Page 2 of Owning His Girl

As I step out of the office, I let a slow grin spread across my face. The game is on. And I’m all in. For the company. For Harold.

But most importantly, for Fiona.

Four hours later,I push open the door to my brother’s bar, the Pitcher’s Brew, The place is alive, pulsing with the kind of energy that only a Friday night can offer.

Or maybe it’s just the sweet taste of victory on my tongue.

An hour after our meeting, Harold called me back and accepted my offer to buy his shares in Parker & Son’s trucking - and officially offer me the role of CEO.

I can still hardly believe it.

As I weave my way through the crowded bay, my brother Jake spots me and waves me over. “Sup, Wes?” he says. “You’re in an awfully good mood.”

I can’t help the smirk that tugs at the corner of my mouth.

“Let’s just say I’ve had a productive day.” I hop onto a barstool, drawing a few glances from the regulars. I ignore them, all too eager to see Jake’s reaction to my news.

“Productive how?” he asks, leaning forward on his elbows, interest piqued.

“Harold Parker sold me his majority shares in Parker & Sons,” I announce casually, but my eyes gleam with themagnitude of the statement. I watch as Jake’s eyebrows shoot up, his surprise making my grin widen.

“Seriously? That’s—wow, man. That’s huge,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’ve got to have some serious balls to pull off a move like that.”

“Always have, always will,” I reply, accepting the glass and raising it in a silent toast to my own cunning. The cold beer goes down smooth, but it’s no match for the adrenaline still coursing through me.

Jake chuckles, polishing a glass with a white cloth, his movements practiced and smooth. “How’s Fiona taking the news?”

I clear my throat and nod towards Jake. “Honestly, I haven’t talked to her yet. I wanted to celebrate with you first before facing that storm.” I chuckle dryly and take another swig of beer.

“I’m surprised her old man didn’t sell her the shares. Fiona’s been gunning for CEO since she could talk.”

There it is. The question that’s been gnawing at the edges of my conscience ever since Harold signed on the dotted line.

Why me and not Fiona? The pang hits harder than I expect, an unease that doesn’t sit well with my usual confidence. I shrug, but the gesture feels too forced, even to me.

“Harold’s always had a sharp eye for business. Maybe he saw something in me.” My voice has that edge, the one that comes out when I’m on uncertain ground, and I hate it.

“Or maybe he’s playing a longer game.” Jake’s tone is lighter now, teasing, but the weight of his words hangs in the air.

Before I can muster a comeback, the door to the bar opens, and a gust of evening air rushes in. The familiar jingle of the bell above the door greets us, and we turn to see Fiona Parker striding into the bar.

She looks just as stunning as ever, with her dark hair swept up in a sophisticated bun and an expensive-looking dress thathugs her curves just right. The sight knocks the breath from my lungs, and a possessive twinge tightens in my chest.

I watch her like a hawk, her every move sharp in my line of sight as she claims her spot at the bar. I can’t help but wonder if there’s a reason she’s here tonight, other than the usual drink after work. My mind churns with the possibility of her waiting for someone—someone who isn’t me.

“Got your eyes on the prize, huh?” Jake quips from beside me, but I barely register his words.

My focus is locked on Fiona, taking in the way she flips her hair over her shoulder, the curve of her lips as she smiles politely at the bartender.

A smile that should be mine.

From the moment I first laid eyes on Fiona as a scrawny, pigtailed girl on the playground, I knew she’d be trouble. Fiery, stubborn, and sharp-tongued even then. We clashed from day one. She pushed me during recess and I pushed back harder. We’ve been enemies ever since.

But somewhere along the way, that burning resentment twisted into something far more dangerous. I still get fired up whenever she’s around, but now for an entirely different reason. I crave her quick wit, her teasing remarks. I want to push her up against a wall and kiss that smirk right off her lips.

She doesn’t see me yet, but it’s only a matter of time. I’ve spent years sparring with her, hating her, wanting her—wanting her in ways that would ruin the careful animosity we’ve curated. But tonight, there’s something different. A charge in the air I can’t ignore.

The bartender leans in a little too close, his hand casually brushing hers as he hands over her a glass of water. It’s nothing overt, but it’s enough to ignite the fuse of jealousy inside me. My jaw clenches as I watch him toss out a joke, trying to charm her,and then she laughs—a sound I’ve fought tooth and nail to draw out of her myself.

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