Page 16 of Rival Desires

I was just about to give up when, lo and behold, something on a social media feed snagged my attention. It was a post about Nadine Seaworth, a well-off widow who was revamping her financial situation, including the charities she backed.

The piece was mostly about her philanthropy, but my curiosity pricked up at the mention of her investment portfolio. Seaworth was on the prowl for a new financial guru. And who better than a bright, innovative company like mine? The only catch was figuring out how to wedge my foot in the door.

Most people would probably go for a traditional business proposal or try to charm her with flattery. But not me. I’d always had a knack for getting inside people’s heads. Maybe it’s my way of pushing back against all the logical, number-crunching stuff my dad was so hell-bent on instilling in me. You know, the stuff guys are supposed to “get,” while women are relegated to the “emotional” stuff.

But hey, my offbeat strategy has served me well so far, right?

I told Mallory to wipe my schedule clean, giving me some breathing room to dive headfirst into Nadine Seaworth’s world. I was on a quest to uncover enough intel to reel her in. If Nadine was all about girl power, I’d tempt her with the idea of a woman taking charge of her finances. If experience was her thing, I’d send in my most seasoned pro. And if Gracen & McCrae happened to be her type, I’d find a third way to make her see us in a whole new light.

By the time lunch rolled around, I had a semi-devious plan brewing. It was not completely above board, but at least it was within the bounds of legality and ethics. And let’s be real, it was a walk in the park compared to Cory’s stunts.

Nadine Seaworth, a widow in her late fifties, had been on her own for over twenty years, ever since her hubby bit the dust when her kid, Bennett, was just a wee ten-year-old. Now, Bennett was in his early thirties and seemed to be protective of his mother.

I guess losing a parent at that age would do that to you. My gaze kept sliding back to the photo on my desk - the last snapshot of me and Mom, taken before she departed from this world. I was twenty-three, a decade older than Bennett when he lost his dad, but I didn’t think our age difference would affect how we processed the tragedy. Nah, that distinction belonged solely to my pops, Randall Palmer, and his unending disappointment that his late-in-life surprise package turned out to be a girl. A daughter, not the son he’d always dreamed of.

“You would’ve understood,” I murmured to my mom’s photo. “You would have understood why I’m here in Palo Alto and what I’m trying to build.”

And why Cory’s betrayal had hit me so hard.

With a deep breath, I refocused. Bennett was my ticket in. I would score a meeting with him for Monday. Persuade him that Palmer Money Management was the right call for his mother. With his seal of approval, I’d have the perfect angle to pitch Nadine.

That’s how I’d show Gracen & McCrae they’d picked the wrong person to underestimate.

My weekend wasa whirlwind of research, with Bennett and Nadine Seaworth taking center stage.

Bennett’s reputation as a ladies’ man didn’t ruffle my feathers - I’ve got a strict “no client/employee relationship mixed with pleasure” policy. But his being a client’s son? That was a bit of a sticky wicket. And let’s not forget that Nadine wasn’t technically my client...at least, not yet.

So, I decided to indulge in a dress that danced on the line between professional and flirty. It wasn’t exactly “let’s paint the town red” material, but this sunflower-patterned number was decidedly more fun than my usual work wear. After perfecting my makeup and sliding into a pair of heels that were as classy as they were comfy, I was ready to roll.

I rehearsed my strategy as I made my way to the brunch spot. I had to dazzle Bennett without selling my soul, even if the lines got fuzzy around the edges. But the real prize was outshining Gracen & McCrae.

The moment I waltzed in, I spotted Bennett – unmistakable since the images I’d found of him online were wedged into my brain. The guy towered over six feet, all lean and sharp in a suit that made him look beefier than his internet snapshots. His hair was styled to a T, nailing that sweet balance between youthful and distinguished. Yet, the frosty blue of his eyes, true to the pictures, hinted his dodgy reputation might just be rooted in reality.

Awesome. I sure knew how to pick them.

Okay, so he wasn’t exactly the dreamboat I’d hoped for, but hey, he wasn’t a total loss, either. I wasn’t on the prowl for Cupid’s arrow anyway. This guy was just my ticket to Mama Seaworth.

As I strolled up to the table, I plastered on a welcoming smile and thanked the hostess. I braced myself when Bennett gave me a quick up-and-down glance before we exchanged handshakes. His touch was icy cold, yet his grip struck that perfect balance between firm and not too much. I somehow managed to keep from wiping my hand on my dress once he let go.

Maintaining my cheerful facade, I plopped down in the chair across from him. “Glad we could finally meet in person, Mr. Seaworth,” I chirped.

“Oh, no need for formalities. Just call me Bennett,” he said, waving down a server.

After we placed our orders, Bennett and I killed time with some easy-breezy chatter while we waited for our food. He seemed nice enough, but this tiny prickle at the back of my neck wouldn’t go away. I tried to brush it off, figuring I was just being a bit jumpy after that whole Sacramento incident with the indecent proposal.

I was starting to see trouble in every corner, like a sailor who’d weathered a storm and saw danger in every wave. I had to stop assuming the worst and give people a chance - at least until they really stepped out of line. That’s what the voice in my head, which sounded an awful lot like my dear old dad, kept hammering into me.

“Sorry to interrupt, Bennett,” I blurted out, slicing through his tale about a trip to Europe.

His grin faltered, still clinging to his face but not quite making it to his eyes. “Everything alright?” he asked, sounding a tad concerned.

“Yep, just need to make a pit stop at the bathroom,” I replied, earning a slightly condescending look from Bennett. I suppressed an eye roll - just barely - as Dad’s voice chimed in my head, reprimanding me for derailing Bennett’s story with potty talk. The more I heard my old man’s voice, the clearer it became what a kiss-ass he was.

I was returning to my seat when I careened around a corner like a bull in a china shop and smacked right into someone. Of course, it had to be Cory. Like fresh-cut grass and a hint of sandalwood, his signature scent sent a jolt through my gut.

Great. Just freakin’ great.

“What’s your deal, showing up here?” Cory’s voice was sharp as he caught me from falling.

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