Page 13 of Ruthless Wars

Chapter Seven

Margot

Twenty-four hours? How could anyone possibly expect us to hand over a hundred-million in cash in twenty-four hours?

Frustrated, I scowl at Dad’s bourbon, holding the bottle upside down. My strategies never fail, but this one did. Somehow. And to top it off, this empty bottle is letting me down too.

I refuse to give in to a mild panic attack, having thoroughly numbed ninety-nine percent of my concerns with booze.

Cowering at the thought of seeing Jean’s text again, I realize there’s nothing more to do tonight. Except maybe grab another drink from the nearest bar, and a hot guy—or two. At least to get me through until the morning. Nothing takes the edge off like a sexy stranger for the night.

Tomorrow, I’ll deal with the epic shit tsunami headed straight for me. Reluctantly, I come to terms with my actions, knowing without a doubt there’s no one to blame but my own arrogant self.

But every step was so calculated. So careful. The chance of a misstep was ten million to one. I’ve made this play a dozen times. Maybe too many times.

The plan should have been foolproof. Or maybe that's just me drinking another glass of my own Kool-Aid.

Someone had to be watching. And apparently had a hundred million dollars just lying around.

I grimace. Steele Holdings. The one company Dad never let me play with. Why couldn’t I just sit back and let this well-oiled machine run itself?

“Nooo,” I say defiantly to the empty chair across from me. “I totally lost it. Oh, not by itself either.” I point the glass accusingly with a scowl. “I lost a dozen tiny little subsidiaries at the grown-up table because, obviously, I have a serious gambling problem.”

Tomorrow’s headline will be featured prominently in news across the globe. At least Jean gave me a heads-up.

checkmate! the alliance postured to gain coveted seat on long multinational board of directors

It's not just the headline that's a blow to my ego, but on top of it all, it means we have a mole, and Long Multinational has never had a mole.

Grasping at my remaining threads of sobriety, I stare at the headline, deciding to focus my undivided attention on the bigger of the two piles of shit. The Alliance.

Maybe they’ll consider selling Steele Holdings back. I tap at my cell, and Jean answers before the ring finishes.

“You said we’re meeting with the Alliance tomorrow?”

“Actually, I’m not entirely sure of the affiliation, but we’re meeting with the Valor Group. Their CEO and I have bumped into each other here and there, but I’ve never really worked with him. They will be the representatives for the Alliance.”

“Do me a favor—”

“Bribe Everett’s maid to not deliver a newspaper to him for a few weeks?” Jean says cheekily.

“Oh, add that on your to-do list, for sure.” It suddenly dawns on me that I haven’t heard from Dad. At all. It’s weird, but I’m not investigating.

I get why Jaclyn hasn’t called, being on her first real vacation in years with the love of her life. Seriously, Richard’s probably pumping her like an oil rig right now, and I’ll bet the last thing on her mind is her fuckup of a sister.

“What do you need?” Jean asks, more charitably than I deserve.

The words more bourbon nearly escape my lips before I say, “Add a sale addendum to the paperwork. Just in case. For Steele Holdings.” At the very least, I can get that back.

“You’ve got it. And don’t worry. Evie and I will be right there with you. Well, us and a dozen attorneys. Try to rest.”

“Thanks for everything, Jean.” The I’m sorry doesn’t get to escape my lips before she disconnects.

With a final regretful glare at the headline, and a pout at the empty glass I’m leaving behind, I shove my phone in my purse and slide the strap over my shoulder.

Tomorrow, I’ll deal with it. All of it.

But tonight, I’m getting wasted, naked, and riding some lucky cowboy straight into the sunrise.

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