous.”

Her words hit me by surprise, and I reach for her glass to steal a sip. “And I’m bored. It’s time to shake things up around here.”

Snatching back her bourbon, Jean snaps, “Get your own ... if you’ve suddenly taken to drinking. I thought you didn’t mix booze and business.”

“This isn’t business as much as evil plotting.” Though I rarely drink, I love the teetotalling public persona. Let the world think I’m too savvy to mix business and booze. Definitely the sexier spin.

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