Page 44 of A Forgotten Promise

“For herself. As I said already. She’s a grown-up woman, with her own brain and independence.” I put my hands behind my head and look at Cal. “She will tell you when she wants.”

“I’m not allowing that,” Caleb says through his teeth, the anger radiating from him.

Xander pats his back. “I don’t think it’s your decision, dude.”

Cal gives him a look that could kill, but Xander only shrugs.

“Okay, I suggest everyone cools off in their respective offices, and the two of you”—Roxy looks at me, and then at Cal—“will have coffee together in the staff cafeteria, laughing at each other’s jokes, as soon as you can swear not to get physical.”

“Anytime. I have nothing against my future brother-in-law.” I wink.

“Fuck you.” Cal turns to leave, but Roxy blocks the door.

“Fuck you all. I thought you both wanted that deal. I thought we’re all on board with helping to prove to the world Cormac is an upstanding citizen. And we can all agree that is quite a task. Can’t we?” She glares at Cal.

“Hey,” I protest, while all my partners nod.

She looks at me, daggers shooting from her eyes, but then she focuses her exasperation on Cal. “I’ll now remind all the employees of their NDAs, and let’s hope nobody uploaded a video of your altercation already.”

“Yeah, great for our image.” Xander groans.

“This testosterone-filled environment is way above my paygrade.” Roxy spins on her heels, rolling her eyes, and walks out.

My partners file after her, Cal followed by Xander, who is still patting his back like he’s a puppy that needs training.

“You need to get your shit together.” Declan shakes his head.

“She came to me,” I defend myself, but even to my ears I sound like a douche.

“Since when is Cal’s sister the only woman in the world?” He continues shaking his head, disappointment rolling off his shoulders as he leaves my office, closing the door behind him.

Fuck them. Fuck them all. With their righteous attitude. With their honest opinions and concerns.

Fuck them for calling me on my bullshit.

But my indignation is short-lived, because I may be reckless, but I’m not senseless. Somebody ought to call me on my bullshit since I haven’t been able to.

The dose of candor sobers me up. And pisses me off. I can do what I want. It’s not like I’ve been forcing her. But fuck, the sooner I close that deal, the better.

I fish my phone from my pocket and dial Betsy while I walk to my office bathroom to assess my swollen lip.

“Corm, the date night photos are trending well. Good job. I have some ideas—”

“Announce the engagement.” I don’t let her finish. Why does this woman always think she is in charge? I called her, for fuck’s sake. This is my conversation.

“We will next week.”

“Now,” I growl, putting the phone on speaker and laying it on the vanity.

“Based on last night’s success, and the media speculation about your relationship with Saar—by the way, people love her; we couldn’t have picked a better—”

“Betsy,” I warn.

“I recommend we plan some sort of a public declaration? A romantic proposal?”

I snort, turning the faucet and wetting a towel to wash the blood off my face. “Are you high? That’s tacky. Just fucking announce it and move her in. I’m away for four days, but I’ll leave instructions with my housekeeper.”

“Okay, but a romantic proposal might be a good photo op.”

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