I’m striding into our building when Holt accosts me at the elevator.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to fuck with me?” he drawls.
“Paranoia. You should talk to someone about that.” I stare him down as the elevator doors close and I hit the button for our floor. “Heather’s going to quit unless you lay off.”
“Who’s Heather?”
“The new associate from Stanford who arrived last month.”
His face scrunches up. “I’m still waiting on something I assigned her two days ago.”
“Her grandmother died. The funeral was yesterday.”
Holt’s sharp gaze narrows. “Stay out of my business and I’ll stay out of yours.”
“This company is our business. Both of ours. Don’t tell me you’re still sore Xavier’s leaning toward my recommendation.” I think of how Monday’s meeting went down, the decision our third partner decided to defer for the time being.
“That’s an exaggeration. He asked for more information. But the health care services company is a great fit. I don’t think you’ve even looked at them.”
“We’re in for thirty million. Their valuation has doubled in the last six months on the basis of… what? They don’t have the skills to scale, and their estimated market demand is inflated. We got in, and now it’s time to get out.”
He frowns. “This is better than taking on new risks for no other reason than that you get off on calling the shots.”
I wait until the doors open and we step out. “I know it was Xavier’s idea to bring me on as a partner. Maybe that's why you're sore. Because he nominated me for this award too, even though I’ve only been with the firm two years.”
Holt's jaw clenches. “It doesn’t mean he’s going to vacate his seat for you.”
"No. But it means he’s thinking about it."
Tris emerges from his office as we start down the hall.
“Watch your back,” Holt states before brushing past us with a nod to my brother.
“That sounded pleasant,” Tris says.
“He’s pissy he lost.”
“He didn’t lose. Not yet anyway.” Tris shakes his head. “You want to know what I think about the investment you’re proposing? Holt’s proposal has a better downside.”
I cross my arms. “How do you figure?”
“Your founder boy left an engineering job at one of the world’s biggest companies right before starting his own company.”
“Half the start-ups in the Valley have the same story.”
He shrugs. “This is a pretty close move from his last stop, and they’re getting a lot of public visibility. Makes you wonder what else might be going on.”
I cock my head. As much as I want to discount my brother’s analysis, he sees things I don’t. But unless he can give me a firm reason, I’m not changing my recommendation.
He smirks before changing the subject. “Oh, one more thing. Mom called about the gala. Your assistant put her through to me. Don’t know why. She’s still figuring out that I’m not a substitute for you where Mom’s concerned.”
The edge in his voice has me crossing my arms. "Don’t pretend you wanted to be a substitute for me. Every time Dad fucked up, I was the one who picked up the pieces. If I wasn’t there to fix things—”
“Maybe she’d fix them for herself.”
“It’s not that simple and you know it.” I reach into my jacket pocket and produce the small box, shoving it at his chest so he’s forced to catch it. “Happy birthday, asshole.”
He opens it and his smile dies as he takes in the watch our father owned, one of the few nice things he left behind. “Where did you…?”
Without answering, I turn on my heel toward my office.
My dinner runs long because I’m getting intel for Daisy and I don’t have time to go home after. So I ditch my jacket and tie at the office, deciding to swap my shirt for a fresh one from a cupboard of them, before taking a town car to the club. When I get there and go in the front doors, I’m reminded why I don’t go clubbing.
One, I’m too old. At thirty-one, I’m too old for a lot of things, because “too old” simply means you’ve stopped telling yourself the lie that you like something, or should. Two, even at this exclusive, high-end place, it’s mostly model-like women looking to get messy and men with deep pockets looking to help them.
But my friends are different. We go back, and loyalty trumps money, old or new. Hunter and Jake are old friends. Wes is the new guy, but he’s growing on me. What he lacks in money, he’s made up for in brains, and I respect that.
But it’s Tris’s birthday. Not only is he younger—he craves the sensory stimulation. Because he spends his days deep in documents rather than meetings, this is how he comes up for air.
“You decided to show,” my brother calls from the booth.
I nod to Jake, Hunter, and Wes. “Where are your more attractive halves?”
Hunter grins. “Got a head start.”
I look in the direction he’s pointing to see the women’s heads through the crowd.
I wind my way toward the bar where the women are. Most people step aside as I pass, a few men and women checking me out and one trailing a hand down my arm. I shrug off her attention. I have a goal for this evening and it’s not satisfying myself but looking as though I am.
By the time I get to the bar, I think I’ve lost sight of Daisy. But when my gaze locks on a fire-engine-red dress, I realize it’s the other women who’ve vanished.
Her smooth back has heat curling low in my gut as I remember yesterday in the change room.
It’s not as if I’ve never seen her in a bathing suit or a dress. I know the outline of her body, the profile of her face, can pick her out from a crowd by the way her hair swings in a shiny curtain.
But I’ve never given myself permission to just look at her. Yesterday, I did.
And what I saw stole my breath.
I stop behind her, leaning close to her ear. “Your friends abandon you, darling?”
I've never called another woman that, but it rolls off my tongue easily, playfully.
Daisy turns. My best friend's eyes are normally dark-rimmed, her lips the color of plums. Today, those lips are slicked red like the dress, and I can’t decide which is more worthy of my attention.
So I stare at both, feeling like a bull preparing to charge.
She looks me over head to toe before her expression dissolves into a smile. "You made it."
She throws her arms around me, and I force myself to keep up and remember the key information.
Friend.
Safe.
Hug.
Warm.
But whether it's the long-ass day or Holt's aggravation or the fact that now that I’ve let myself look at Daisy like a woman, it’s hard to turn it off, and my body processes other sensory data as she presses against me.
Voice.
Tits.
Smell.
Close.
“Kendall and Rena went to the bathroom,” she murmurs against my shoulder, oblivious to my sudden descent into barbarism.
“I thought women had to go in packs.” I pull back.