Page 5 of Casita Casanova
“We have to fix this mess. Are you listening?”
“So fix it. Isn’t that what I pay you for?”
“It’s not that easy. This one isn’t just going to fade into the background. People are pissed. The picture was…”
Sexy as hell?
“Disturbing.”
I frown, looking back over my shoulder at the phone on the counter. Disturbing?
“I have a plan, but you’re not going to like it.”
“No.”
She pauses, then asks softly, “No?”
“No, Bethany, I don’t want to hear your plan if you already told me I’m not going to like it. That doesn’t even make sense. Like, here, try this steak, it tastes like shit.” I sigh loudly to show my disdain for this conversation. “No.”
“Ridge—”
“Do you know what time it is? I haven’t even had my coffee yet. You’re the only one I evenallowto call me this early on a Saturday—”
“And what an honor it is.” Beth’s chair squeaks through the phone, like she’s leaning back in it. “With the acquisition of Harding & Harding on the line, you have to stay out of the limelight for a while.”
Apparently, she’s going to tell me her plan anyway.
“What does that even mean? The Harding acquisition is mine. Done-zo.”
“Not yet it isn’t.”
I turn fully around and stride toward the phone. This requires actual eye contact. Someone needs a little reminding about who runs this fucking company of mine. “Iset the whole thing up.Iwined and dined their chief executive moron.Me. The Harding acquisition ismybaby.”
“And, you’ll abort that baby if you keep fucking up.”
I grimace at the phone. “Gross, Beth.” I pick it up and look at her face on the screen.
She widens her eyes, shaking her head. “Finally, my goodness. You know how rude it is to just leave me staring at the ceiling of your kitchen, Ridge?”
Looking up at the gold-plated, bubble glass light fixture suspended above my kitchen island, I raise my eyebrows. “It’s a great view.”
Beth’s huff of annoyance brings my attention back to the phone. I flash her the panty dropper smile reserved for knocking women senseless. Of course she’d rather havethisview. She is human, after all.
She rolls her eyes and looks away from the screen, remarkably immune to my dashing good looks and immeasurable charm, typing frantically on her keyboard. “I’m sending you the details. Check your email.”
“Details for what?” Wary, I narrow my eyes. “Bethany?”
She turns back to me then, pinning me with that crazy-eyed stare she gives me sometimes when she’s really pissed. If she didn’t remind me so much of my mom, I’d fire her for that look alone. But it’s basically the thing that reminds me most of Mom, so I let it slide. It’s why I hired Beth’s PR firm in the first place. I don’t let many women give it to me straight, but her directness reminded me of happier times, so I knew I had to work with her.
And what a mistake that was. The woman’s been busting my balls ever since.
“You’re going to go to California for a while. Just four to six—”
“The hell I am.”California?No fucking way.
Her lips purse, and a muscle beside her left eye twitches; impressive, because the face full of Botox should hide that little indication of irritation. Which means she must bereallypissed off at me this time.
Fine, I’ll play along. “Beth, come on. He’s not even a senator anymore.”
