Battle of the Sexes

by Adriana Locke

  “I can’t promise you that.” He takes a step so that he’s completely in my bubble. “If something happens and we find ourselves in opposite ends of the country, I’m going to be pissed.” He runs his thumb over my bottom lip.

  Not caring who is walking by or looking in, I reach up and cup his face in my hands. “Let’s go give them hell.”

  His eyes cloud as he watches me. I reach up and press a kiss to the center of his lips.

  “I’m going to gather my things. I’ll meet you in there in a few,” I tell him, turning away. I wait until I hear the door snap closed before I reach into my purse. With a shaky hand, I remove a tissue and blot my eyes. “Now is not the time to start feeling things, Amity. Knock that shit off.”

  Seventeen

  Amity

  * * *

  “Expanding the restaurants under Jones + Gallum, going countrywide with our fresh take on family dining, is the answer to increasing profitability and ushering us into the new world of food service.” Carver motions towards the booklet he passed out earlier to the board. “With an expansive marketing campaign like the one I’ve presented to you today, combined with a leadership that’s not only experienced in the industry but also a CEO at the helm that has proven his dedication to seeing this company prosper, we will see a substantial rebound in our numbers. You saw the projections, gentlemen.”

  He glances at me, a soberness in his eyes that I haven’t seen from him before. It stills my heart. If this were a sporting event, I would root for him. If it were anything else, I’d be shaking my pom-poms and screaming at the television to pick him.

  My hand shakes as I lift a mug of Hanley’s coffee. The taste brings me home, comforts me in a way that very few things can.

  “I’d just like to say one more thing,” Carver says, swallowing hard. “This company has been the pride and joy of my family for most of my life. The day I was brought on as President was the best day of my life. I’ve poured more blood, sweat, and tears into this business than I ever knew I had.”

  He fiddles with a piece of paper in his hand before looking at me. We exchange a glance, a moment of understanding between two people that aren’t quite the rivals they should be. There’s something buried in his eyes, a drive not-so-hidden in the depths of his dark brown irises. As I look into them, something swirls inside me. Something fierce.

  I felt this way when I arrived on campus at USC. This is the feeling I have when I help Mrs. Hanley on Sunday mornings and see the faces of the men and women coming to us for a good meal. It’s the exact same sentiment that courses through me when I know unequivocally that I must take action.

  Carver sits his paper down. “Thank you for the opportunity to present to you today.” He takes the seat next to me, running his hands down his thighs and heaving a sigh of relief.

  “Ms. Gallum,” Salvo says. “We would love to hear your side.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Before rising, I take another look at Carver. He’s watching me, a kind, soft smile on his face that partially masks the trepidation in his features. It’s obvious he’s nervous about what I’m going to say and the facts I’m going to show the board.

  “Gentlemen of the Board, thank you for this opportunity.” I cue the presentation on the screen behind me. It flickers to life, the opening slide bright against the wall. I start to give my opening line but stop.

  There’s a level of fear on Carver’s face that he tries to hide from me. I try to put myself in his shoes, to identify what specifically he’s fearful of, and fail. He knows that even if they choose my presentation over his, he’ll likely be offered the President’s seat. They’ve made that clear.

  He leans back in his chair with an uneasiness that I can’t force myself to feel.

  We both want this position, but maybe we want it for difference reasons. I want to make my parents proud, to fulfill some kind of destiny. I was born to do something. Carver wants this because Jones + Gallum is his something. It’s his destiny.

  Taking a deep breath, I face the board.

  “I may not have worked for this company before, but I have been deep in the trenches of others. I’ve interned at Fortune 500 companies, had seats in executive offices of businesses of various sizes, shapes, and orientations. Through all of it, there is one common denomination of the ones most successful. That’s passion.”

  Carver lifts a brow. I can’t help but smile at him.

  “Passion is the game changer, gentlemen. It’s the one key factor that takes your average mom-and-pop set-up and propels them into stardom. That’s how Jones + Gallum was able to get off the ground. My father and Carver’s father both felt an unbridled passion for this business. They were able to pour themselves into every aspect, draw from a creative place that simply cannot be accessed without a thirst for the subject at hand that’s at a level above all else.”

  I pace the room, looking at Salvo. “If you want our restaurants to succeed—and I don’t just mean making profit at the end of the year—if you want our holdings to flourish, you need to not just look at data and figures and statistics. Although those should not be ignored. You should pay close attention to the little details that will make or break your leader. That office will be your weakest link or your strongest asset.”

  “If you would’ve asked me only a couple of short weeks ago what I know about business, I would’ve read you a laundry list of bullet-pointed facts. They would all be true, don’t doubt that,” I add, making them chuckle, “but little did I know I was a little … jaded … by what I’d been taught in school.”

  Casting a glance at the man sitting in front of me, my heartstrings pull.

  “Your numbers up there are impressive, Ms. Gallum,” Salvo says, motioning towards the slide. “Would you like to discuss those?”

  “I wouldn’t, actually,” I say.

  “What are you doing?” Carver hisses, sitting up in his chair.

  “If you would like to select a CEO that will bring Jones + Gallum the spark of energy it needs, you should select Carver.”

  “What?” Carver exclaims, jumping out of his seat. “What are you doing, Amity?”

  “I’m doing what’s right.”

  “You can’t do this. I won’t let you.” He turns to the table. “Don’t listen to her.”

  “Ms. Gallum,” Salvo says over the chatter of the other members, “what is going on here?”

  “Amity,” Carver growls.

  “Carver, sit down.” I flash him a look. “You said your piece. Let me say mine.”

  “Then say it. Don’t mess everything up you’ve worked for.” He leans in, his eyes blazing. “You deserve this. I saw your presentation. Deliver it.”

  “Will you just sit down?” I laugh. “Please.”

  “Mr. Jones, she’s right,” Salvo says. “Please let Ms. Gallum continue with her statement.”

  With a frustrated glance my way, Carver drops into his chair. I wait until he’s settled and the board stops whispering amongst themselves.

  My hands fold in front of me. “It’s occurred to me in the past few days that my passion isn’t here. Not like this.” My heart fills with a warmth that’s amplified by the look on Carver’s face. “I’d be happy to assist Carver in whatever capacity he feels may be helpful to him, but I respectfully ask that my name be removed from consideration for this position.”

  “Are you absolutely sure, Ms. Gallum?”

  “All I can give you are numbers, Mr. Salvo. Passion will get you further than statistics ever will.” I clear my throat, feeling their gazes on me. “For the best interest of Jones + Gallum, coming from someone that wants only the best for this company, I ask that you appoint Carver CEO. Thank you,” I say, sitting back in my seat.

  “Well,” Salvo sighs, looking a little bewildered. “Give us a few minutes to talk this over, if you would.”

  I don’t look at Carver as I stand and walk to the door. I feel him behind me and sense his irritation and confusion as I enter the hallway. I don’t get but a couple
of steps outside the conference room before he swings me around to face him.

  “What did you just do?” he asks.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “Yes,” he laughs angrily. “I am. Why did you just do that?”

  “This is why. This feeling right here.”

  He runs his hands through his hair, pacing a circle. “I don’t understand, Amity. You had this thing locked up.”

  “Did I, Carver? I mean, yeah, it looked great on paper. And I do think you should take a look at some of my data and consider it as you go forward. But … it’s going to take a lot of heart, a lot of dedication to restore this company to the glory it once had. My heart isn’t in it.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say you’ll take the position when they offer it to you,” I say, reaching out and touching his cheek. “Say you’ll do all the things I know you will when you sit in that corner office—the one that’s slightly bigger than yours,” I wink, “and you’ll rock it. I know you will.”

  He leans forward, resting his forehead against mine. “I can’t believe you just did this.”

  “I didn’t do it just for you,” I whisper. “I did it for me. I did it for the future of Jones + Gallum.”

  “Will you help me?”

  “In what way?”

  “However you want to,” he grins. “You have brilliant ideas. Your data is staggering. If they choose me, come on board—whatever you’re comfortable with—and let’s figure out the best way to do this.”

  “Together?”

  “I hope we’re doing a lot of things together,” he says softly.

  “Me too,” I smile, lacing our fingers together.

  The door swings open and Salvo looks at us. He, too, looks a little worse for wear. “You can come back in now. We’ve reached our decision.”

  Eighteen

  Carver

  * * *

  Three months later …

  * * *

  “So, if we choose this option,” Priscilla says, circling a large swath of information with a red pen, “do you see how much catchier that is? Then we can branch off from there in a variety of ways, capturing more of your target customer base than if we just do just one.”

  “It’s perfect,” Amity says from her perch on my knee.

  They continue to go back and forth, discussing marketing strategies. Amity Lane will be up and running in twelve months or so, catering to the farm-to-table sector of the East Coast. I’ve never seen someone more excited about something than Amity is right now.

  Late one night, I sat in bed watching her sleep. I was thinking about how she had devoured pistachios the Hanley’s had sent us earlier in the week. It hit me around three in the morning—Jones + Gallum could open a subsidiary line of restaurants featuring Amity’s passion.

  I woke her up and told her my idea and I’m not sure she’s slept since.

  Every morning, we get up and talk shop before we even get out of bed. The days we happen to have an opening in our schedules, we meet for lunch and go over the day’s events and at night, over a late dinner and sometimes paperwork, we plan out the next day together.

  But that’s the thing—we do it together. It’s a built-in support structure, someone that understands the why’s and how’s and when’s. It’s an awesome feeling.

  Marcus catches my attention over Amity’s head. “Come here,” he mouths.

  I dig my hands into her hips, touching her in one of her favorite ways, and lift her up. Planting a kiss to the bare skin at the nape of her neck, I head towards my friend.

  “So, how does it feel?” he asks.

  “How does what feel?”

  “How does that feel?” He motions towards Amity. “I don’t mean it physically. I mean, are you happy? You doing good?”

  “I’ve never been happier.” I tip the bottle of beer in my hand towards him. “We’re going to head to California next week. You guys want to come?”

  “I’d love to. I haven’t been surfing in forever. But Priscilla has some big thing going on downtown for a friend of hers and I have to be around for the heavy lifting.” He takes a pull of his beer. “What are you going to Cali for?”

  “Amity has some friends there she wants to see, plus check out some locations for a branch of Amity Lane.”

  “I thought you guys were pulling back some of the expansion?”

  “We are. But Amity is the CEO of Amity Lane. She came to the table with facts that supported sticking a couple of locations on the other side of the country. It didn’t make sense at first, but she makes a good point.”

  “Priscilla makes great points,” he grins, wiggling his eyebrows. “Sometimes I disagree with her just so she really drives it home.”

  I chuckle, not doubting that for a minute.

  We look at our girls at the table on the patio of the house we’re renting outside of the city for the summer. They’re still going over numbers and marketing plans like most women look at shoe catalogues.

  “How’d we get so fucking lucky?” I ask, downing what’s left of my beer. “Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night just to make sure she’s still there.”

  “She’ll be there. You can quit that.”

  “How do you know?” I laugh.

  “Because I see the way she looks at you, man. Trust me. Have I ever led you astray?”

  “Do you really want me to answer that?”

  “Nope,” he says, “I don’t. But I do have another question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Priscilla was asking me if you’d mentioned getting married. She said she talked to Amity about it and she danced around the topic.”

  “Why does your wife care?”

  He sighs. “She really wants to stage a wedding to use for some product placement ads or something. You know Priscilla—it all goes back to business somehow.”

  “I think you can count us out for a wedding photo op,” I say, taking another swig of the beer. “We’re taking things slow and steady.”

  “Why?” Marcus looks baffled. “Why wouldn’t you just hustle to get that on lockdown?”

  “There’s no reason to.” I watch her throw her head back and laugh at something Priscilla said. She’s carefree and relaxed, just the way I want her. “When we get there, we get there. I’m in no hurry.”

  “I don’t get it,” he says as we head back to the table. “But whatever works for you.”

  We reach the girls and they look up. I wrap my arms around Amity and pull her back so she’s reclining against me. The sun begins to set over the bay, the sky a crazy mix of pinks and purples and oranges.

  “I was just thinking,” Priscilla says. “You got lucky snagging that girl, Carver. There aren’t many women I can truly say I respect on a certain level in this industry, but Amity is impressive.”

  “I know,” I say, kissing the top of her head as she snuggles against me. “I had to dazzle her with my boardroom performance.”

  “That’s not what she said,” Priscilla laughs.

  Crooking my neck so I can see Amity’s face, I furrow my brow. “What did you say?”

  “I said,” she drawls, “that you might’ve started winning me over in the boardroom, but you finally won me over in the bedroom.”

  * * *

  THE END

  To My Readers

  Dear Reader,

  * * *

  Thank you for reading Battle of the Sexes. I hope you love this little novella about Amity and Carver as much as I do!

  * * *

  This was meant to be a fun, snack-sized bite of fiction to whisk you from your day-to-day for a little bit. I’d written it for another project a few years ago and found it recently. Since it’s not a full-length novel like my other works, I wasn’t sure what to do with it. Ultimately, I decided giving it away seemed like the best solution.

  * * *

  If you haven’t read my books before, all of them are on Amazon, Audible, and are enrolled in Kindle Unlimited. If you
’re looking for a standalone novel, maybe you’d enjoy Wherever It Leads. If you love family series with some steam, try out Sway. If blue-collar men are your jam, click over to Crank. And if you’re in the mood for some feelings and angst, I think Sacrifice has your name written on it. ;)

  * * *

  To see all of my titles, click here.

  * * *

  I hope you’ll consider joining my Facebook Group or Goodreads Group. We’d love to see you and get to know you.

  * * *

  With love,

  Adriana

  A Taste of the Landry Family

  Sway

  * * *

  Chapter One

  Alison

  * * *

  “This is a single girl’s paradise.”

  “No,” I grimace, blotting the spilled cheese sauce from my shirt. “Paradise would be a tropical island with a hot cabana boy at my beck and call ... and an endless supply of mojitos.”

  Lola laughs, the sound barely heard over the chaos of the kitchen. Chefs shouting instructions, event planners panicking, plates being dropped—the world of catering is a noisy endeavor.

  I step to the side to allow Isaac, a fellow server and Lola’s gorgeous friend with benefits, to scamper to the ballroom a few feet away. He’s tall with a head full of dark curls and a laugh that makes you involuntarily smile. Lola is crazy for keeping him at arm’s length, but that’s how she operates. He has little money; she has limited interest.