Page 9 of Rival Desires

Man, keeping my cool was tough. Riley fricking Palmer. “I understand. Thanks for your time,” I said, leaving. “Just remember, Gracen & McCrae is here if you change your mind.”

Bethany was all smiles as she walked me to the door, but it was just a polite brush-off. I wondered if Fury, with his silver tongue and Hollywood good looks, would have had better luck than me, the nerdy sidekick in this whole operation.

The drive back to the Gracen & McCrae offices was sour thanks to Riley Palmer. Losing Bethany Chamberlain to that dude was a serious gut punch. With her refined grace and old-money charm, Bethany was exactly the kind of client we needed to boost our rep. But Palmer had swooped in just as we were getting cozy.

I white-knuckled the steering wheel, my hands turning a ghostly shade. This constant game of one-upmanship was getting old really fast. Since Palmer had swaggered into town a few months ago in that flashy ride, it was like he’d made it his mission tomake our lives a living hell. He was always one step ahead, snatching our top clients and generally being a pain in the ass. And now, he’d added Bethany to his list of victories. It was enough to make me want to pull my hair out.

It was damn infuriating. Humiliating, even. I should’ve given that pretty boy a piece of my mind, scratched up that damn car, something. Anything to wipe that smug grin off his perfect dimpled face...

Yikes, I blinked, trying to shake off the sudden flare of anger. Whoa, where’d that come from? I wasn’t usually the spiteful type. I was the calm and collected twin who always kept a cool head.

Chill out, man.

By the time I got back to our swanky office with the killer view of the bay, I had managed to rein in my temper, but I could still feel the lingering frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. I couldn’t let this keep happening. Our client base was shrinking, and the future of Gracen & McCrae was hanging in the balance.

Fury was there, giving me this quizzical look. “So, how’d it go?” he asked, eyebrows raised. I dropped into my chair and rubbed my eyes. He looked at me with concern. “That bad?”

“She’s going with Palmer,” I said, defeated.

Fury arched an eyebrow. “So, Bethany jumped ship to Palmer’s camp. Color me shocked.” He leaned back in his chair, his tone matter of fact. “Cuz, we gotta shake things up. Butting heads with Palmer is just not cutting it. He’s been running laps around us, scooping up our best leads without breaking a sweat.”

I winced at the brutal honesty of his words, but I couldn’t deny it. “Yeah, you’re right. We can’t keep hemorrhaging our top-tier accounts like this. If we keep going down this road, we’ll be left with nothing but crumbs.”

“Exactly.” Fury’s expression turned dead serious. “And losing Bethany today? That was a wake-up call. It means the bleeding’s spreading beyond just our current clients. Palmer’s also sinking his claws into the fresh prospects we’ve cultivated for months.”

I rubbed a hand roughly over my face, my stomach churning. Our very business was teetering on the razor’s edge. If our clients kept jumping ship en masse, we’d be bankrupt within a year.

“Alright, so what’s the grand plan?” I asked, cutting to the chase. “How do we stop this mass exodus before Gracen and McCrae sinks like the Titanic?”

Fury let out a sharp breath, his brow furrowed in deep thought. “Well, it’s clear that going head-to-head with Palmer for the same accounts is a losing battle. We must get creative and switch up our strategy.”

I leaned forward, hanging on to his every word. “I’m all ears. What’s the brilliant idea?”

“We need to reel in those new accounts before the rest of the vultures even get a whiff of them,” Fury said, a determined glint in his eyes.

“Hey, that actually sounds like a solid plan,” I nodded. “But how the heck do we execute it?”

“The answer, my dear cousin, lies in your recently discovered charm and charisma,” Fury grinned, slapping me on the back. “Time to work that magic of yours.”

SIX

Rylee

I was still riding the sweet wave of a win, ready to pop some bubbly and celebrate. But when my go-to gal pal, Natalie, bailed on our Saturday night shenanigans for the umpteenth time, I once again was flying solo, having a party for one.

I couldn’t really hold it against her, though. Ever since she dove headfirst into the wild world of second-grade teaching, it’s been a non-stop parade of snotty noses and queasy tummies. The poor girl’s been sicker than a dog lately, and it almost makes me reconsider the whole kiddos thing, seeing her hanging on by a thread.

With Natalie out of commission, my Saturday night plans nosedived from boogying on bar tops to a low-key night in with a pint of ice cream and the hum of the TV.

As I stood in the convenience store, a half-gallon of ice cream in my basket, I contemplated the wine aisle like it held the secret to eternal happiness. My choices were clear: either indulge in a bottle of vino or accept my fate as a hopeless romantic, swooningover chick flicks and ice cream. Talk about rock bottom. I mean, who needs wine when you’ve got whine, right? Yeah, I know, that joke’s older than dirt. But there I was, waging this internal battle when a velvety-smooth voice broke the silence:

“I’d suggest pairing that chocolate ice cream with a rich, oaky Zinfandel.”

Startled, I fumbled the bottles and spun around to find none other than the sexy masked stranger from the masquerade ball, now smirking at me with his mask-free face. His striking features and the glint of humor in his sea-glass eyes sent a shiver of recognition down my spine.

“Hey, I’m really sorry!” He raised both hands in a peace offering, obviously thinking my show of surprise was annoyance. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

He can scare the daylights out of me anytime, I mused, heat rushing to my cheeks. But I quickly quashed that thought and managed a decent smile instead.

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