Click. Click. Click. Click. The pen slid between Brant’s fingers, his thumb resting on top as he repeatedly depressed the little button so that the tip at the other end went out, in, out, in…Click, click, click.
Anxiety mixed with a heavy dose of anger hit him full force as he and his grandfather continued their epic stare down.
Wars had been fought in this very room.
Business deals won.
Lives destroyed.
This was one battle he wasn’t going to lose. Not a chance in hell.
“Yes.” Grandfather.
“No.” Brant.
It had been fifteen minutes; it was as if the damn man practiced the art of not blinking under pressure.
Click, click. “All day.” Brant leaned forward, pointing the pen in his grandfather’s direction. “I can do this all day.”
Grandfather’s eye twitched. “No, you really couldn’t. You’d start getting the shakes, and then you’d start sweating, your knee would bounce in agitation as your parched mouth dried up like the damn Sahara—I’m calling your bluff.”
Brant swallowed, and then did it again just to prove to himself that he was fine, his mouth wasn’t dry. He wasn’t having the shakes, and he sure as hell didn’t need alcohol to get through the day—he just wanted it, because it made things easier.
Since when have you wanted the easy way out?
Bitterness lodged in his throat.
Since he’d done the right thing and gotten fucked.
Since being kind, good, and hardworking got him nothing.
Since her.
“Yes.” Grandfather towered over the mahogany desk, his fingers digging into the wood grain. “You’re an ungrateful, depressed little shit, so your answer is yes.”
“The hell it is!”
“Am I late?” A familiar female voice interrupted their argument, a door slammed, and with each click-clack of her heels, Brant felt his testicles actually shrinking from fear. He wouldn’t put it past the woman to grab and twist; she’d done it before. Not to him, thank God, but she wasn’t the type of woman one said no to.
“Brant!” Nadine Titus, aka Satan’s mistress, placed a well-manicured hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He flinched as her razor-sharp nails dug into his skin. The last thing a man wanted was claw marks from a psychotic eighty-nine-year-old woman who screwed his grandfather on a regular basis. “It’s been what? A week?”
“Two days,” he corrected. “But who’s counting?”
Nadine Titus was an enigma. The type of woman who meddled in everyone’s business regardless of race, religion, relation—she manipulated, she controlled—it wouldn’t surprise him at all if Vladimir Putin was her bridge partner.
“Sorry I’m late.” She released his shoulder. Her floral perfume was so strong, he sucked in a breath and coughed. “I had a few minor details to clear with the resort.”
Dread crept along Brant’s spine.
“Did he say yes?” Her eyes held a challenging glint.
“No.” Brant smirked. “And I’m not going to say yes. Besides, don’t you have other employees to torture? Family? Puppies?”
“Of course I do.” Her smile widened. “I just prefer working with jackasses.”
Grandfather hacked out a cough while Brant tried to keep himself from showing any hint of amusement.
“How are your grandsons?” He changed the subject, sliding the pen into his pocket and leaning back into the smooth leather chair. “And the great-grandchildren? Didn’t the youngest just have a recital?” The only way to fight with Nadine was to fight dirty—he made it his business to Facebook-stalk the hell out of her family so that he’d have something—anything—to use against her.
Nadine’s smile fell. “Yes, and I wouldn’t have had to miss that lovely recital had you gotten your shit together and gone through with the auction weekend.”
“Damn, did I miss that?” Brant snapped his fingers. “And the answer’s still no. I won’t go through with it. I won’t see her.” And just because neither of them flinched, he said it again. “That ship’s already sailed.” He stood. “We done here?”
“He’s hired.” Nadine’s red lips spread into an evil grin. Was it his imagination, or was she growing horns before his eyes?
“I didn’t apply for a job,” Brant said dumbly.
“He’ll do just fine.” Grandfather nodded his head and pulled out a portfolio, opening it to the first page. “Just sign here, Brant.”
“Why does it feel like I’m getting sold into slavery?”
“Oh, honey.” Nadine tapped her red nail against her equally red pout. “You should be so lucky.”
“I think my sperm just died,” Brant mumbled, rubbing his face with both hands.
“Not like they were being put to good use anyway.” Nadine smiled sweetly. “Now, I think you’ll be happy to know that I’m giving you a hefty signing bonus, a gorgeous corner office, and naturally, the only person above you—will be me.”
“Funny, since women are so often beneath me.”
Nadine didn’t so much as flinch.
“Brant.” Grandfather’s stern voice sliced through the room. “Grown men would kill for what Nadine is offering.”
“Well, maybe that’s the problem.” A spark of evil ignited in Brant’s brain, and a grin slid over his face as he leaned forward. “You don’t treat me like a grown-ass man, so what reason do I have to grow up?”
After all, the one and only time Brant had stepped up to the plate, he’d been struck by a fastball and taken out of the game. Sometimes life is better spent sitting on the bench.
Grandfather’s expression of disgust was a clear indicator that Brant’s comment had hit its mark.
“Read,” Nadine barked, shoving the paperwork in his face.
Brant swallowed and reached for the portfolio, struggling to keep his eyes from widening as he read over the details. President of new resort acquisitions, six-figure starting salary, use of the company jet.
He had money from his trust fund and his job with Wellington, Inc.—damn, he’d been so naïve back when he’d started in the family business. Cheerfully grabbing his shiny new briefcase waiting by the door, kissing her lips good-bye, waving to the neighbors, contemplating buying a dog.
It had been a fantasy. One that had been ripped away from him without warning.
The last time he’d been truly happy he’d been sitting behind a desk, earning money for his family.
The family he no longer had.
His chest ached as the anger returned swiftly and violently—like it always did. God, he just wanted to be numb.
For a brief moment, he closed his eyes, his body tensing as he shoved the smell of her perfume, the taste of her tongue, back into the darkest recess of his mind, and focused on whatever trick Nadine and his grandfather were trying to pull.
Was his grandfather really giving up on him? When he’d fought like hell for both Brock and Bentley to get their shit together?
It made no sense. Maybe he really was a lost cause if his own flesh and blood was giving up on him.
Just like you gave up on yourself.
On her.
He shook the dark thoughts away. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” Grandfather said quickly, while Nadine sashayed to the front of the desk and leaned against it.
“You like bluntness, right? Honesty?” Her voice rose an octave.
Why the hell did it feel like he was getting scolded? He opened his mouth to respond but she beat him to the punch.
“You’re killing yourself, you’re angry ninety percent of the time, and you’re about to beat your own grandfather to the grave by way of the clap!” Brant jerked back as she took a menacing step toward him, hands on hips. “You refuse to do the charity weekend you promised you would do, making both of our companies look bad, and you refuse to listen to your grandfather.” A slow, satisfied smile crept over her face. His stomach dropped. “So now? You’re all mine.”
“Hate to break it to you, sweetheart.” He gave her his most charming smile. “But you can’t make me do anything.” Yeah, apparently he was six again, and losing the pissing war to a woman who had lived through the plague.
“Oh, I’m not making you.” Her smile was way too cheerful for his liking. “I’m presenting you with a challenge…and you’ll take it.”
“What makes you so sure?” His heart leaped in his chest as he said the words. It was either excitement or terror, he wasn’t sure which.
Her eyes softened. “Because you need distraction, and the bottle only lasts so long before it’s empty and you have to start all over again. You graduated from Stanford with honors—double majored in international business and resort management.”
“You’ve been stalking me.” He winked. “I’m flattered.” Keep smiling, don’t let her see that she has the upper hand.
“I need you,” she added. “And I think you need to be needed.”
The missile had been aimed perfectly—sailing toward its mark, stealing air from the room, making it hard to breathe as his chest tightened with the rightness of her words.
Damn it, she’d chased.
Pounced.
Won.
Because she was right. He’d been needed once. He’d failed.
There had to be a catch, a reason that Nadine was offering him a job that years ago he would have sold his brother for. He didn’t need money. But if working for Titus Enterprises got him away from every damn reminder of her, of his past, of the money he kept sending back and the promise he skipped out on, then he’d do it.
Driving by the hospital in order to get to his penthouse apartment, passing restaurants they used to frequent. Reminders of her were everywhere—of them, when they were an us.
Who was he kidding? Nadine was offering him an escape from the very woman who still haunted him while dangling a challenge in front of his face.
She’d found his kryptonite. The need to be needed. To have someone rely on him and only him.
Her eyes narrowed in on him with keen intelligence.
He hesitated to speak.
Because Nadine Titus was Satan with cherry-red lipstick. She was up to something, and yet the thought of driving back down that street, glancing up at the apartment with its smoke-stained siding, or passing the office he used to walk to one last time…
Well, it made him feel all over again. It took away the numbness he was so desperate for.
And the cycle started again.
“You.” Nadine’s lips curled into a menacing line. “Owe. Me.”
He leaned back in his chair, feigning a casualness he sure as hell didn’t feel. “That’s it…I work for you and the whole auction goes away, the date weekend with…” He couldn’t even choke out her name.
Though his heart did a killer job of pounding out Nikki, Nikki, Nikki, with every fucking beat it made against his rib cage.
“No more auction. I won’t even talk about it.” She shrugged. “It will be as if it never existed. It’s a win-win. What could you possibly lose?”
Nothing.
He’d already lost it all.
Slowly, he reached into his pocket. Click, click, click. His thumb went wild on the end of his pen before, with one last click, he signed the paperwork.
“What time do I leave?”