by Lindsey Hart
“I’m asking serious questions here,” Lucas growls. “As far as I know, you have no qualifications to be able to run this shit. Admit it. You’re not cut out for this.”
“I’m not going to admit any such thing.”
“Well, I’ll tell you straight up then. You aren’t. Which is why I’m not going to teach you anything. I’m not going to give you pointers. I’m not going to try and set you as the head of anything because it will topple in a few days if you’re behind the wheel. I’m going to help you find good people, reliable people, who can be at the top to keep things running smoothly. It shouldn’t be so hard. I’ll go over some paperwork, review the performance of people in their current positions, and make some suggestions for you. We can then conduct interviews and hire the best candidate. That should keep things running smoothly.”
“You can’t just—hire someone to replace my grandfather! He was the president of the company! His word was law.”
“So? Restructure. Your grandfather, whatever his tastes tend to be, knew what he was doing business-wise. You’re not your grandfather. Don’t even try and pretend you know what you’re doing here. You’re taking over a multi-billion-dollar empire because your grandfather named you—being his sole grandchild after your parent’s refusal to step into his shoes—as the one he wants at the top. You can be the dummy.”
“Excuse me?”
“No matter what I think about you, it’s just a term for a silent partner kind of a deal. You can still be at the top and have people who actually have the know-how and the talent where it counts.”
“Thanks. Thanks for your encouragement.” I don’t want to act like a petulant whiner, but Lucas’s comments sting. I know he’s not my biggest fan, but seriously?
“I’m not here to give you encouragement. I’m here to give you a dose of reality. I’m telling you what I know is true, based on my own experience. You can’t run a company like this. You can’t run anything if you have zero experience and zero training. Spa dates and shopping trips don’t count as experience, doll.” He says doll in that sexy kind of way, like how guys would have said it in the heart of the twenties but make the face of a guy who just stepped in a big pile of warm gooey cow poop.
I set my elbows on the table and lean forward intently. “What makes you think I don’t have any experience?”
“Because you’re you,” Lucas scoffs. “You’re a brat. Spoiled. Pampered. Grew up rich. You’ve never had to struggle or know what it’s like to actually work for something. You don’t know what the real world is like. You’ve lived in this bubble your entire existence. You wear pink from head to toe. It probably takes you six hours to do your hair and put on makeup.”
“Nope. I’m pretty adept at those. I got it down to three hours and six minutes this morning. A personal best.”
Lucas’s eyes, glowing like bright green gems narrow a little further. I bat my eyelashes in a way I know is going to piss him off. Lucas Dawson might be hot. He might be the only guy I’ve ever actually wanted. Wanted in a way you don’t forget. He was just a crush when I was fourteen. Now, at twenty-nine, he’s the epitome of an unfulfilled fantasy.
He’s the untouchable, unattainable goal I’ll never quite reach. He’s the guy I fell asleep thinking about. The guy I fantasized and dreamed about. I’ll also admit there were a few times when I was with—uh—well—guys that were not him, and I…yeah. I went there. I guess the only way to sum up Lucas Dawson is to say he’s the one who has haunted all aspects of my life—waking and sleeping, for the past fifteen years.
It all sounds creepy, but for my defense, I’ll just say I’m not obsessed with him. I thought the crush would go away. The desire. The way he makes me feel when he’s standing in the same room, sitting across from me, or trash-talking about something to his friends while pointedly ignoring me, or even openly giving me looks of distaste, has so far been unrivaled by any other guy. I’m not exactly virginal over here either. I’m almost thirty. I’ve been on a few—well—let’s call them dates. Not as many as I’ve led my friends to believe. Not nearly that many. Despite what I’ve let them think, I actually want to find someone I care about. So far, it hasn’t happened. There have been a few serious attempts on my part to try and get there, but it hasn’t happened.
Because of Lucas Dawson.
He’s always been this specter that’s stood in my way of finding happiness. That and the fact that my family has obscene amounts of money and a hotel empire. That attracts all the wrong kind of attention. Even when I was careful, I got burned. I didn’t like being burned. I burned myself too, to be fair. It wasn’t all them. I know the me I share with the rest of the world is pretty damn hard to love.
“This is never going to work,” Lucas grumbles. He shoves his chair back from the table.
“Wait!” I slam my palm down onto the table harder than I mean to. Lucas jumps a little. I jump a little. The smack echoes through the room a little. Lucas’s eyes aren’t so narrow when he looks back at me. “I–I can do this.” I knew that for this to work, I’d have to open myself up. A little. Open up not just to the pleasant parts of it all but open myself up to ridicule and the usual daggers that life likes to get stabby with.
“You can’t. That’s a promise, doll. Don’t even waste your time trying. It will only end in disaster.”
Thanks for the vote of confidence. “I can! I know I can do this!”
“You can’t.”
“I can!”
“No. No, you most certainly can’t.” Lucas’s eyes narrow again. They’re still the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. I could look into his eyes all day and never get tired. I could even drown in them to be honest.
“I can,” I insist. I lean back a little, bracing myself physically and mentally for the shit storm that is about to hit. I haven’t told a single person about this. Not Rin. Not Cassie. They’re my sisters. My sisters from different misters. The closest people to me in existence, but I haven’t even breathed a word of this to them. “I–I can. I know you don’t think I’m qualified, but I am. I might not have the experience, that’s true, but I knew this day would come around, and I did prepare for it.”
“By getting your nails done every other week?” Lucas snorts. “By getting your hair dyed that awful shade of blonde because you think it’s actually mildly attractive?”
“Uh—this is my real shade; I’ll have you know. I’ve never had my hair dyed in my life!”
“Give it up, doll. There’s nothing you’ve ever done that could qualify you for this. Just stay silent and let other people do all the hard work while you reap the rewards. You know, as per usual.”
Lucas has a smug look on his face that I’d like to wipe off with the back of my hand. Or my lips. Maybe…in another lifetime, with some other parts. Okay, not going to go there. I know my little crush thingy is never going to end up as anything else. Lucas is one of those people I’ll have to forever admire from afar. He’s my bestie’s brother. Stepbrother. Whatever. I can’t just…even if hell froze itself over, and he did want to…yeah. Never going to happen. I could never betray Cassie like that.
“I think I do have something that qualifies me.”
“Please. Let’s hear it. Speak up, then call your lawyer in, and we’ll go over the details. Then I’ll have a list of people you could interview by tomorrow morning.”
When I stay silent, Lucas raises his bare wrist—his bare, muscly, bronzed wrist—and pretends to study an invisible watch. The movement makes his biceps and delicious forearms bulge. I wish I could lick him all over. His chest muscles test the bounds of his black V-neck t-shirt, and I’d like to lick that too. Even the t-shirt. For the record, I wouldn’t just lick it. I’d smell it first. Bring it to my nose for a nice, long inhale, so I’d really be salivating by the time I put my tongue to it. I know I’m ultra-pathetic. It is the result of seventeen years of pent up frustration.
“Tick, tock, doll.” Lucas points to his watch-less wrist.
“You don’t
have any watch on,” I snap in annoyance. “Two hairs past a freckle do not count. Please never say that. My dad used to say that. If you ever say that, I promise to do all I can to make your life a living hell.”
“You mean more than you’re doing by demanding of your best friend that I be here?” Lucas shoots me an evil grin so wicked it could rival my own wickedly perfected smiles. “Tick, tock,” he says again. His eyes meet mine, and the breath nearly deflates from my lungs like a punctured balloon. “Two hairs past a freckle, doll.”
That smug bastard! Of all the men on earth…why him? Why? Him?
I lift my head and toss my curled hair over my pink, blazer clad shoulder. I return him one of those perfectly crafted evil smirks. Lucas holds my gaze. We’re locked in an ugly sneer-off for a few seconds. I know why it’s him. Why it’s always been him. Because Lucas Dawson is my match. In. Every. Single. Way.
“What is this mysterious qualification?” He laughs humorously after.
I laugh too. A very cheery laugh that takes him off guard. I’m going to enjoy watching the horror creep over his face when he realizes what a dick he is. I’m going to enjoy it. A lot. “Actually, I happen to have a Master’s in Business. My major was Economics. Just like yourself.”
CHAPTER 4
Lucas
Well, fuck me dry with a rusty shovel and an old boot. She has got to be shitting me.
As per usual, Aria Watson’s face is totally and completely inscrutable. Her cornflower-blue eyes give nothing away. Her perfectly straight nose, flawless complexion, heart-shaped face, and full lips might as well be a painted-on mask. Not just because she’s a work of art. A masterpiece, truly. She’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. Which pisses me off.
Her beauty pisses me off. Partly because it couldn’t be wasted on a worse person, but also because no human being should be that beautiful. Don’t get me started on the rest of her. Let’s just say Aria is pretty far from being a hag. Also, for the record, I knew that was her real hair color. It’s beautiful. Like golden flax. Even curled, it spills nearly to her waist. She’s tall, too. Tall, inexplicably slim, yet somehow still curvy, and legs for decades.
I shake myself out of thoughts about Aria’s body because thoughts about Aria’s body are never good things. It pisses me off that she’s somehow managed to plant those memories in my brain. Memories of her and Cassie by the pool, memories of her and Cassie and Rin sprawled out in the living room watching some trash show on TV, and memories of the three of them plotting and laughing. Memories of their graduation day…it freaking goes on and on. Aria Watson has been a part of my life for as long as she’s been a part of Cassie’s life, which has, unfortunately, been a really long time.
“You have a what?” And why is it suddenly warm in the room? It’s not. I swear, the place was perfectly cool a minute ago.
“That’s right. I have a Master’s too.”
“A fake one, no doubt.” Why is my stomach spinning? Maybe the pre-packaged sushi I ate for breakfast this morning on the run out the door wasn’t a good idea. It wasn’t from one of our stores. There was a convenience store along the way. I was running late. It was either that or a leftover corn dog from the night before.
“It’s not fake.”
“You paid someone for it. Admit it.”
“I did pay for it. Like everyone else. The tuition fees. I took it online.”
“See. I told you it’s fake.”
“It’s. Not. Fake.” Aria grinds out the words, even though her face is still perfectly placid. I can tell that I’m pissing her off.
I’d enjoy it more if I wasn’t suddenly freezing cold and scorching at the same time. My t-shirt is pretty much stuck to me. Why am I suddenly sweating like I just spent two hours kicking my own ass at the gym?
“Just because I got it online doesn’t mean it’s any less real than yours. I studied. I did the work. I put in the time. I know I don’t have the experience, but I wanted to be prepared for this coming my way one day. Whatever you think you know about me, it’s probably not true. Well, no. That’s not true. Because some of it probably is true. But there is a fuck ton you don’t know about me either. I’m tougher than you think. I know I need to hire people to get this running smoothly. I’m looking forward to finding good, trustworthy people I can work with, who can help me learn. Even if it takes years, I’m prepared to do it, but the one thing I’m not going to do or be is silent. I—Lucas? Are you okay?” Aria’s tirade cuts off mid blast.
Fuck. No. No, I am not okay.
There is something seriously wrong with me. Something that feels suspiciously close to one of those nights from my twenties when I tried to pickle myself alive with whiskey. Something that feels like there’s a class five hurricane going on in my stomach.
The sushi.
It has to be the sushi. The sushi was definitely a bad idea. I’m literally sitting here, my stomach spinning, whirling, and rocking like a heavy metal concert, sweating out the equivalent of my own body weight. I feel like I just swallowed an entire herd of hedgehogs or porcupines.
“Yeah, I’m…” I truly meant to tack the word ‘fine’ onto the end of that sentence, but suddenly, my mouth is disgustingly wet, and there’s something burning at the back of my throat. My entire body goes ice cold. Sweat trickles down my temples. I know I’m going to hurl. I’m going to freaking hurl right in front of Aria Watson.
I make a frantic, two-second sweep of the room and my eyes land on a tall, blue recycling bin in the corner. Thank god for people who care about the environment. I shove back from the table and make a mad dash for it. Also, thank god, I make it on time. My stomach rolls and heaves, and seconds later, I’m heaving and puking the entire contents of my stomach into the bin.
Really puking. And really heaving.
Please, god, kill me right now. No? Damn it to hell.
“Oh my god, Lucas, are you okay?” Aria’s light, airy voice is in my ear. Her small, warm hand is on my shoulder.
Why is she right beside me? Oh my god, can she actually see what’s going on in this bucket right now? Freak…can she smell it? Is she going to barf too?
I want to come up for air, but my stomach contracts again, punishing me for the terrible decision of the poisonous sushi this morning. It tasted good. I swear, it tasted fine. So what if the ginger was a little wilted and the meat looked a little…off? I have a stomach of steel. Normally.
Unfortunately for me, said stomach of steel seems to be purging everything I’ve eaten for the last week. Amidst papers and soda cans. Still. This is slightly better than having to duck my head down a public toilet. Not less humiliating, but certainly more sanitary.
“Just try and breathe.”
Aria. Rubbing small circles on my back. My sweat-soaked back. With her hand.
I want to curl up into a tight little ball and die. Kind of. For real. Those hedgehogs are going to war in my stomach. They’re clawing around and scratching and throwing a party in there. They might be breaking glass and brawling in there too. Shooting each other with mini hedgehog guns? Driving over each other with mini hedgehog cars? Probably. It feels like it.
I can’t catch my breath. Just when I think I can come up for air, I need to duck back down into the bin again. Aria’s hand leaves my back. I hear her walk away. I figured. She’s too much of a princess to witness another person puking. She’s probably heading straight for the bathroom herself. She’s probably green and sweaty and disgusted. On the bright side, maybe I’ll get out of those ten days of torture now. Maybe I should thank the rotten sushi for saving my ass.
I will. When I finally stop ejecting my guts into this freaking bin.
It happens a few minutes later. I don’t know if I’ve ejected everything possible or if my stomach finally decided to cut me some slack. I come up breathing hard, taking big gulps of air. I’m freaking crying. Not truly crying, but my eyes are streaming water from the wicked force of what just happened. There’s sweat literally pouring off my foreh
ead. I feel weak. Weak and shaky, like my muscles just went on a permanent vacation. It’s all I can do to plop down on my ass a few inches away from the bucket and remain upright.
When I actually get my eyes to open and focus, I’m surprised to find Aria right there.
She didn’t run for the hills.
She’s not ejecting her own breakfast in the bathroom.
She’s not even sneering at me in disgust.
She’s not even a bit green. Not. Even. A. Little.
Her face does have this strange look on it, though. It’s…soft. Nearly…tender. Two things I didn’t think Aria Watson could ever be. She has a few tissues in one hand and a glass of water in the other.
“Where the hell did you get that?” I pant. My stomach contracts painfully, but thankfully, the rolling tidal waves seemed to have calmed for the moment. I think this tops my entire lifelong list of humiliating moments.
“From the bar over at the far end.” Aria points, but I don’t follow her finger. “It’s for clients. There’s coffee and water and stuff set out. Do you need more tissues?”
I wipe my mouth and deposit the tissue into the recycle bin without looking at it. I think if I do, I might puke another round. I’d like to get out of here with at least one ball intact, thank you very much.
Aria passes me the glass of water. It doesn’t do much to get rid of the sour taste in my mouth, but it’s cool and feels good against my ravaged throat. From out of nowhere, Aria produces a package of mints. She opens it and shakes a couple onto her palm.
“Here. Have these.” She passes them over, and I’m not proud to take them, but regurgitated sushi tastes worse than death.
The mints are nice. Minty. Cooling. They kind of taste like heaven when I gulp some water with the mints in my mouth.
I jerk hard in surprise when Aria’s small, warm, perfectly dry palm clamps onto my forehead. I’m too stunned to move. Aria Watson is a princess. A living doll. She just saw me heave into a bin for ten minutes straight. I look like I’m drowning in my own body fluids. I’m a gross, smelly, awful mess. Why is she still sitting here? Being nice to me? Touching my gross body with her not-gross-body?
