Page 32 of Irresistibly Wild

One glass of “Rainy Day” wine wasn’t enough.

I needed a whole damn bottle.

Stat.

THREE

PRESENT DAY

TRAVIS

Manhattan, New York

“Um, who the hell was that?” Madeline followed me outside. “She’sstunning.”

“Tell me about it.” I strolled toward the waiting town car, ignoring her question.

“I don’t remember any rumors about you having a girlfriend,” she said. “How serious were you two?”

“It’d be a lot easier to understand your words if you weren’t stuffing cake into your mouth every few seconds.”

She eyed the strawberry slice in her hand—the sixth one she’d eaten tonight—and wolfed it down.

“Welcome back, Mr. Carter,” The driver held the door open as we approached. “Miss Dawson.”

As we slid onto the backseat, Ralph looked up from his phone.

“You just lost Calvin Klein as a sponsor,” he said. “Apparently, they want to move on to someone who doesn’t visit strip clubs to solve personal problems.”

“Maybe you should show them the video of Miss Dawson dancing so they can reconsider.”

“I tried that already. They’re officially moving on from you.”

I made a mental note to burn every brief from their brand when I returned home.

“Gatorade and Nike are your biggest ones left, but I’m thinking we should reach out to them instead of waiting,” he said. “As far as the smaller sponsors, you still have twenty. Percentage-wise, that’s awful, but recoverable with time.”

I didn’t have the energy to do the math at this moment.

“Who was that woman in the stairwell, Mr. Carter?” Madeline moved across from me. “I feel like you’re avoiding my question.”

“I am.”

“Is there any bad blood between you two?”

“There’snothingbetween us,” I said. “I’ve never seen that woman before today.”

“The conversation I overheard says otherwise.”

Ralph put on his glasses, looking between us.

“We should have dinner at Per Se before we head home.” I steered the conversation elsewhere. “I always treat my new staff members to a private dinner, and I’d like to remain consistent.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Carter, I’d like to stay on topic.” Madeline buckled her seatbelt. “Regarding the woman who was in the stairwell with us, she’s—”

“A goddamn ghost,” I interrupted, my chest aching like hell. “She doesn’t exist, we’ve never met, and if you think I’m making this up, you can turn in your resignation letter and take a bus back to Vegas. Understood?”

“But I—” She sighed. “Understood.”

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