Page 82 of Wicked Fantasies

Reed slammed his fists down on his uncle’s desk, leaned closer. “Mitchell was good at what he did.” Reed didn’t acknowledge that his partner’s so-called strengths were to do the parts of the job he abhorred—the paperwork, the busy work. He’d been little more than a personal assistant, but Reed wasn’t about to admit that fact to his uncle. “We were a successful team, dammit.”

“There was no teamwork involved. Mitchell’s failure to win the last two bids proved that. You did the work, carried the brunt of the thinking and planning. He was simply along for the ride.”

Reed sucked in a deep breath, closed his eyes. He didn’t know how to explain to Brian that he preferred it that way. He was used to calling the shots, being in charge. He didn’t relish the thought of trying to break in some fresh-faced hotshot. He was too set it in his ways. “I should have been involved in hiring his replacement. I’m the man who’s going to have to work with this new partner. I should have been included in the interviews, the hiring process.”

“Who owns this company, Reed?”

Reed turned away. Fuck. It was his uncle’s conversation-ending question. Every argument they’d had in the past always ended this way, with that simple question. There was no rebuttal, no denying Brian owned and ruled The Donovan Group in his iron-clad fist.

“Great, Brian. Very enlightening. Thanks so much for clearing up nothing. Can you tell me this at least? Can you tell who the fuckhead is that you’ve hired to replace Mitchell?”

His words were deep, angry and, despite his efforts to shield the emotion, hurt. He’d given his life to The Donovan Group. Worked his ass off to see its continued success.

“Frankie Carlyle.”

Reed stopped in mid-pace. “What?”

Brian leaned forward, and Reed could tell by the look on his uncle’s face he thought he was sharing some exciting news. “I stole Frankie Carlyle away from The Wilkerson Team. Think of it, Reed. You and Frankie working together. The Donovan Group will be unbeatable, unstoppable.”

Reed slowly sank into the chair at his back. Tried to wrap his head around the words his uncle was saying. He’d hired the young upstart. Did Brian think Reed wasn’t capable of landing the big deals on his own?

“As you are aware, there are three big bids looming in our future. I want you and Frankie to work together on them.”

Reed closed his eyes, wished there was some way to turn back the last few minutes. Hell, he wished there was a way to turn back the last year. He’d been at odds, trying to second-guess every decision his uncle had made lately. He felt like he was standing on a crumbling foundation, and he couldn’t figure out what the hell he’d done wrong.

“No,” he said at last, looking his uncle in the eye.

Brian reared back, confusion on his face. “No? No what?”

“No, I’m not working with Frankie Carlyle. I’m perfectly capable of landing those bids on my own. Either you believe in me or you don’t, Brian.”

His words seemed to take some of the wind out of his uncle’s sails. Unfortunately, Brian wasn’t a man who stayed down for long.

“You will work with Frankie and it will be a true collaboration. I won’t be drawn into your pissing contests. It’s time you learned to play nice with others in the sandbox.”

Reed stood quickly, overturning the chair on which he sat, his temper at the breaking point. “Play nice?”

“Excuse me,” said a female voice from the doorway. “Your secretary is away from her desk, Brian, so I thought I’d let you know I was here for our appointment.”

Reed turned, ready to eviscerate the woman for interrupting their conversation. His words froze on his lips when he spotted Francesca standing in the doorway.

“You,” he whispered.

He watched her gaze travel from his uncle to him, her eyes widening with shock.

Brian stood and walked across the room, quickly taking her hand. “Frankie. Reed and I were just talking about you.”

“Frankie?” Reed was aware he sounded like a moron, but his lips, his face had gone numb.

“You’re Reed Donovan?” Her astonished tone clued him in to two facts. Number one, she’d heard his name, knew of his reputation. Number two, she hadn’t known who he was last night.

He nodded, quickly scrambling to get his wits back. He’d been losing the battle against his uncle, and there was no way he was going to give up any more ground in Frankie’s presence.

Besides, he thought, attempting—and failing—to hide his wolfish grin, this changed everything. Frankie Carlyle was a woman. A woman he’d fucked against the back wall of Carter’s bar last night.

“Brian was just filling me in on the next three bids, the ones we’ll be working on together.”

His uncle’s head jerked toward him, obviously surprised by his sudden change of heart. Brian narrowed his eyes, but Reed merely smiled innocently. For once, he knew something his uncle didn’t. He held the upper hand suddenly and he relished the position. “Isn’t that right, Brian?”

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