Page 10 of Hate Mate

“Fine. Meanwhile, the longer you wait to decide who's worthy of working with you, the worse this gets. We could end up with a failed business on our hands because of this. Doesn't that matter to you?”

My blood was already at a low simmer. Every word this little runt throws at me ups the temperature.

“You know it matters,” I murmur, clenching my fists out of sight beneath the table. “It matters very much. And there are only so many ways I can express my regret. I'm going to do everything in my power to make this right. I was drunk and insulting—but I would like to look around this table and ask if there's one of you who hasn't spoken out of turn when they were in that condition.”

“There's a single, glaring difference,” Nathan counters. “None of us were in the position you were in. You employ many dozens of people, and even more during the spring and summer months. This is about more than reputation and legacy. You have a responsibility. And I shudder to think how your father will feel about this when he gets word.”

Bullseye.And he knows it, the smug, superior prick.

I am a grown man. Well past the days when the threat of telling Daddy on me should have an effect.

Yet the slightest mention of him and the disappointment I know he would express leaves me sweating, anxious. After sipping water, I murmur, “As you know, my father has gone no contact. I don't know even how to reach him—and believe me, my brothers and I expressed concern, but you know how he is when he gets an idea in his head.”

“I guess that makes it convenient for you,” Frank mutters.

“Considering my father is at an age where I would rather be in touch with him at all times in case something should happen, I don't consider it convenient at all.” After a brief, tense staring contest, he looks away first. The sanctimonious idiot.

“I think we should put it to a vote.” Charles Moran is seated to my left, and he slides a knowing look my way. He's never been a supporter of mine, putting it mildly. I'll never forget him suggesting the board take over leadership of the club until I was better prepared to step into this role. I'm sure he is loving this—hell, he's not even trying very hard to hide his amusement, grinning slightly when our eyes meet.

“And what would you be voting on?” I ask, gritting my teeth once again. It would be so easy to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze.

“On whether the board should step in and take control of the situation while you get yourself straightened out.” He waves a dismissive hand. “We know what to do and say to get the town back on board and smooth any ruffled feathers.”

“That’s right,” Frank agrees. “Let's get the upper hand before this blows any further out of proportion. As it is, I heard of nothing else all morning. Everywhere I went, people were talking about this.”

That's because nobody around here has anything better to talk about.

When my phone buzzes, I know how it must feel to be adrift at sea and out of nowhere be thrown a life preserver. My hands are shaking as I open the email app and find the one name I wanted more than anything to see in my inbox.

“Excuse me, gentleman.” I realize I'm holding my breath as I open the message. Please, please, tell me what I need to hear.

Mr. Cargill, I would be happy to meet with you and discuss your needs. While I cannot make promises regarding whether we would make a good fit, I have handled situations like this before and believe it might be possible to sweep all of this under the rug with little complication. However, we would need to start immediately, which means a sit down meeting at the earliest possible convenience.

It's all-encompassing, the wave of relief that washes over me and almost steals the breath from my lungs. I'm practically weak with it, while at the same time I want to laugh. Thank God. There might actually be a way to get out of this with my hide intact.

The men grumble among themselves while I do my best to regain my composure. “This is good news,” I tell them, forcing myself to smile in the face of their scrutiny.

“I don't know how familiar any of you are with Willow Anderson, but she heads an office out of Manhattan and worked miracles for a friend of mine who became entangled with a terrorist front he believed was a worthwhile charity. She comes very highly recommended, in other words, and she has agreed to take me on as a client.”

A few of the men sigh in relief, but not Nathan. His penetrating gaze never wavers, to the point where I have to force myself to look him in the eye without flinching. “It's been confirmed, then? You will be working together?”

This jerk. No wonder he and my father get along so well. I could jump through rings of fire and it wouldn't be enough. “Yes, indeed. I have the message right here. We're getting together first thing in the morning, and before the weekend's over we'll roll out a plan.”

Rings of fire? Right now, I feel more like I'm tap dancing for my life, putting on a smile and hoping it's enough to distract them from the fact that I have two left feet.

“I'm sure services like that don't come cheap,” he muses, pursing his lips in false concern.

I know exactly what he's getting at, and it's enough to make me want to scream. “I will be paying for this out of pocket,” I assure all of them while staring straight at him. “This is my problem. I wouldn't take the money from the club, you can believe me on that.”

I never considered taking the funds from the business. It's one thing to know your presence was never exactly welcome. It's another to find out exactly how little people think of you. I have to wonder what I’ve ever done to inspire such a lack of confidence, not to mention their low opinion of my character.

“None of us believed otherwise,” Michael assures me, but I have my doubts. Doubts that are confirmed when Paul and Nathan exchange a knowing glance.

“So I think we can all agree,” I continue, forcing myself to ignore them, “there is no need to disrupt my father's well-deserved peace and relaxation by trying to get a hold of him. It's a non-issue.”

“We'll see,” Nathan murmurs, but I don't care once he pushes his chair back from the table. He can say whatever he wants, so long as he’s out of my face.

“Everything's under control,” I insist as the men pack it in. Those who stayed quietly supportive throughout the meeting settle for extending a sympathetic grimace while shaking my hand. At least it seems like I have a couple of them on my side, but not enough that their opinion would carry if it came to a vote. The last time I checked, four is greater than two.

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