Beneath These Scars

This determined Yve—the one I’d forged out of broken pieces—never backed down from a fight.

IF I HADN’T SCHOOLED MYSELF in keeping my expression completely blank, I would have given away the rage coursing through me. I was a man with simple expectations: do what I ask, the way I ask you to do it, and do it right the first fucking time. I held myself to a ridiculously high standard. No one could keep up with the demands I placed on myself, but I expected people to live up to the lower expectations I had of them. How fucking hard was it to be a goddamn lobbyist? I paid them to get shit done.

And yet shit wasn’t done.

“So, what you’re telling me is since the last time we met—over a month ago—you’ve gotten absolutely no support for this bill?”

Cartwright, the principal of the most prestigious lobbyist firm in the state of Louisiana, seemed to shrink a little in his starched French collar shirt. “I’m sorry, Mr. Titan. I thought one of my associates was handling the matter, and it appears he was more fixated on handling a young legislative aide. He’s been terminated.”

Wonderful. A guy led by his dick—and in a way that totally fucked my chances of getting this bill passed.

“Then what’s your plan, Cartwright?” The man better have a plan. I didn’t take well to people who brought me only problems and not even a hint of a solution. People needed to show a little goddamn initiative.

“Well, Mr. Titan, I hadn’t really thought beyond solving the immediate problem. I’ll go back to my office and brainstorm some ideas.”

I said nothing for a few moments, just let the silence of the room wrap uncomfortably around him. Finally, I nodded. “Go. I expect an answer by midnight.”

His eyes bugged wide. It was already after five.

“Or you’re fired,” I added. “And I know damn well Titan Industries is over a third of your business.”

Nodding his head in a jerky movement, the man backed away until he hit the door with his heels. Then he turned and shuffled through it, and the room was silent once more. Until Colson spoke.

“You should’ve fired him on the spot.”

Anyone else questioning my judgment would have caught the sharp side of my tongue, but Colson was an exception to the rule.

“Giving him a few extra hours is easier than bringing on a new lobbyist at this point. I’m doing it for me, not as a favor to him.”

“Still, he doesn’t deserve it. Besides, if he’d been thinking on his feet, he would’ve offered up the obvious solution.”

And this was why Colson was my COO. Because he was smarter than ninety-nine percent of the people I came in contact with.

We first met at Stanford in business school. He’d been universally hated for screwing the curve in our strategic management class by acing the final, and I’d been the only person who didn’t care, because I’d only been one point behind him and wrecked the curve in the other three classes I was taking that semester. To find someone more disliked than myself was a novel feeling. Both his brain and his absolute disregard for what anyone else thought were the primary reasons I’d brought him on after I acquired my first few companies.

I leaned back in my chair, curious as to where he was going with this. “And what’s the obvious solution?”

“Johnson Haines. Old Southern powerhouse politician. He’s got enough pull to rally his own party, plus persuade the others across the aisle to vote our way.”

It sounded too easy. He was only one man, someone whose name I knew but hadn’t considered. Why hadn’t I considered him? Normally I was all over this shit. I’d made meeting the who’s who of New Orleans society a top priority, and yet I hadn’t met him.

Oh yeah, that’s right—because my arrangement with Vanessa Frost had gone sideways when Con Leahy had gotten involved. Or rather when they had gotten involved. Either way, my introduction into the upper echelons had been halted temporarily. Not because I’d accepted defeat, but because I’d thrown myself back into what was important—my business, preparing to dominate the market, and make a fuck ton of money.

Dad, you’re about to be proven wrong, I thought before returning to the conversation at hand.

“And you think he’ll be on our side because . . . ?”

Colson shrugged. “Haines is a typical politician. You scratch his back, he’ll scratch yours. He’s supported a lot more unlikely causes than any other senior legislator, but only when there’s something in it for him. You dangle the right incentive, and we can take advantage of his talent for building bipartisan coalitions.”

It was a solid suggestion. Which was a damn good thing, because there was nothing I wouldn’t do to see this project through.

I gave Colson a nod. “Set something up.”

“I’ll get something on the calendar tomorrow.”

“Good. I’ll be available by e-mail tonight. Let me know what you figure out.”

“Will do.” Colson turned for the door but paused before reaching it. “You get the name of that woman Friday night? At the gym? She was one hot piece of ass. I’m thinking about tracking her down and giving it another shot.”

Yve Santos. When I realized who he was talking about, something unfamiliar and unwanted surged inside me. The woman was nothing to me, a momentary fascination that had ended with her running from me. She was smart to run.

“She didn’t seem too receptive last night,” I said, my tone bored.

Colson smirked. “I was off my game. Won’t happen again.”