Two cups of coffee and one sleepless night later, I was barely functioning. After the awkwardness with Jameson, I escaped without anyone noticing and collapsed onto my bed the nanosecond I arrived home. Sadly, my overactive mind had other plans.

The formatting system in my brain was on the fritz; I’d input data from last night, and out came bupkis. Nothing made sense. One second Jameson was trying to beat me, and the next he wanted to chat? I spent all night struggling to sort out what the heck happened, but instead ended up just ingesting enough caffeine to fuel a large elephant.

Nothing came close to the high of closing a deal, or the satisfaction that came from breaking new ground on a project. This morning’s meeting with Mr. Thompson, my newest and largest possible project to date, would give me the kick in the rear I desperately needed to stop pouting.

Arriving at the office ten minutes early, I pushed through the doors and headed straight down the hall to our conference room. Our meeting space had a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall that overlooked the Chicago skyline. It gave off a powerful vibe. If a room could possess sexiness, this room would. Someone had already set out fresh bottled water and hot coffee.

A few moments later, five executives in charcoal suits entered through the double doors. I stood on the other end of the polished wood table while they filed in like a squad of goons.

“Good morning, Mr. Thompson. Nice to see you again.” I held out my hand to greet the last man through the doors, the tall, blond, and ruggedly handsome CEO of the City Net Group. His suit accentuated his broad shoulders, while the faded scar over his brow was oddly attractive. He had badass written all over him, yet all I could think was, Nail this pitch! Nail this pitch! Nail this pitch! After the debacle at the gala, I wanted nothing more than to close a new deal and have him sign on the dotted line before he had time to think.

Mr. Thompson thrust his chest out in a clear power stance, one that lacked even a hint of pliability. “Good to see you again, Miss Black.” He shook my hand firmly. “It’s always a pleasure.”

“Pleasure is all mine.”

He stared at me for a moment, lingering as if he had considered saying something before choosing not to. I let go of his hand and sidestepped to greet the others, standing tall while I did so to assert my presence. I made sure to commit each man’s name to memory. When we finished the introductions, I walked to the other side of the table.

“Please, everyone, take a seat. Let’s get this underway, shall we?” I said when I found my chair.

Mr. Thompson cleared his throat, “Before you begin, we should tell you that, as of yesterday, we’ve received another bid. We came here to compare terms. Our new developer has been generous with their proposed contract.”

I clenched my jaw. I’d been working on this pitch for weeks now, and yet in the matter of twenty-four measly hours they’d gotten another bid? What the in the hell was going on? And who would want to poach this guy? He’d never mentioned he was shopping around.

“Are you going to get multiple bids, or just two?”

Mr. Thompson cleared his throat. “I think a bid from each of the top companies will suffice.”

Top. He said top. His other bid would be from WSquared. Fuck. Under the table, my fists were so tight I thought my nails would break skin. Thompson proved to be more than I could swallow after dealing with Jameson last night. Deep breath. Smile. Go time.

Five poker-faced men stared me down. If I didn’t know that powerful men in this business never clowned around, I’d assume all of this to be a great big prank.

Mr. Thompson intertwined his fingers, and leaned in closer to the table. “Miss Black, is there a problem?”

I dug my fists into my kneecaps, which were hidden under the table, and slowly breathed through my nose. “Not at all, sir.” I managed a wide grin.

A crooked smirk pricked the corner of his mouth. “Good. Show me what you’ve got.”

This crap was horse shit on toast served on a fucking hot plate. Fucking Jameson!

Inhaling deeply, I said, “We’re proposing a two-hundred-unit development with store fronts on the ground level. It’ll take eighteen months of construction, and we’re positive it will sell out before we even open our doors.”

I stood, passing around an expense sheet before activating the eighty-inch screen to my left. When it turned on, the sketches and 3-D renderings of the buildings popped up. Modern spaces, complete with sleek eat-in kitchens and beautiful hardwood floors, filled the screen.

Mr. Thompson raked his fingers through his hair, turned toward his colleagues, then back to me. His voice was firm. “The cost will run upwards of four million, and you’ll need eighteen months for the construction timeline, huh?”

I nodded. “We can squeeze the budget tighter, but we’ll have to come down on some of the finishes in the kitchens and baths.”

Thompson leaned back in his chair. “You’ve done an outstanding job on the pitch, Miss Black.”

I knew no one could beat those numbers. I exhaled, my shoulders relaxing. “Thank you.”

“But . . .” He paused. “I’m inclined to tell you our other bid delivered the same high-end finishes for less capital up front.”

My gut roiled. What the fucking hell? My legs were noodles, and I sat before they gave up on me. This had to be a joke. Could I be about to lose a big client only hours after failing to claim the Kaleidoscope? How would my bosses ever take me seriously enough to be the head of development if I couldn’t even manage to close a deal as simple as this one?

“Let me work the numbers again and see if I can shift some things around for you. The last thing I want is for you to walk away unhappy,” I managed to say.

Thompson stood, gesturing for his colleagues to stand with him. “We’ll be in touch, Miss Black.”

I couldn’t breathe. My chest constricted as each gentleman filed out of the room, my dream slipping away with them. Jameson. God damn him!

“You’re not about to take this one away from me, Winthrop,” I grit out. He wanted to play, did he? Then he’d better put on his big boy pants.

“Game. On.”