“You told me.”
“I never told you his name.”
Van’s jaw clenched. “Do you want to fuck him back?”
I took a step away and walked toward the window, looking out on snow-blanketed Ashland. The snow globe had settled over a quaint community. “I told you, we never—”
Van was behind me, his warmth on my back, and his breath at my collarbone, sending chills over my skin. “Figuratively, Julia. Marry me.”
I spun around until my breasts were against his strong solid chest. Tilting my chin upward, I asked, “What?”
“It can be in name only. You’ll live with me. Sex will be...discussed. As of this morning, I own twenty-one percent of the shares of Wade. Marry me and send Skylar and Marlin Butler into bankruptcy or at least out of Wade Pharmaceuticals.”
“I don’t know how you know this. Did you save me for this reason?”
He laughed. “I had no idea who you were, just as you didn’t know who I was.” He lifted my left hand as he pulled something from his suit coat pocket. “I’m well aware that you don’t need money, but you do need controlling interest in your family’s company. Your father’s paranoia is justified, just not coming from the direction he believes. Marlin Butler has been in negotiations with two large pharmaceutical companies. He has plans for Wade. He’s been biding his time, waiting for his son to marry you to make himself very wealthy at the expense of your family’s company.”
I couldn’t believe what Van was saying and at the same time, I did. I imagined a grand scheme orchestrated by Marlin Butler. I knew deep down that he was capable of what Van suggested.
Did Skylar know? Was he part of the plan or an unknowing pawn like myself?
“Marry me, Julia. You don’t need the money, but together, we’ll secure controlling interest in Wade Pharmaceutical and as a bonus, I’ll enjoy watching the Butlers squirm.”
“Van, I...I don’t know you.”
“You know what it’s like to have me inside you.” His voice dropped an octave, twisting my core. “You yourself said you and Butler never went that far. You were going to marry a man you didn’t really know, one who fucked your best friend. Marry one who you know can satisfy you.”
Still holding my left hand, Van turned mine palm up and laid something light in my grasp. When his hand moved, I saw it. A white ribbon.
“Say yes. Say the white ribbon brought us together.”
My heart beat against my breastbone as I stared down at the coiled ribbon in my hand. When I looked up, his emerald stare was on me.
“Come, Miss McGrath, I require an answer.”
“If I say yes, is that my invitation to you?”
“Are you asking if the rest is up to me, if from now on I’m in control?”
I nodded, remembering what he’d said as he joined me in the bed.
“Do you regret following that rule in the cabin?”
“No, but even you said that rules have exceptions.”
“Not that one. My rule hasn’t changed. My control will reign in public and private.” He grinned. “That doesn’t mean I won’t enjoy your plays for power. Let’s see where this ribbon leads. Marry me.”
“Will I regret it?” I asked, recalling Van’s warning from before.
“Less than you’d regret marrying Butler.” His eyebrows rose. “Your answer?”
It was the most insane thing I’d ever contemplated doing, and I’d contemplated more than a few less-than-sane things over my twenty-four years.
Seeing Van with my small hand in his, for the first time, I felt the flutter that was supposed to accompany this question. With his intense gaze shining down on me, it was only the two of us, as it had been in that cabin. There was no room full of people and no big presentation. My answer wouldn’t incite cheers and applause. No one would hear it except the man who proposed.
There wasn’t even a ring, only a white ribbon.
I closed my fingers around the ribbon. “Yes, Van, I’ll marry you.”
* * *
THE END
* * *
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Tangled Web
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Cunning
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Once Upon a Snowstorm
By Jennifer Bene
For Livia Grant, my author bestie and emotional support human who helped me get through the darkness to find the light of Brinnah and Flint’s story. I hope it brings a little bit of light to all of you lovelies, too.
Brinnah
There’s nothing about me that makes me stand out from a crowd, but Flint Etheridge won’t stop looking at me.
I’m sure it’s because I’m not technically supposed to be here. Yes, it’s my training concept, and yes, I did argue with my boss to be here for the pitch, but I didn’t expect my childhood crush to be sitting at the other end of the table.
I should have done my research.
I should have known.
It’s my own fault for walking into this meeting like a fucking idiot. If I’d taken five minutes to search ColdPoint Enterprises I would have seen his picture somewhere on their website, then I could have had some warning that the boy I used to know as ‘Flintstone’ was now just ‘Flint,’ or rather ‘Mr. Etheridge,’ the owner and CEO of the company that’s supposed to be my breakout project.
This is all wrong.
This company was supposed to need my expertise. I was supposed to show up with a unique approach to leadership training that would right the ship of ColdPoint Enterprises and get them back on track — which, I have. I mean, I definitely have that. It’s why I’m here.
But Flint Etheridge was lanky and awkward the last time I saw him, and he’s… definitely not now. He’s also definitely not supposed to be staring at me.
I casually glance in his direction, pretending to
skim the faces of the other people present for the meeting before I look at him again and, yep, he’s still staring. Why?
Does he remember me? There’s no way. We were only friends for a couple of years before his parents moved to Massachusetts, and it’s not like we were best friends. Our friend groups had just collided and stuck, like some kind of messy car crash that he had extradited himself from in seventh grade.
There’s no way he remembers me. I’ve got boring brown hair that sometimes looks nice in the right kind of sunlight, at the right angle, or if I’ve recently got highlights, but it’s nothing special. I don’t have the complexion of a movie star, and I’ve definitely missed more than a few trips to the gym, but he’s still looking at me. Wearing that little smirk that has me shifting in my seat and definitely not paying attention to my boss’s lazy attempt at pitching my training concept that he obviously didn’t even read completely.
Normally, I’d speak up about now to elaborate on his pathetic attempt at summarizing my plan, but how am I supposed to do anything at all when Flintstone has turned into ‘Flint,’ the incredibly hot — and apparently very successful — CEO who won’t stop looking at me?
“Ms. Grosset, is there anything you’d like to add?” Luke Butler, my idea-stealing douchebag of a boss, looks at me and I manage a small smile as I push myself to my feet and nod.
“Yes, thank you.” Clearing my throat, I walk to the end of the table and flip through several slides of the PowerPoint I put together that Luke didn’t actually use. Settling on the slide reflecting their current trends, I face the table and try not to look Flint in the eye. “As you can see, when we were planning out a training program for your leadership team, we focused on the areas of opportunity your own data identified. Let’s begin with turnover.”
Back in my element, it’s easier to block out Flint’s intense gaze, and the delicious way his lips purse when he’s thinking. It’s hard, but I continue to discuss all of the data and details I reviewed about the company that somehow skipped completely over the CEO himself.
How did I miss this?
I can feel a blush spreading into my cheeks as I talk, bringing heat to my face, but I try to ignore it — which is working about as well as ignoring Flint Etheridge’s thoughtful nods and thought-provoking smirks.
Just as I reach a stopping point, my boss interrupts. “Thank you, Brinnah, for that detailed analysis of our training strategy. Let’s see what questions everyone has.”
“Of course.” Swallowing, I hold the clicker in my hand with a death grip, trying to look as relaxed as possible while I force that polite, girl-in-a-meeting smile that I hope won’t threaten the old white guys in the room, or make the only other female in the meeting feel like I’ve damaged all the progress we’ve made in corporate America. It’s a tightrope walk of balance, but I feel like I’ve spent enough time in this particular circle of hell to do it well — and based on the vague smiles and nods around the table, it seems I’ve done okay.
Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. Don’t look—
I look. I can’t help it. My gaze drifts over the random faces I don’t know to return to those indulgent brown eyes that I thought of too often in middle school.
Flint ‘Flintstone’ Etheridge was my dream guy. Almost a year older than me, so well-spoken even then, he’d loved anime as much as me and been the kind of guy that I could chat with after any movie we saw with our group of friends. I’d dreamed of the day he might ask me out… but looking at him now I know he’s squarely out of my league.
There’s not even a competition.
He’s the head of an extremely successful company, likely very rich, and definitely very handsome. I’m nobody in comparison to him. A peon. Plus, it’s been twenty years, and he probably has no idea who I am — he probably doesn’t even remember me — but why the hell is he still staring at me like that?
A few people around the table ask questions, which my boss answers, and I occasionally add on a robotic addendum to politely correct his bullshit. Eventually, it seems like we’ve nabbed the contract to provide leadership training services to ColdPoint, but I have to admit I haven’t been paying close enough attention to tell for sure.
I blame Flint.
If he’d take his eyes off me for more than a few seconds I’d be able to breathe, collect myself, but he hasn’t even allowed me that much.
Did I spill something on my shirt this morning?
It’s tempting to check, but since I’m still awkwardly standing at the front of the table, it would be too obvious to look. Instead, I flip through my PowerPoint until the screen goes dark and then set the clicker down to return to my seat. I laugh along with everyone else at whatever joke I missed while spiraling in my own personal pit of self-loathing and manage a passing glimpse at my blouse as I take my seat.
No obvious stains, but Flint fucking Etheridge is still smiling at me like he knows something I don’t.
What the hell is it? Is there something in my teeth?
“Thank you so much for coming in today, Mr. Butler,” Flint says, and his voice reminds me of the one I remember… except it’s better. Deeper, more resonant, and I hate myself for the flicker of arousal that rushes down my spine at the sound of it. Standing up, he nods at my boss who looks like he’d lick Flint’s shoes for a chance at this contract, and then he stares right at me again. “We have a few more things to decide on, but we’ll get back to you soon with our decision.”
“Thank you, Mr. Etheridge, and everyone. Higher Thought would love to partner with you in your training plans,” Luke replies, and I nod politely in agreement as everyone stands. As we all gather our things and move toward the exit, and the coffee and pastries waiting outside in the hall, I watch as Luke shakes hands with the others around the table. He’s wearing that smarmy grin that I hate so much, the one that screams ‘salesman’ instead of ‘training partner’ — which is what we’re supposed to be — but he’s never understood the difference, and why should I expect him to? He got to walk into this job without a single question, or the experience any of us needed to get our jobs, and I’m used to his utter ignorance by now.
Nepotism at its fucking worst. That’s Luke Butler to a T.
Just as I’m about to grab a danish, mostly just to keep myself from correcting him in public again, I feel a hand on my arm, and I turn right into those deep brown eyes that steal my breath away.
“Hey, Brinnah.”
“Hey, Flintstone,” I reply, and immediately regret it. It wasn’t conscious, it was some kind of reflexive word vomit that makes me want to sink through the floor, but Flint just laughs and grins at me.
“Wow, it’s been forever since I’ve heard that.” He shakes his head, sending his dirty blond hair fluttering over his forehead before he corrals it with a casual brush from his fingers. For a moment I can’t think straight because I would have bet anything that he didn’t remember me at all, but he confirms it in the next few words. “This is crazy, I can’t believe it’s you.”
“Yeah, it’s wild,” I mumble, still in awe that he’s this gorgeous and remembers me and is actually talking to me.
“You know, I really hate these formal meetings. How about you and I have a real brunch and catch up while we talk over this training concept together?”
“Um, okay. Sure,” I reply, unsure if my voice was even audible, but then his fingers are firmly on my elbow, leading me past the others, and all I can do is shrug at Luke when he stares at me in shock. If I had a moment to explain myself, I’d tell my boss I was feeling just as surprised to have run into my middle school crush, but there’s no opportunity.
It seems like between one breath and the next I’m in the elevator, taking a deep breath of Flint’s intoxicating cologne and trying to figure out what tree it reminds me of when he presses the down button.
What have I got myself into?
Flint
It’s hard to believe that Brinnah is standing next to me in my company’s building, but
she is. In black tights, a charcoal skirt, and a white blouse that leaves more to the imagination than most of the women that show up to meetings with me.
But I’ve always had a great fucking imagination and I love using it.
She’s got soft curves, barely hinted at by her choice of clothes, and it has my mind spinning at the possibilities of what’s underneath — not that there’s any guarantee I’ll get to find out. But I’ve always been driven when I see something I want, and I’ve wanted Brinnah Grosset since I was eleven. Back then all I wanted was the chance to kiss her, but now I’d be interested in a lot more if the lack of a wedding ring and her agreement to lunch means she’s single.
Fuck, my head is moving way too fast. Ideas and plans rotating as I glance down at my phone to open up a text to my assistant before tucking my phone back in my pocket to text unseen — a handy skill when I’m stuck in meetings most of the time, and right now it’s paying off because it’s letting me get a better look at her. When we were younger, we were about the same height, but now she just comes up to my shoulder and it makes me want to throw an arm around her and pull her close. I want to bury my nose in that auburn hair that used to distract me when we were all hanging out at the park and memorize what kind of shampoo she uses. Probably something soft, like her.
Shit.
I’m definitely staring again, which is probably starting to freak her out. Hell, I basically just stole her from her boss and walked out with her without even telling my team where I was going, and with the plan unfurling in my mind it’s trending a lot closer to a straight-up abduction, but how can I pass up this opportunity?
I Have Lived And I Have Loved: A Charity Romance Collection Page 41
