Page 36 of My Ruthless Opponent

“I’ll be honest with you, Ms. Cooper. I like your spirit. I liked how you’re not backing away even after hearing about Muse Agency. But there’s a reason why I think they are the better option for my resort.”

I feel the chance slipping away from my fingers. “Can I know the reason?”

He doesn’t hesitate to answer. “Every advertising campaign has a message, right? This resort is built in Maui. This is the place where I first met my Greta. While this resort will be open for everyone, the main motto of the advertising campaign should betrue love. And what better option than the Johnsons-the power couple of New York’s advertising industry?”

I am speechless. No, really. What can I say?

They are at an advantage here because they represent a unity of love.

We might be better in the talent department, but Mr. Smith has a notion that his resort can be marketed well by a couple who are in love rather than me who’s single.

And by the way he was emphasizing about the “power couple” I don’t think my pitch-no matter how excellent it may be-could sway him.

My shoulders slump a little, but my smile remains. Business aside, Mr. Smith is an emotional man and he is doing all this for his late wife. I have no right to advise him on this decision.

Well, I guess this was it. My only hope to get the promotion is now lost.

I take a step back, ready to bid my goodbye, to go straight home and give in to the urge of crying.

A large hand settles on my lower back that stops my retreat. The hand doesn’t stop there, it snakes around my waist until it settles on my hip.

It happens so fast, I don’t get to react, collecting my withered senses, I go to shove the handsy asshole but his voice makes me still against him.

“There you are. I was looking for you, baby.”

I stare up at him with my jaw agape. No way. No fucking way.

What the hell isRaleighdoing here?

Chapter Eight

Itry not to sneer when a wife of a hotshot businessman slips her card in my hand.

The edges of the rectangular card dig in my skin as I tighten my fingers around it.

It is mindboggling how some people think they are entitled to everything just because they are filthy rich.

Not even fifteen minutes since I stepped into the ballroom and I already have three personal cards.

The first two women were courteous enough to send it via white-gloved waiters.

The third one who I assume was in her early forties was bold enough to approach me directly.

It shouldn’t surprise me but it did. I have attended this kind of event in the past. Most of the time it was work-related. This wasn’t the first time some married woman had slipped me their personal card. Still, it boils my blood.

I don’t mind if a single woman approaches me. I mean, come on. What man in his prime would turn down a night between the sheets with a beauty? I have a history of dating actresses and models. Some of them were even older than me by a few years. So, age is not a problem for me.

I draw the line when it comes to committed women. It’s just not my style. I refuse to fuck a woman—no matter how hot she is—if she is married or committed. It is a major turn-off for me. I don’t know when I developed such strong revulsion toward cheating. But it’s something I never compromise.

I cross the room and claim a spot next to the thick velvet drapes framing the large window.

This spot would allow me to hide from the horny trophy wives and to search for the person I am here for.

This way I can kill two birds with one stone.

My eyes sweep over the main floor before drifting up to the second level.

Maybe I should head upstairs instead of hiding here and waiting for Victor Smith to arrive.

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