“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “Right. How could I forget. We’re using the ‘way back’ rule when it comes to running this place.”

  “This is one of those times when you stay in your lane, and I stay in mine.”

  “Ah. Yes. The lane you cross over like a drunk fuck waiting to crash and burn.” I stand up, put my hands in my pockets, and meet him glare for glare. “Can we get a show of hands of who thinks we should veer from the current path?”

  Silence permeates the room, everyone afraid to piss Rhett off out of loyalty and me off as the new boss.

  Rowan studies me with that quiet, inquisitive stare of hers. She knows I’m right. So does everyone else in this room.

  Rhett’s stupidity will bring down Porter in the end as well. Can’t say I’ll lose sleep over that when it happens, though.

  “Fine.” I hold my hands up. “Have it your way, Rhett. Give Greatland a three-month extension. Keep all our eggs in that basket. But if something happens and we lose Greatland without having any other aluminum suppliers, TinSpirits will come to a standstill. Output will be halted. Shelves will go bare. Jobs might have to be cut. You know me and my quick trigger finger. That’ll be on you, and everyone in this room will know it.”

  “It won’t,” Rhett says and glances at those around us to make sure they all know he just won this battle of wills.

  He won because I let him win.

  He won because I want to take Porter down too.

  “I’ll hold you to it,” I say while everyone begins to collect their things, more than ready to leave this room that now feels like it has turned into a boxing ring.

  “And Rowan?” I ask, giving her pause enough to look up and meet my eyes.

  “Hmmm?”

  “My door has remained open on purpose and you’ve yet to walk through it.”

  She continues to look at me, her expression stoic. She’s prim and proper today in her black slacks and cream-colored sweater that hugs her curves. But images of her from the parking lot in Fairmont the other day keep flashing in my mind.

  Her blue jeans and plain white shirt. Her hair down in soft waves. The natural pink of her lips and cheeks.

  Let it go, Holden.

  “I’m talking to you,” I say. She rises from her chair, her eyes locked on mine as she gathers her things. The only indication she gives that she heard me is a stilted pause and the lift of one eyebrow. “We need to finish our conversation where we left off.”

  And then she turns on her heel and walks from the room.

  I remain where I stand, each manager having to pass me on their way out. Some meet my eyes. Others don’t.

  I take note. I always take note.

  But it’s Rowan I watch walk down the hall.

  It’s Rowan I’m thinking about long after the last person is gone and I’m alone in the conference room. It’s her intelligence and her defiance that are beginning to appeal to me more and more.

  I’ve caught myself toggling back and forth between screens of information and images of her several times this week.

  It’s Rowan who is talking to a team of her colleagues in the hall, who meets my eyes over their shoulders and smirks. How cute. She thinks she has the upper hand.

  She doesn’t, goddammit.

  The woman is getting under my skin. I want to scratch her out of it.

  She can’t be there.

  I don’t want her to be.

  And yet I’m still staring at her as she talks, still wondering what the fuck is going through her head.

  Look away. Look the fuck away, Holden.

  Don’t let her know you think about her at all. Because she could—would—use it against you. Just as you’re doing to her.

  You’re too close to ruin everything now.

  Too fucking close.

  And yet when she finally turns to go into her office, I’m still staring at where she was.

  Still thinking about the woman I should put off-limits—but know I won’t.

  She’s part of the game.

  And sometimes games have consequences.

  FOURTEEN

  Rowan

  He called me out in front of the whole room.

  Put a fucking spotlight on me so that every manager in there thinks we have something going on that doesn’t exist. We need to finish our conversation where we left off. Created doubt in their minds over why he’d make that comment, as if I know something they don’t.

  Rumors. Rumors. And more rumors.

  If he thinks his comment will spark me to act now, he’s batshit crazy. Firing Joshua was a nice touch. The fucking prick deserved it, but the subtle threat Holden laid out there to all management was heard. Loud and fucking clear.

  And then to sit there like that, like he’s fucking king of the castle in the conference room, staring at me as if I owe it to talk to him.

  Fuck him.

  I stalk into my office, my cell already buzzing in my hand. I’m just about to sit down when I glance down to Chad’s text of WTF, Row? I’m out of my office in seconds, not giving a rat’s ass if Holden is still there staring, and head straight to Chad’s.

  “If you have something to say, just come out and say it to me,” I snap the minute I’ve cleared his doorway and have shut the door behind me.

  Chad stops mid-motion before slowly sinking into his chair. He has a dark blue shirt on today that makes his eyes stand out more than they normally do. His dirty-blond hair is cropped short but styled, and his skin is tanned from time spent in the sun, most likely playing golf.

  He’s not a bad guy by any means. He’s … he’s just Chad. The guy who has always been around. Rhett’s best friend. A guy I used to hunt crayfish with and who taught me how to drive stick shift in my pop’s old Ford truck. Someone who has been through way too much with the Rothschild family.

  Any spark between us is strictly platonic.

  But when Chad glances up and meets my eyes, the look he gives me says he’s more than curious about Holden’s comment.

  “What was that all about?” he asks in that calm, unruffled demeanor of his.

  “What was what all about? You two brought the guy in here, not me. Ask yourself that.”

  But I know exactly what his comment was about.

  My door is still open and you’ve yet to walk through it.

  “It just seems like…”

  “Like I have a less than lukewarm relationship with someone the two of you have forced me to work with? It’s not like I was given a say in the matter,” I say sarcastically. “You can’t have it both ways. You can’t tell me I have to get along with him and in the same breath hope I’ll remain at odds with him for your own sakes.”

  “You know what? Forget I asked.” He gives that easygoing smile of his. “I’m just being paranoid.”

  Why? I don’t voice the single syllable though. Because isn’t that how I’ve been feeling every second of every day as I resist the urge to tell Holden he’s right about both the direction we need to move marketing in and about giving me the chance to get my hands on everything else?

  “Don’t think I’ve forgotten what we talked about,” he says.

  “We’ve talked about a lot of things, Chad.”

  Like how much I despise Rhett. Like how unhappy I am with you just going along with this. Like how fucking livid I am that I have to even feel those feelings. So what is it, huh?

  He glances to the doorway to make sure no one is there before lowering his voice. “Ways to stop this from happening. I’ve got an idea or two but I’m not certain how feasible they are in the short time frame we have.”

  “The question is why now? Why think of these things now instead of before Rhett even agreed to them?”

  His Adam’s apple bobs, and his eyes glance toward the door and back. “I got caught up in the moment, okay?” he offers, a more than pathetic apology.

  I nod, studying him and letting his feckless excuse go in one ear and out the other. But hearing it and seeing how jumpy Chad is also gives me a bit of hope.

  I have no qualms playing all sides of this game that I never wanted to be a participant in. And if part of that strategy is exploiting Chad’s guilt over screwing me over by having him help me brainstorm ways to stop this bullshit buyout, then I’m all for it.

  “Row, you’re not saying anything.” He scrubs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I’m sorry. I … it’s a pitiful excuse but it’s true. We’ve been under all this stress trying to find a way out of this financial mess and then in walks the answer with Holden’s offer.”

  “It was too easy,” I say to try to get a reaction out of him. The slump of his shoulders and resigned nod are all I need to see to know he agrees.

  He lifts his eyes and gives me a halfhearted smile. A smile I buy because of our history but don’t completely trust because of what he kept from me. “There have to be some options. We just need to figure out where and how and who we need to help us.”

  “Agreed, but I have to admit, every day feels a little more hopeless than the one before. Besides, my brother’s on board with this. He may have just put on a show in the boardroom—big man on campus—but he’s still one hundred percent behind it.”

  “He wouldn’t have agreed to it if he weren’t.” He looks around the room. “The cash influx and a win in the election will allow us to move forward with finding a new location to build our own distribution center. A cheaper location and cost than what we’re spending now. If we bring things in-house, we can control so much more. Holden’s purchase gives us the funds to make changes like that, and they’ll net us long-term returns.”

  “Anything can look good on paper,” I murmur. “Case in point.” I point to an ad sitting on the corner of his desk. It’s my body, the side of my face, the newest TinSpirits product—a canned Moscow mule—in my hand. “Airbrushing does me wonders.”

  Chad’s eyes narrow and his expression softens. “You’re so full of shit. They haven’t retouched a single thing. You’re gorgeous, Row. Always have been,” he says so quietly that I know it’s my cue to exit.

  No need to get caught in this emotional quicksand.

  “We should talk about it later,” Chad continues. If he sees my sudden discomfort, he’s oblivious to it. “Over drinks or something. Somewhere private where we can talk more freely.” He glances toward the ceiling and then around his office. “For all we know this place is bugged.”

  He is paranoid.

  But he probably has cause to be. I wouldn’t put anything past Holden Knight. Besides, at this point, Chad knows Holden better than me.

  And drinks with Chad? That’s a no-go. I learned a long time ago not to feed that fire of speculation. One night of drinks leads to squealing phone calls from both our mothers, who literally have our wedding planned and are waiting for the word “go.”

  That’s the last thing I need right now.

  “The one thing you can count on around here is not being able to count on anything,” I say with a despondent smile.

  Chad nods. “It might turn out, you know. This thing with Holden coming in.”

  Quit playing both sides, Chad.

  I rise and head toward the door, turning back to look at him before I walk through it. “For what it’s worth, I think Holden’s right.”

  “About Greatland?”

  “Yes. About Greatland.” Rhett’s expression when Holden called him out flashes in my mind. My stomach turned because I know my brother—well enough to know that the look on Rhett’s face meant he’s getting a whole hell of a lot more back from Porter and Greatland than a few rounds of golf every year. For a man who’s loyal to no one, Rhett sure as shit is loyal to them being our sole supplier. “It’s basic economics. You know that. Rhett knows that. Holden knows that. What I can’t quite figure out is why you guys decided to bring in someone to make changes and fix things, and yet you’re fighting the changes.”

  Chad just looks at me, that muscle ticking in his jaw, but doesn’t say a word.

  Exactly.

  Your silence means you’re part of the problem too, Chad.

  I leave his office with a simple nod. My stomach wobbles and I draw in a deep breath. But I was silent too.

  I think back to earlier this morning when I was sitting at my desk, staring at a blinking cursor on an open Word document, when the realization hit me.

  Is that what Rhett was expecting—maybe even Chad? That I’ll remain silent and not rock the boat? That I’ll be so angry with him for this mess that I riot against Holden while my brother maneuvers me out of a job? God knows he’d have the support of my mom to do this too.

  The thought sickens me, but it’s not one I can afford to overlook. And the more I think about it, dwell on it, obsess over it, the more it makes sense.

  A cough down the hall brings me back to the present. I sink back in my chair, close my eyes, and sigh.

  A bottle of wine. Watching the sun set from my back porch. My dog, Winnie, chasing bugs around the backyard.

  That’s what I need right now—to decompress. To get away from this place after a long, hellish week. Besides, it’s not like I’m getting any work done anyway.

  I gather my things and start to leave but make the mistake of glancing down the hallway. The floor is quiet, office lights are out, and doors are shut. All except for one.

  Of course he’s still here.

  I don’t know why, but I head toward his office. It’s almost as if I can’t figure where my own loyalties lie, and frankly, I’m so sick of thinking about it.

  I’m supposed to hate the man out of principle. He’s made it more than easy with how much of a dick he’s been, and yet there have been glimpses of him—the night at the auction, the parking lot in Fairmont—that make me believe if the buyout weren’t involved and I’d met him somewhere random, let’s say, I’d be drawn to him.

  Not because of his wealth, but more because of his confidence. His defiance. His lack of giving a fuck about who and what he is.

  “Yes?” Holden says through the open doorway as I stand there.

  I want to be annoyed that he knows I’m here, to tell him to go to hell, but I find myself walking through the doorway. He’s sitting with his feet propped up and crossed at the ankles, resting on the corner of his desk. His fingers are laced behind his head. His shirt is rolled up to the elbows showcasing his sculpted forearms and expensive watch. He’s ditched the tie he had on earlier and the top two buttons of his dress shirt are undone.

  He looks tired.

  It’s the first time I’ve seen Holden Knight look anything but perfect, and I hate that it humanizes him. Probably because he looks exactly how I feel right now.

  He lifts his eyebrows in response to me standing there and staring at him.

  “You came to say you know I’m right. That keeping suppliers in the family, so to speak, isn’t good business.”

  “How did you know all that? About Rhett and the kickbacks?”

  He studies me, his lips pursed, his eyes intense. “I know everything, Rowan.”

  I’m not certain if that’s meant as a statement or a warning but I sure as hell don’t like the chuckle he emits after saying it. Chills chase up and down my spine and they’re only running because there is more going on here. That much I know is true.

  “Your game is already getting old,” I say.

  “You mean the one where I’m trying to pit everyone against each other so I can see who has real integrity?”

  I open my mouth and close it, surprised that he just admitted that so blatantly.

  “What? You don’t expect honesty, Rowan? I do. At all times.”

  “You love this, don’t you? Sowing chaos. Creating confusion. Making us all doubt each other.”

  He nods unapologetically. “Very much, in fact.”

  “But why?” I step farther into the room and lean my back against the doorjamb. “You’re not making any friends here with your little chest-thumping competitions against Rhett.”

  He grins. “You say that like you think I care.”

  “You should. The people standing on the sidelines watching are the ones who are going to implement whatever changes you make. They have to trust you. Look up to you. Respect you.”

  “And they respect Rhett?” he asks, alert and astute. It’s a simple question and yet I find myself hesitating because he knows as well as I do that they most likely don’t. Whereas this company is my legacy, for most of them it’s simply a paycheck that supports their families. “Employees respect the person who keeps the doors open and the paychecks coming. Every single person in that room knew I was right, and not a single person said so. Including you. That gives me pause.”

  “Meaning?”

  His gaze fixes on mine. “You tell me. Would you want someone managing you who’s afraid to go against the grain? Who’s afraid of making changes for the sake of the company’s success?”

  He’s right. He knows it and worst of all, he knows that I know it.

  “Maybe I didn’t speak up because I wanted to avoid getting involved in your and Rhett’s pissing match.”

  “And maybe I expected more from you.” He angles his head to the side as I bite back the unwelcome feeling of disappointment.

  Why do I care what he thinks of me?

  But I do, and I hate that I do.

  “You want to run this company, Sunshine, but you’re afraid to speak up and ruffle feathers. That means you’re not ready.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “There’s a lot more to running a company than understanding how to market a product or look pretty selling it.”

  Ah, the asshole who pisses me off has made his appearance. That didn’t take long. “There you go discounting me. Again.”

  “Stating facts isn’t discounting you. It’s calling it like I see it.” He shifts, puts his feet on the floor, and sits forward with his hands on his desk.

  Energy courses through me, making me stroll around the office like I own the place. Probably because up until two weeks ago, I did—or at least my family did.