Page 7 of Love or Tequila in Unexpected Places

In that moment, standing in the baby aisle, surrounded by pastel colors and the scent of baby powder, she felt a spark of determination. It was as if a switch had flipped; she was no longer a passive observer in her life but an active participant.

She imagined what it would be like to hold her baby, to nurture and love someone unconditionally, to shape their future with her own hands. The thought filled her with an exhilarating blend of joy and trepidation, but the fear was no longer paralyzing. It was invigorating.

Finally, she was seizing control of her life. Gone were the days of simply reacting to circumstances; she was stepping forward with intention. This was her path, and for the first time, it felt right.

And her father needed to either join her, or leave.

“Let me stop you right there,” Allison interrupted his rant, lifting her hand in a universal stop sign. “This is not some grammatical error you’ve found in one of your contracts. This is not something you need tofix. I will not allow you to talk like that about me or my baby. In fact, this is something you need to either accept or you need to get the hell out of my house.” Her voice was chilling as she pointed to the door. “Now.”

She had never spoken that way to her father, always nodding along to his every whim. She couldn’t deny how good it felt to finally stand up for herself.

Her father stood, locked in place.

She briefly wondered if that meant he had finally chosen to support her.

And then he picked up his stuff and headed toward the door without a backward glance, and she deflated.

Guess not. So much for getting support.

Two

ANGELO

“Are you ready, sir?” Calliope asked.

Angelo checked himself in the mirror one last time, making sure his suit was immaculate, before nodding at his father’s assistant.

Well, my assistant now.

“Let’s do this,” he turned to look at the young woman, signaling for her to walk ahead of him.

They headed to his car, Angelo opening Calliope’s door for her before tipping his head in thanks to the driver. He slid a twentyinto the man’s palm, a little trick of his father:“Always tip the man before he does his job. Makes him more inclined to do it correctly.”

It had been two month since he flew in from Athens to find out his father was stepping down. Sixty full days since he was officially appointed CEO of Taylor Co. And today, he was having his first big business meeting—with his rival, Lockwood Inc.

He had managed the Athens branch of Taylor Co., in control, just as he liked it. But then he got the call. His father, William Taylor, had taught him everything he knew. He just didn’t think he’d be using it so soon or taking over his position, controlling the entire corporation and all its branches, at the age of thirty-two.

So, he was nervous.

I’m screwed.

Forty minutes later, they arrived at Lockwood Inc. Angelo scoffed at the obscenely luxurious exterior of the building.

It looked as if it were made of glass, reflecting the moody Seattle sky like a giant mirror. He half-expected to see a red carpet leading up to the entrance, complete with paparazzi snapping photos and a butler handing out champagne. The place screamed, “We have more money than taste,” and Angelo couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the over-the-top opulence.

He had never met Oliver Lockwood, but his father had a lot to say about the man. They had much in common, but their differences were massive. Both had built their conglomerates from the ground up and their success was nearly unparalleled. But that was all they shared. The CEO of Lockwood Inc.was a notoriously cruel man with little regard for his employees.

Angelo’s father was an excellent boss, both understanding and skilled at making money. He genuinely cared for his employees and made sure their working environment was welcoming.

The driver opened the door, smiling at Angelo with a look that silently begged for another tip and Angelo nodded politely, handing him another bill. He headed for the luxurious building, well aware of the fact the driver would be disappointed at the five dollars in his hand.

Can’t just give you twenties every time, can I?

Angelo once again opened Calliope’s door, allowing her to exit the car and they ventured into enemy territory as a united front. A tall woman with an impeccable sense of style and blonde hair in a very,verytight bun welcomed Angelo and Calliope as they approached the reception.

“Name,” the woman demanded in an annoyingly nasal voice, with a look that usually translated to “Why am I even here?”

Maybe she should loosen up that bun a little.

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