Chapter Fourteen
Carver
She’s changed from her work outfit into a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. While I thought she looked best naked and second-best in a tight skirt that shows a lot of leg—I was wrong. Her perky ass all tight and round in that workout gear, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, is the best I’ve ever seen her. She looks comfortable, content . . . happy. It makes me consider things I shouldn’t be considering right now.
Standing on her tip-toes, she reaches high into a cabinet and pulls down a couple of plates. The bags from the bistro around the corner are sitting in front of me, along with a bottle of wine. I hated not knowing what kind she likes to drink, so I got what Olivia recommended.
I need to do better.
It’s a natural thought, one that makes me cringe. The truth is, I don’t know if I need to do better or not. As sad as it seems, she’s a girl I used to know that I’m in competition with now for a single spot that we both covet. Sure, I’ve slept with her once. I’ve definitely considered a life where I see her regularly and not just for sex. For conversation and dinner and games of chess. I’m just not sure that’s possible. How the pieces of this big, fucked up puzzle work is beyond me.
“Here we go!” She turns around, two large pink plates in her hand. “I know they’re pink, but I love them. My mom brought them to me from Nice.”
“They’re . . . pretty,” I offer, making her laugh.
“They are.”
We fill our plates and head to a glass-topped table that overlooks the city. Despite it being eleven at night, the city is still hustling. Headlights, taillights, billboards—all of it glows from below. After we’re settled and have taken a few bites, I try to go down the road I came here to navigate.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” I ask, taking a sip of wine.
“I believe so. I feel good about my presentation. What about you?”
“Same.” I take another bite of the chicken and consider my next words carefully. “What are your plans afterwards?”
Amity lays her fork down and takes up her napkin. She blots her lips, refusing to look me in the eye. “Are you asking what I’m having for lunch tomorrow? I’m not sure, Carver.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
“Honestly, I plan on coming out on top tomorrow. After that announcement is made, I really don’t know what my life looks like.” She looks at her food. “I hate not knowing, not being able to plan.”
“Yeah,” I say, blowing out a breath. “Me too. I wish this whole thing was over.”
She looks up at me through her thick lashes. “We’re both adults. I just keep telling myself that things will be okay, one way or the other.”
“Do you believe that? Really? One of us won’t be named CEO tomorrow.”
For the first time, she doesn’t give me a snarky retort. She just toys with her napkin as she thinks. “My Dad taught me to not have a Plan B. He said if you have a backup plan, it takes away some of your drive to go get what it is you really want.”
“Mine taught me the same thing,” I grin.
“So if you’re asking me what I plan on doing if something happens and I don’t get named, the answer is . . . I don’t know.” She picks up her fork again, but just holds it next to her plate. “I haven’t thought about it.”
“Do you think you’d leave? Would you want to go back to California?”
“I’m not sure,” she admits. “My father, much like yours, I’m sure, has set me up for this moment all my life. I went to school with this exact goal in mind. I took an internship at a place I loathed because it was the closest in structure to Jones + Gallum, and I wanted to be able to put it on my resume. I’ve studied data, stayed up night after night . . .” She gives me a sad smile as a realization hits her. “I’ve done . . . everything you’ve done.”
“I remember being a little boy and getting to come to work with my father every now and then. He wouldn’t bring me often, but when he did, I felt like it was a really big deal. As I got older, I could anticipate the times he’d ask me to come. It was usually Spring Break or around Christmas when most of the staff was gone. I’d study up, eavesdrop on his conversations when he worked from home at night, listen to the things he’d tell his mom. Try to get a leg up, you know? Then when he’d bring me in, I’d try to work one of those little gems into a conversation and impress my father. I’ve just always wanted him to be proud of me.” I feel my cheeks heat as I realize what I’ve said. “And that sounded like a stupid thing to say, didn’t it?”
“Not at all,” she whispers. “I think every person wants their parents to be proud of them. I can’t imagine why you’d think yours might not be.”
“Oh, they are. I’m sure they are. They’re just a lot harder to crack than yours. And I’m a lot less pretty, so that probably doesn’t help.”
She doesn’t laugh at my joke, doesn’t even attempt a smile. Instead, her brows pull together. “You’re one of the most talented people I’ve met,” she says softly. “You can pick up anything—a baseball bat or a report from the Stock Market—and do great things with it. Never let something someone else thinks, even if it’s your own parents, make you doubt yourself, Carver.”
Her words shoot straight to my heart and wrap them around a part of me that’s never been touched. I’ve never been quite good enough, quite smart enough, quite the worker my father wanted me to be. Even now, knowing what I’m proposing tomorrow, I haven’t heard from him. I wonder if he even cares or if he thinks that since he’s retired, it’s up to me to make it on my own.
“Thank you, Amity. That means a lot to me.”
“I mean it.” She stands and takes measured steps around the table until she’s standing next to me. She hesitates a split-second before wrapping her arms around my shoulders. She starts to smile. “I’ll be so honored if you’ll be my President.”
She yelps as I lunge into action, sweeping her off her feet. “Carver!” she giggles, her legs dangling over my forearm in a threshold carry.
“I’ve had about enough of you,” I tell her, watching her face come alive.
“This is unbecoming of an underling,” she teases.
“That’s it. We rectify this tonight.”
“How do you figure?”
“We fight it out or fuck it out. Your choice.”
She taps her chin with a manicured fingernail. “You’re bigger than me. Stronger than me. But not meaner than me, so I might have a chance if we fight . . .”
“You don’t stand a chance either way.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Tell you what,” I counter, considering my words. My chest refuses to fully expand and I have to labor to get enough air. “Let’s make a deal.”
“Deals are for the weak.”
“Deals are for the smart,” I insist.
She sighs, rubbing her breast against my chest. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that we make an agreement. Whichever one of us not chosen tomorrow agrees to work as the President for at least a year. Let’s think about it, Amity. No one wants this company to succeed as much as you and I.”
“True, but I’m not sure our visions will match up. You want an expansion and I want a complete solidification. We might end up fighting each other at every turn.”
“I think we could work something out for the good of us all.”
I force a swallow, hoping like hell she agrees. I can’t stand the thought of her leaving for so many reasons. And as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t want to see her heartbroken and thinking she has no place at our company. Because at the end of the day, regardless of what the Board decides, she’s as invested and as capable as I am.
Her fingers find the nape of my neck and toy with the edges of my hair. “You know what?”
“What’s that?”
“I think I’d rather fuck it out.”