Shopping for a CEO's Fiancée
“So you knew about this?” His eyes narrow and his jaw tightens.
“I knew. You resigned. I offered to talk to you first about the transition, but Dad said he wanted to do it.”
“Well, he didn’t. The New Zealand account’s going to blow up if I can’t get back on track. And then there’s Grace.”
I chug my beer. I can tell he’s upset, but he’s not pissed. I expected fiery fury. Instead, I’m getting a cold, reserved kind of anger, as if he’s suddenly turned British.
“We can manage New Zealand. And Grace, well…she’s an Anterdec employee. If you want her, you have to try to make her join your new company.”
“I tried. She refused.”
SCORE! I try to contain my glee. I finally get Grace as my admin. Buh-bye, Gina.
Or, I should say, Buh-bye, Gina?
I shrug and reach across the counter for another beer. Halfway through it, I pause and say, “Transitions. Changes. They all have their ups and downs.”
“Being stripped of all Anterdec privileges is one hell of a change.”
“What did you expect?” I drain the second beer, welcoming the warm buzz that begins in my hands and feet.
He pauses mid-sip with his wine glass, brows turning down. “Not sure. But not this.”
“You have your own company now. Anterdec has security issues with a VP as high as you up the food chain having access to sensitive systems.”
“I’m the owner’s son.”
“And it’s the owner who did this to you.” I swallow an I’m sorry because I’m not the one who’s responsible. That’s Dad, and Declan’ll have to hash it out with him.
“If we’re talking business—”
“Do we have to?”
He gives me a look that says, tough shit. “I want to buy the Turdmobile.”
“You what?”
“Well, Shannon does. Anterdec is acquiring Consolidated Evalu-shop. They have a contract with the advertising company that manages the crazy promotional cars. Shannon’s shown me the stats on that damn piece of shit car—”
“Literally.”
“—and it generates a ton of business for the coffee shop it’s intended to advertise. We just acquired a chain of coffee shops, so…I want to buy out the contract from you.”
“You can have the damn car.”
He laughs. “I thought the same thing, but once I saw the metrics, I was convinced. Besides, Shannon will need a car. No more limos.”
“Poor baby.”
He glares. “I’ll have my people talk to yours about the Turdmobile?”
“You have people already? When did your new company get people? You were on your honeymoon last week, for God’s sake! You haven’t had time to acquire people.”
He shuts down. “Just be aware we want to move fast on this.”
“Like I said, you can have the damn contract. Consider it a wedding gift.”
He pulls out his phone and texts. “Okay. Done. Expect a call tomorrow to make it happen.”
Great. So far, I’ve managed to avoid ever riding in that piece-of-shit car. Amanda’s offered to drive and I’ve skillfully avoided it.
Done. Forever.
That car is out of my business and out of my life.
Amanda’s eye catches mine and suddenly, Dec doesn’t exist. She’s giving me one of those closed-mouth smiles that says she’s thinking about me, naked. Her nose twitches as she moves her lips, the sexy curve of her mouth one I can imagine in intimate places. The beer is getting a nice grip on me, and if I can get my girlfriend alone, I’ll bet she could get a nice grip on me, too.
Dec looks at me, his eyes cutting over to Amanda, and he does an epic eye roll. “You think with your pants.”
I snort. “Like you’re any different?”
He frowns. “No.”
We might not talk about feelings in our family, but sex is open territory.
“Speaking of which, how was the honeymoon?”
His face goes blank. “Don’t want to talk about it.”
“That bad or that good?”
“Not talking about it.”
Before I can press for details, Hamish approaches, hand outstretched, a shit-eating grin on his face. He’s taller than me, and a wall of broad muscle. If he weren’t a kickass soccer player, he’d be a rugby man, for sure.
“Andrew!” The Scottish lilt in his voice makes me smile. “So good to see you.” He claps his hand on Dec’s shoulder. “Already said my congratulations to this one, but he couldn’t really talk with the dog collar attached to his leash.”
Dec’s expression tells me this joke has been made before, many times.
“We can’t all sleep our way through Europe on a football tour,” I tell him with a wink.
“Ah, but it’s fun to try,” Hamish says with a deep, dirty laugh.
Behind him, I see Amy and Carol in a huddle around a tray of chocolates. At his words, Amy opens her mouth and sticks her finger down her throat. Carol bursts into giggles.
I see Amy’s well acquainted with Hamish.
“At the rehearsal dinner, you were talking about endorsements. How’s that going?” I ask.
It’s hard to believe we’re related. Dad’s older half brother from his father’s first marriage is Hamish’s father. Dad doesn’t talk about the family history, so I don’t know the details, just that my grandfather had a “first family” in Scotland before emigrating to the U.S. and marrying my dad’s mom. Hamish is a fiery ginger with bright green eyes and a broad face covered in freckles. He’s the size of a Viking and thickly muscled, the kind of man who looks like he shouldn’t be good at soccer but is light as hell on his feet.