CHAPTER 1
Eliana
Seattle
Present Day
I can feel it down to my bones as I stride across the glossy tiled floor of the main first-floor lobby of Byrne Enterprises.
The contract is all but mine.
My four-inch Tom Ford’s with gold ankle straps click a cadence like I’m walking the runway in Milan. My leather briefcase is Ferragamo, and my black skirt and jacket are Alexander McQueen. The lowlights in my hair cost four hundred dollars, and my BMW 8 Series convertible I handed over to the valet moments ago is a six-figure car I paid cash for.
Yes, I have more money than I know what to do with, yet this little seven-thousand-dollar ad campaign is as important to me as my entire closet full of designer clothes.
As one of the most successful ad executives at Carson Dell, I still like to take on the smaller campaigns now and then, so I never forget the ranks through which I had climbed to reach the top. I’ve been with Carson Dell for almost six years now, and I didn’t have to sleep with a single boss to get to my pinnacle. But then again, my father had always told me that I’d been born with unparalleled perseverance, and he taught me never to succumb to defeat.
At the elevator bank, I confidently push the button to the executive offices on the top floor. My appointment with its founder and CEO, Carrick Byrne, is in ten minutes, but I always arrive early just for professionalism’s sake.
The outer lobby for Byrne Enterprises is starkly bare, but once I open the heavy wooden door to the inner sanctum, I immediately fall in love with the soothing decor. The walls are done in soft ivory with a shimmery glaze, the furniture in a blue-gray suede with plush cream pillows, and the lighting is provided by glass lamps and wall sconces with Edison bulbs.
The receptionist smiles. “Can I help you?”
“Eliana Thompson,” I say crisply. “I have an appointment with Mr. Byrne.”
“If you’ll just have a seat,” she replies in a smooth, cultured voice. “Mr. Byrne is finishing up with another appointment.”
“Another ad pitch?” I guess cheekily with a lopsided grin.
The receptionist glances at the door to her right, which must be where Mr. Byrne’s office is, and back to me before nodding with a conspiratorial grin. “He only chose two companies to meet with. Carson Dell and—”
“Prima Design,” I state confidently. It’s the only other ad agency in Seattle that rivals ours.
The receptionist winks, but then she whispers, “I’m sure your pitch will be far superior, though.”
“Thanks,” I say with a big smile. I love women holding up other women, and she’s right… mine will be far superior.
While Prima is good, their execs are getting lackluster in their ideas. The last several times I’ve gone up against them, I’ve walked away with every single deal.
I move over to the couch, perch my butt on the edge, and cross my legs. I don’t even bother pulling out my iPad to go over my pitch; instead, I scroll my text messages. One of my girlfriends is asking to meet for drinks after work, which is a possibility. Dana is a hoot to hang out with.
A text from Josh, inviting me to dinner at his place.
Which really just translates into, “I’ll order some Chinese, and we’ll fuck all night”.
That has equal appeal as Josh is a stud in between the sheets, and he’s happy with this being a friends-with-benefits relationship, same as me.
Except… I can’t even say we’re friends. More like just fuck buddies, I guess.
I shoot Dana a text to tell her I have to work late, and another at Josh telling him I’ll be at his place by seven and I want extra steamed dumplings.
The door to Mr. Byrne’s office opens, and I stuff my phone in the side pocket of my briefcase, uncross my legs, and angle myself that way to see who from Prima will be coming out that door.
I hope it’s Steve Polsby. He’s the most arrogant of that lot, and he’s a complete misogynist. He cannot stand women in his industry.
“Thank you again for your time,” a deep male voice says from just inside the doorway and out of my line of sight.
Another replies, “Your presentation was incredibly good. I’ll be in touch.”
I scoff. Yeah, to tell you the contract is going to Carson Dell.
I have to suppress a snicker and school my features into a pleasant smile as the Prima exec walks out the door and it closes behind him.
For a moment, time seems to stand still as I take in the tall man with wide shoulders, dark brown hair that’s wavy and worn a little too long for modern standards, and piercing green eyes.
When time moves, I find myself slightly dizzy as I stare with astonishment at the Prima ad exec.
Ronan Myers.
I ignore how hot he looks in his suit, and I most definitely give no acknowledgment to the superior smile that comes to his face—lighting up those green eyes—as he sees me.
I stand confidently from the couch, bringing my briefcase with me. Ronan takes a few steps my way, letting his gaze roam slowly down my body and back up again before he gives me a distasteful smile. “Eliana. Fancy running into you here.”
“My exact thoughts,” I reply stiffly. “Last I heard, you were working in New York at McNaught.”
Ronan shrugs carelessly. “Thought I’d try the West Coast for a while.”
Just fucking great. The man I probably hate most in the universe is here in Seattle. Being in his presence makes me nauseous. By the distaste in his expression, he feels the same, but that’s the way it’s been for an exceptionally long time.
Ronan throws his thumb over his shoulder at the office of Carrick Byrne. “I wouldn’t bother putting too much effort into your pitch. I’ve got this one wrapped up.”
“In your dreams,” I reply, lifting my chin up, eyes sparkling with challenge. “Prima hasn’t beaten my firm out of a bid in forever. I hope you don’t mind the bitter taste of loss.”
Stepping in closer to me and lowering his voice so the receptionist doesn’t hear the derision in it, he murmurs, “You’re kind of cute when your ego comes out to play. But we both know you’re a has-been. A wannabe. In fact, everyone in our circle knows you’ll never amount to much either here or back home. But yeah… cute that you still think you can be good at something.”
A low growl rolls in my chest, but I suppress it. He’s trying to goad me into a reaction, and I won’t give it. I’ve learned how to let those things roll off my back because people like Ronan mean nothing to me.
I don’t even want to inform him of all my achievements since starting at Carson Dell. It would be nothing more than braggadocio, and over the years we’ve gone head-to-head, we’ve both won our fair share of battles.
But he’s not going to win this one.
“Miss Thompson,” the receptionist says, and I glance over my shoulder. She nods toward Mr. Byrne’s door. “He’s ready for you now.”
Nodding my head curtly, I merely say, “Ronan.”
It’s a simultaneous acknowledgment of our run-in and a farewell as I sidestep him to enter Mr. Byrne’s office. I don’t look back, but I can feel his eyes on me, which I know are heavy with disdain.
Which is fine.