“You still can’t say her name, can you?” He leans against the sandstone desk in the boardroom, a brow arched in challenge. “You’re still in love with Valencia, aren’t you?”
“Marcus…” I warn.
“What?”
“Let’s circle back to your explanation for the house party I suspect you hosted while I was up last night finalizing the meeting for today.”
He scoffs at my statement. “You knew from day one that I handle business differently.”
“And how is that? Care to enlighten me?”
Oh, how I’m looking forward to his answer the second his eyes roll. His gray button down is fine, but his ripped jeans violate all aspects of the company dress code. It also doesn’t escape my notice that he’s wearing a prohibited Seahawks snapback on backward, taming his short dark curls.
“Well, I deliver differently on deals…real different…”
“Go on.”
Marcus shrugs, unchanged as he lets it all loose. “Well, while you gift clients Dom Pérignon for their housewarming after a project is complete…I congratulate them by drinking the hell out of it myself.”
My heart sinks.
Someone. Tell. Me. I. Did. Not. Hear. That. Right.
Cocking my head to the side, I lean forward in my seat with narrowed eyes. “You do what?”
There is no way in hell that he would do this to me. Well, this is Marcus after all…
The idiot bursts out into rumbling laughter. “Oh my god! You should see your face right now!”
“You should feel my heart! Please tell me this is some sick joke.”
Wiping his eyes, he comes to and nods. “Don’t worry. I’m only messing with you, man.”
“I can only hope so.” Relief doesn’t begin to explain it but I’m still staring him down, fuming he would play his card like that. “But don’t joke around like that if you want to continue working here, Capisci?”
That dampens his sarcasm and rapidly alights a tense glare of his own. Like a raging bolt in the middle of an unpredictable storm, flashes of our tattered past fester as Marcus’ face darkens. The monstrous issues we usually reserve for outside office hours come alive. “The hell you will, Giulio.”
“You think I won’t?”
“You should think twice before pulling a stunt like that.”
“I should think twice. Really now?” I challenge as Marcus rises from his seat adjacent to mine and rounds the circular table until he’s right behind me. The smooth soles of my derby shoes pivot against the sleek concrete floors as I swivel my chair towards him.
My half-brother is smirking, arms crossed over his chest as if he owns the joint. “Oh, are you forgetting about something, brother? You’re smarter than that. We both know how it will go when it comes out that businessman Giulio Giannotti is—”
“That’s enough.” My jaw ticks as I stand, towering over both him and his goddamn ego.
“Oh, but I don’t think it is.” He chuckles coldly and for a flash of a second, I see my father standing before me because their grayish-brown eyes are identical. “If you fire me, you also fire your damn right to freedom. Remember? You can’t fire me or go against my wishes here. You owe me big time. So don’t you for one second think you’ve got the upper hand.”
“That doesn’t mean you mess with my company!”
“Why, yes it does. I thought you were a man who handles it all, are you not?’
“I am,” I hiss, feeling my shoulders tensing up. “I can handle anything you give me.”
“Good. Then handle my day to day and what Mr. Bryce McCarson is currently doing…”
Marcus knows he’ll never win this battle between us, yet he always attempts to raise my blood pressure with his calculating advances. Every fucking time he takes the left field this is what he resorts to: blackmail, and lucky for him, it’s enough to have me shut my mouth and keep him at the company.
My yellow gold Oyster Perpetual Rolex reads 2:45 P.M. but I need to confirm with the clock hanging in the hall outside the glass-walled boardroom before I fire somebody else instead. Bryce McCarson and the new intern, Miss Aguilar, are fifteen minutes late and I have yet to receive one phone call explaining why.
A classic McCarson move.
“McCarson is late because he’s praying to God. I can learn to handle your ass, but not his. He’s not family and has nothing in the slightest to do with our…” I clear my throat, shaking my head in disgust. “…agreement. You best believe today’s his last day if he’s a no show.”
“While he has nothing to do with the agreement, he’s still my mate. You can’t fire him.”
I almost laugh. “The hell I can’t. He’s been in for what? Three out of the forty hours this week?”
“Don’t care. You know the consequences…you owe me. And forget about what Bryce is doing right now…”
Right now?
Why does he keep on saying that?
Both Bryce and Miss Aguilar aren’t here…no…they couldn’t be…
“No…” I shake my head repeatedly with an unconvinced laugh. “He wouldn’t go there.”
“Wouldn’t he…?”
Fuck.
He. So. Would.
I take off rushing to the elevator and stab the eleventh floor button. Prove me wrong, McCarson. Prove me the fuck wrong. The second I’m in the interior design level, I almost crash into a man carrying a wooden side-table and quickly apologize before sprinting to his office.
This Brit is going to be the death of me. I have no words for this behavior. None. If my instincts are right, this will be the third time in the last two weeks he’s tested my patience in this exact manner.
Every move McCarson makes affects my business. My reputation is in the hands of the employees I hire. They’re highly educated, dedicated performers, and ace every single client brief… All except for one, Bryce McCarson.
I knock on his frosted glass door. “Are you decent?”
A woman’s giggle comes first, prior to Bryce’s unintelligible murmur.
For fuck sake.
Bryce has made me see red from the first day he strolled into my company, six hours late. Yeah, I wish I was lying.
