Page 65 of Dirty Rival

“There’s a deal,” I say. “He’s just being a pain in my ass to get there,” I say the words, but my mind is already back on Carrie.

Gabe knows too, returning to her with me. “You just met Carrie,” Gabe says, joining me. “Right now, you can’t say anything.”

“Thank you, brother,” I say, looking at him, “for confirming, my fucked-up situation.”

“What’s a brother for,” he says, “if not to ground you in reality of just how fucked your life is right now?”

Carrie

I arrive to work feeling motivated and smelling like Reid. Literally. I forgot my perfume, and without really thinking about the potential fallout of spraying myself in “him” I doused myself in his cologne. After which, I’d inhaled with the brutally perfect spicy smell of me because, well, I love how he smells. I’d proceeded to head to work feeling motivated to score that big number goal Reid has inspired me to achieve. He saved my company. He gave me a chance to lead its future. He made me think big, and I need to think big to be CEO.

I walk by Sallie’s desk, offer her a cheery “good morning” and claim my seat behind my desk. She then dashes into my office, stands in front of my desk and says, “Who is he?”

I blink up at her, hating the rush of heat to my cheeks. “What are you talking about?”

“You smell like a man and you have a glow about you.”

“I smell like a man,” I say, and with a completely straight face, continue with, “as in sweaty and I need a shower?”

She smirks. “You know what I mean. Like cologne.”

“In other words, my new perfume is a no-go.”

“That’s perfume? It smells manly.”

Because Reid is manly, I think, before I reply with, “Like I said. Ditch the new perfume.”

“What kind is it?”

“Some sample in my makeup order.” I change the subject. “Anyone present any grand ideas for Elijah?” I ask, despite the fact that Elijah is a no-go, because no one knows that yet, and I can use the ideas elsewhere.

“None you want to see I promise you,” she says. “And on that bright note, I’m going to get coffee at the coffee shop. Want one?”

“Yes. Please.”

She departs, leaving me wallowing in my dissatisfaction with our team’s performance, despite the fact that Elijah is out of the picture. Had he been in the picture, we would have failed to provide him with an enticing investment. Elijah who Reid and I never finished talking about, a man on a mission for revenge, that could land right here with this company. I need to know what that’s about. Reid has to tell me.

For now, I set that aside, and I think about the comments about my father. Some people really wouldn’t do business with him, and I think hard about who else is on that list. I look down my prospect list, highlighting contacts that were far warmer to me than my father. Somewhere in this process, Sallie brings me coffee and the little egg white quiches I eat often.

Once I’ve downed my breakfast, I home in on one name: Marcus Phelps, one of the money men behind the New York Rockets baseball team comes to mind. He seemed like he wanted to do business, but something held him back. I dial him and leave a message. He calls me right back. “I was going to call you,” he says, his voice flirty as usual, because he flirts with everyone. He’s a real player. He can’t even stop himself. “I hear you’re up for CEO to replace your father.”

“I am,” I say. “Does that change things for you?”

“Maybe. Let’s have lunch. I’m headed out of town for a week. Let’s set a date for when I get back.”

We set our date and disconnect. I’m about to call through a few other prospects when Reid calls. “Hey, baby,” he says softly.

My stomach flutters with the endearment, and my reaction tells a real story. We’ve gone from me calling him an asshole, to here, and we’ve done it quickly. I wait for this to feel uncomfortable, but I let the man go down on me the night I met him right before I cuffed him. I’m pretty outside any supposed boundaries with Reid.

“Hey,” I reply. “How are things? Did you settle?”

“Not yet. I’m meeting him again at three but we’re close.”

Noting the strain in his voice, I ask, “What has you worried?”

“Who says I’m worried?”

“Worried or weary or something. I hear it in your voice.”

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