Chapter 18

Tanner

I touch my finger to my bottom lip, still feeling, still tasting the passionate kiss I planted on Elsa. I may have initiated the kiss, but she jumped right in just as enthusiastically. I only wish I could have stayed to see the reaction on Lis Langley's face.

I got a glimpse of Elsa before I sauntered out of her office. I am more than a little pleased to see I rattled her. I like keeping her on her toes. The elevator dings open, and I start to walk into my office when Marge motions me over.

“Good day, Miss Marge,” I say as I stop at her desk.

“Brace yourself before you go in there,” she says, pointing to my conference room where my entire board of directors is gathered. “I don't know what they're cooking up, but it's not good. I can feel it.”

“Hmm,” I say. I'm about to take a step towards my doom when instead I decide to lean against Marge's desk. “That's a pretty dress you have on. Is it new? It really brings out your eyes.”

“Oh, no,” Marge says as she disapprovingly wiggles her index finger at me. “You won't be using me as a shield.”

“What? Can't I just spend some time catching up with my favorite assistant ever?”

“I know your game,” she stares me down as she says, “I know all your games.”

“I'm offended. Truly.”

“You're like a little kid watching a horror movie. You get scared, so you cover your eyes,” she says as she stands up. “But then your imagination runs wild, and you imagine something even scarier than what's happening on screen.”

She grabs my arm, pulling me off her desk.

“Uncover your eyes and face whatever horror is waiting for you,” she says as she leads me a few steps towards the conference room until I start walking on my own.

As soon as I walk into the room, everyone stops talking and looks my way. This is not a good sign, but I refuse to let them see that I'm rattled. Instead, I walk over to the sideboard and take my time pouring a coffee and adding just the right ratio of sugar to cream.

When I finally have it stirred just right, I sit down across the table from everyone else and prop up my feet on the table's surface. They hired a cocky CEO, so they're getting a cocky CEO. Present crisis be damned.

“Tanner, the campaign is going great,” Greg, my chairman, says.

“So we're calling it a campaign now?” I ask.

“It's going well,” Ned interjects, “but it could be better.”

“Better?” I ask, “What do you expect us to do, fuck in the middle of the stock exchange floor?”

The board members exchange uncomfortable glances. I impatiently wait for one of them to have the guts to just say what they came here to say.

“In a way—,” another board member says. Jesus, I don't even know his name. I sit straight up and lean across the table towards them.

“What the fuck does that mean, Greg?” If I'm about to be ordered to do something I can already tell I'll hate, I want it to be my chairman that gives me the command.

“We need this to end now,” he says.

“It's great that retailers aren’t bailing anymore and the stock price is leveling off,” No-name says, “but we're not increasing our order sizes. We need to do that to make up for the losses of the last few weeks.”

“Your losses,” Ned clarifies. As if I needed to be reminded that this is my doing.

“What do I have to do?” I respond. “I took my competition with Elsa a tad too far, but now I'm taking steps to rectify it. You won't be happy until you finally nail me to your cross.”

“Tanner,” Greg says, “we have a solution that will speed this up so you can get back to your life. Just hear us out.”

Back to my life? What does that even mean? Back to fucking a new woman every night and never sharing breakfast with her because I'm too busy ushering her out of my penthouse?

And what about Elsa and me? Are we supposed to just go back to rivals that bicker at each other all the time? Sure we spar now, but it's with the knowledge that we'll fall into each other’s arms at some point during the argument.

“We're pleased with the progress you've made so far,” Ned says, like we're talking about Pretty Little Vixen's latest sales figures, not how I've whored myself out—with Elsa as a partner—for the greedy media, “but our plan will allow you to jump forward a few steps.”

“While most of the media has bought into your relationship,” No-name says, “that Langley chick isn't quite sold yet.”

“Normally, it wouldn't matter because it's just that trash rag, The Chronicle,” Greg says, “but she's got some real investigative chops.”

“So what's your foolproof plan?” I say with a sigh. I just want this meeting to be over at this point.

The members look at each other, and then one of the two, who has been silent all this time, speaks up and says, “A sex tape.”

Wesley the Weasel! Why am I not surprised that out of all of them, he would be the one to finally spit it out.

“A sex tape? Like Kim K?”

“We'll then leak it to the press,” Wesley says.

“Will we?” I say as I stand up. “I have a better idea. Why don't we make our little tryst the halftime show at the next Knicks game?”

I start pacing back and forth on my side of the table.

“Or better yet,” I continue, “we'll return to one of our scenes of the crime—Central Park. Except for this time, we'll do it on the Shakespeare in the Park stage. I think they're doing Othello this year. The actors won't mind, right? And we'll already have an audience just waiting to watch Elsa and I fuck.”

“Honestly, we thought you'd be on board about this,” Greg says.

“The way you've conducted your life,” Ned says, “we've actually been bracing ourselves for years for a sex tape of you to leak.”

“We figured you'd just need to convince Elsa to do it,” Weasley Wesley says, “but it's not like you've ever had to work hard to convince a woman to sleep with you, right?”

“You thought I'd be on board with this?” I've stopped pacing and can only stand in a shocked stupor with my hands on my waist.

“After the little stunt on the bench,” Greg says while looking at the other board members for agreement, “we assumed there isn't a level you wouldn't stoop to.” I see nods from a few of the other men.

“You thought wrong.”

I try to calm the fuck down before I launch myself across this table and strangle one or more of these idiotic, unfeeling men—men that unfortunately still hold my fate in their hands.

“Why do you even have to tell her it's being taped?” Ned asks. “That'll make it even hotter.”

“What we want—what we need—is for this to go viral,” Greg says. “The best publicity is when you get it for free.”

“Not everything that costs is paid in cash,” I say.

“Don't tell us you've developed a conscience.”

“Or morals?”

“Or worse yet, real feelings for her?”

As I'm staring at this group of douches, I run a little cost-benefit analysis in my head. Would it be worth it to punch the chairman or Wesley? I'd lose my job and be the laughing stock of the lingerie world.

I could live with that. Swiping the self-satisfied, smarmy looks off their faces would almost be worth it. Planting my fist on Wesley's nose would definitely be worth it.

But Elsa would lose her company, too. The company she's worked so hard to build from scratch. That's not worth risking.

Instead of delivering the punch every one of them so richly deserves, I calmly stand up, button my suit jacket, and take as long as I fucking please to gather myself.

“Gentlemen,” I say in a level voice, “I'll consider your proposal and let you know my decision.”

I can take this stand with them and keep my emotions in check because I have a fail-safe.

Elsa will never go for it, put herself on display like that. She'll say no, and that'll be the end of it.

The boards will have to think up some other insane media stunt or just let us continue on our course. Lis Langley will come around eventually.

I walk to the door and fling it open with a tad too much force. It slams against the wall, the only thing that belies my calm exterior. I have a moment of regret as I see Marge jump in surprise at the sound of the door connecting with the wall.

“Hold all my calls,” I say as I walk past her towards the elevators. “I'll be out of the office for the rest of the day.”

I pull out my phone and bring up my recent call log. At the very top is her name: Elsa. I punch it and wait for the call to connect. I only begin to calm down—ever so briefly—when I hear that sweet, sexy voice in my ear.