Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 119852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
A man who loves what he does is a man who will do anything to succeed. Even if it means partnering with someone like me.
“Do you have any questions?” he asks, wrapping up.
“Just one,” I say evenly. “How soon can we get this contract signed?”
I wait a beat, and then another, watching as understanding dawns on his face. For all his bravado, he’s not a poker player with a good bluff, and his smile is genuine. “Send it over and we’ll get this thing done.”
“I’ll have Legal finalize everything and send it ASAP.”
“Sounds good.” He rises, his hand extended. I stand to shake with a more reserved smile.
“Thank you for coming in, Mr. Jessup. I’ll be in touch soon. Mr. Hernandez will escort you back downstairs.” I gesture to the assistant who’s been standing by politely, just outside the conference room’s closed door.
Once they’re gone, I grab my leather portfolio and head back to my office. As I walk down the hall, noise quiets and heads duck down into cubicles. I’m not well-liked at work, but I am respected, which is more important. I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to make money, and I do… a lot of money—for Blue Lake, for myself, and for every one of the employees who prefer to stay out of my way.
I hit the door of my office, already talking to my assistant. “Angeline, can you let Greg know that I’m in on the Jessup deal? He’ll need to loop Legal in for the contract and then send it to me before it goes out to Jessup. I’d like it to go over this week, if possible.”
Angeline has been my right-hand for over a year and she’s the best of the best. If I had a friend at work, it’d be her, except friendship doesn’t come with a paycheck. Still, I appreciate that she’s one of the few people who treats me like a human being and not a robot.
“Kayla… Kayla…” She’s calling out to me, but I’m halfway through the outer office, not stopping as I open my door.
Except my office isn’t vacant the way I expected. The way it should be.
There are two very large, very attractive men sitting in the chairs in front of my desk. Two men I thought I’d never see again and who don’t look all that happy to see me, either.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I whisper, the words falling off my tongue before I can reframe them into something more appropriate.
RIGGS
“They have a meeting on your schedule?” Kayla’s assistant says uncertainly as we rise to our feet and face them fully.
I don’t have to imagine the image we make, given reporters love to photograph Maddox and me together as some sort of representation of the brotherhood in the league. Shoulder to shoulder, we’re a wall of muscle, broad shoulders, and dark looks. But we tried to fit in, even discussing our wardrobe selections like we were teenagers going to prom, settling on classic slacks and crisp button-downs, the sleeves rolled up to show our forearms and overpriced watches, and polished dress shoes. It’s basically what we wear for press walk-ins before games, but today it’d been designed to help us fit in a conservative corporate office environment.
Although to be honest, right now I really, really regret not owning a suit coat of some type.
Kayla is still staring at us, blinking like she might be seeing things. Or maybe hoping we’re figments of her imagination.
“For the Foundation? Something about hockey donations for the gala,” Angeline murmurs out of the side of her mouth, filling Kayla in on our meeting like she might need a little reminder.
There’s just one problem.
We’re not supposed to have a meeting. Maddox made that shit up and charmed our way into Kayla’s office, no easy feat. Honestly, I think the only thing that helped was that Angeline immediately recognized us, explaining that her husband is a huge Devils fan. We let her snap a couple of selfies with us, and in turn, we got into Kayla’s inner sanctum.
Or… well, her office one, at least. I’m still hoping to get into her more private, personal one again. But given the look of horror mixed with fury, with a dash of fear flashing across her expressive face, that’s not very likely.
“Hi Kay-la,” Maddox says, using her full name pointedly, though his smile is warm, like this is an everyday, no-big-deal meet and greet. He elbows me, reminding me to speak and quit staring at her like a serial killer.
“Hey… again.” I make no effort to hide the way my eyes trace over her from head to toe. She’s wearing a charcoal gray jacket and skirt combo over a white button-down blouse, and a pair of black fuck-me stilettos I’d love to feel digging into my back when she wraps her legs around me. She looks gorgeous, somehow even better than I remembered, and more powerful surrounded by expensive art and fancy wood paneling, like she’s gaining authority from being somewhere she’s in charge.