“Nervous?”

“Not really,” I tell Daphne with a shrug, but it couldn’t be any further from the truth. I’ve never been the kind of girl that enjoys being the center of attention, but I guess that tonight it can’t be helped.

If I want to my spa to keep on succeeding, I need to do this.

It’s been one week since Daphne suggested I try to set up the spa at Clarendon Tower, and the time has finally come for the Condo Board to gather. Just like Daphne said, there’s going to be a vacant place in the ground floor soon enough, and I have the necessary money and reputation to take over it.

All I need is for the board and its president to approve.

Sure, the whole “mutant on the loose” situation with Hoyt has made the news, but I’m counting on it being a survivable body shot. The New York elite love my spa, and I’m willing to believe that’ll be enough to help everyone forget about last week.

God knows I’d love to forget all about it.

“Seymour Cooper,” Daphne whispers as we take our seats, pointing toward a man walking between the rows of seats, heading straight for the raised dais at the end of the luxurious meeting room.

“The Board President?”

“Exactly,” she nods, and I narrow my eyes as I watch him take his seat on the board’s table, right at the center. Puffy rosy cheeks, a terrible comb over, and a tailored suit that seems to be poking fun at the way his belly fights against his slim burgundy button-up shirt. Despite his awkward appearance, there’s a kind of vicious intelligence hiding behind his beady eyes.

I can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing.

Seems like the rumors are true—there’s something about being the President of Clarendon Tower Condo Board that attracts all manners of corrupt weasels. And Seymour Cooper looks like the King of Weasels. Not a title he’d enjoy before his name, but I can’t help but snicker at the thought.

For the next hour and a half, I sit there listening as Seymour drones on and on, tackling the most boring and ridiculous items on board’s agenda. From the color of towels on Clarendon Tower’s communal bathrooms to the kind of pretzels to be served on the annual Christmas’ party, nothing escapes Seymour’s bullshit agenda.

“And, of course, I’d like to remind the owners of the apartments on the 59th floor to be mindful of the noise they might cause during the night,” Seymour says, and I perk my ears at that.

I mean, he’s talking about Daphne and Dominic.

“He always does that,” Daphne whispers, smiling slyly as I glance at her. “But I’m not letting up. Not until I get Dominic’s apartment from him.”

Oh. So that’s what it’s all about.

“You slut,” I laugh, placing my hand over my mouth to hide my grin from everyone. I can’t help it—Daphne’s one of the classiest women I’ve ever known, and to imagine her being loud enough for all the other tenants to hear her going at it...well, it’s a fun thought. Especially because she doesn’t seem to give a damn about what other people think.

See a few months ago, Daphne got it in her head that she wanted to expand her condo. The only way to do that was to buy the condo of her next door neighbor and tear the walls down. Sounds simple when you have lots of money, right?

Only problem was that her neighbor was a handsome billionaire with the same idea.

So, yeah…the two of them are in some crazy dance with each other. Tara Starr releases a chapter a day about it on her site.

Probably annoyed that Daphne didn’t seem too concerned about his remark, Seymour coughs into his hand, stacks the documents in front of him into a neat pile, and then allows his gaze to slowly wander over the crowd.

“I see several new faces at today’s meeting,” Seymour says with a bit of ire. “Seems to me that what was supposed to remain secret about the retail space freeing up at the base of our building is out of the bag. So let’s move to our final item on the agenda, which will be recommendations for what the new business at the base of Clarendon Tower will be.”

Gently, Daphne nudges me with her elbow, and I take a deep breath as I ready myself. Raising my hand up in the air, I wait till Seymour looks at me, straighten the front of my pencil skirt, and then go up to my feet.

“Do you have a recommendation, young lady?” he asks.

“Yes. I would like to recommend a business for the space,” I say haltingly.

“Good,” Seymour waves his hand up in the air, cutting me short. “But whatever business you recommend will have to move fast. The CEO of Draper Pierce has acquired the whole inventory of Pen & Ink, and the owner has decided to close the bookstore and hang his hat within the next several weeks.”

I’m okay with that. It’s not like I have a spa that needs to close down…since its already shut its doors. I nod to him.

“The business in mind you have would be able to relocate?” Seymour asks with questioning eyes. It’s like he wants me to say no.

“Yes,” I say simply.

“What business?” he asks me.

“Mine,” I say, as hushed whispers dominate the room.

“Ah I see,” he says with a smile. “I’m assuming you’re interested in the vacant space?”

“Exactly,” I nod, mentally retrieving the lines I had rehearsed. After Daphne let me know that Taylor, one of her Dominic’s friends (and a handsome one at that) bought every single rare book that Pen & Ink had on sale for his private collection, I knew exactly what my words needed to be.

I can do this.

No one is going to stop me. I am a woman on a mission.

And I will prevail. For every woman out there who has ever wanted to run their own business and been stopped by men, this is for you.

It’s time to unshackle us. We will prevail, sister.

“Pen & Ink was the most prestigious antique bookstore in New York, with a very exclusive clientele,” I say with confidence. “And I believe that Clarendon Tower needs a business as prestigious as that to take over that space. A spa that caters to the most rarefied clientele. That has the ultimate in luxury treatments.”

“A spa doesn’t strike me as something as prestigious as an antique bookstore, Ms. James,” Seymour interrupts me once more, and this time there’s a hint of a smile dancing on his lips. The asshole already knows who I am.

Shit.

Think fast, Serena.

“Well, Mr. Cooper, if you already know who I am, then you’re probably aware that I’m the owner of Serene Spa.”

“Who doesn’t? Especially after last week,” he says, a grin on his stupid face.

God, what a fucking asshole.

“Very well,” I continue. “If being the choice of spa to some of the wealthiest individuals in the city, not to mention that we provide one of the best services in the whole country, doesn’t classify as a prestigious business...well, then I’m at a loss. And then, there’s the fact that I’m a resident here.”

He looks at me, eyebrow cocked, and I can almost see the gears inside his head turning. He’s a proud one, and I’m guessing he’d like to take credit for anything good that happens at Clarendon Tower.

“Just imagine, Mr. Cooper—to announce to the world that Clarendon Tower will be home to the best spa in the city. This building is already one of the best in the city...why not go the extra step, and make it the very best? You’re a smart man, so let me help you get there.”

“Very well,” he finally says, after a few seconds of silence. Leaning back against his chair, he raps his knuckles against the desk’s polished surface and then glances sideways at the other board members. “As Ms. James has pointed out, Serene Spa might be a good addition to the services we provide here at Clarendon Tower. Of course,” he turns his gaze toward me once more, “I’d like some guarantees that we wouldn’t have any funny business happening in here.”

“No funny business,” I nod solemnly.

“No arrests then?”

“No arrests.”

“And no mutants.”

“Definitely, no mutants allowed.”

“Very well,” he proclaims, clapping his hands together. “Does anyone have any alternate proposals?”

Here we go—the ball is in my hands, and I’m already running toward the goal line. No one should be aware of the space so no one should have the opportunity to propose anything.

This space is mine.

Victory…from the jaws of defeat.

Thank God Daphne told me about the place. Just a few more seconds and it’ll be a game-winning touchdown. Serena James has defied all odds, and once more she has—

“Yeah, I’d like to propose something,” I hear a voice say right from behind me. Gritting my teeth, I turn on my heels to see who’s the asshole standing in my way.

My jaw almost drops as the man sitting behind me catches my eyes looking at him. He smirks and then winks at me like he owns me.

I’d recognize him anywhere.

Colt McCoy, Mr. Cum-Fountain himself.

Without taking his eyes off mine, he slowly goes up to his feet and raises his voice, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear him.

“I’d like to make a play for the site,” he announces. “I want that place to be my flagship gym.”

What. The. Fuck.

How did he know?

What’s he going to say?

How long is this going to take?

Why am I so wet?