I never much liked him and even less so now that I know there has been some unsavory conduct going on—so I might just take a little glee in seeing him sweat. Literally.

  “Rowan? Our driver is waiting,” Holden says, eyebrows raised, and tone implying we’re leaving and why am I not following.

  Which I do, but only because I have no choice. We drove the short distance to Greatland together and in silence—his eyes on mine as I held my ground and didn’t cave. Juvenile and petty but so satisfying for him to realize that I don’t tremble every time he looks at me.

  Plus, I was still processing what I’d uncovered and trying to figure out how to broach it.

  He is about five paces ahead of me as we cross the parking lot to the waiting town car. Apparently, Holden Knight is too cool to drive himself anywhere.

  “I know what you’re doing,” I call out to him, the information that has been eating a hole in my gut burning to get out.

  “What’s that?” he says without stopping.

  “What, are you too chickenshit to face me?”

  His feet falter, as do mine, until he stops completely. When he turns to face me, he’s wearing the same chilled smile he gave Porter. “Hardly. Is whatever this is the reason you’ve been glaring at me all day? I’m not the Wicked Witch of the West, Sunshine. I don’t wither away.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Has something caused that stick to be shoved farther up your ass or is that just a new accessory I need to get used to? Because … you don’t scare me, Rowan.”

  “I should.”

  “Your confidence is admirable, but you don’t exactly know who you’re dealing with.”

  “But I do.”

  His eyes spark with fire. “Googling me yet again? And here I thought you couldn’t stand me.”

  It’s all fun and games with him. It’s all quick comebacks and little quips. It’s clearly all smoke and mirrors.

  “Let me guess, you uncovered the choir boy and Cub Scout shit. Shhh.” He winks as he jokes. “Don’t tell. It’ll ruin my image.”

  “You’re buying TinSpirits to dismantle it and sell it off piece by piece, aren’t you?” I say, cutting to the chase, my eyes trained on his every motion, waiting to see a flicker of hesitancy to know I’m right.

  He raises an eyebrow and laughs—not a stutter anywhere. “You’re just a regular Nancy Drew, aren’t you? Inventing problems so you can fulfill your god complex and save the day?”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I grit out.

  “Wasn’t aware I had to.” He moves to the car and opens the door, waiting for me to get in.

  I don’t move.

  The chuckle he emits in response is grating at best and arrogant at worst. “Is this why you had the staring contest with me on the way over here? Trying to map out in your head how to approach me? How to confront me? Did it turn out how you imagined?” I scowl. He smirks. “It never does, does it.”

  I move toward him and stop right in front of him. “Graden Microchips. Hager Circuit Boards. Prodigy Peripherals.” I lift my eyebrows.

  “All are companies I’ve purchased, yes.”

  “All are companies you’ve purchased and then dismantled, selling parts to the highest bidders.”

  “Your point?” He lifts a lone brow, and it takes everything I have not to wipe the smirk off his face.

  “Is that what you’re planning on doing to my company?”

  His smile tilts lopsided. “You mean to my company?”

  “Answer the goddamn question, Knight.”

  “Oh, I love it when you talk to me like that.” And then in a completely unexpected move, he reaches out and tucks an errant piece of hair behind my ear. His hand lingers on the side of my face, his eyes darkening in the bright sunlight.

  I freeze. Mad for wanting the touch and confused that I do all at the same time.

  My pulse thunders in my ears and my skin tingles.

  And just as quickly as the moment happens, Holden snaps his hand back and clears his throat as if it didn’t happen.

  Or he’s pissed that it did.

  His eyes that a moment ago were dark with desire are now guarded and cold. “I’m not buying the company to sell it off.”

  “I have your word on that?” I ask, my heart still decelerating.

  He purses his lips and tilts his head, silent for a beat before saying, “You have my word.”

  And when I get in the car and he slides in beside me, not another thing is said between us on our trip back to the office.

  His thigh presses against mine and I hate that it draws my thoughts back to the feel of his hand on my face. To the look in his eyes.

  And then I remember who he is and the threat of what he’s doing.

  Do I believe him?

  I don’t believe anybody at this point and for good reason.

  But why is he willing to pump so much money into a company he’s going to rip apart? That’s not good business and if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my searches, it’s that Holden Knight is a sharp businessman. So why would this time be any different?

  Our conversation replays in my head all day. I analyze every sentence and each exchange. And when I finally leave the office, I come to the conclusion that I need to tell someone what’s going on.

  I might not need help now, but that doesn’t mean I won’t need to bounce something off someone in the future.

  I slide behind the wheel of my car and dial one of the only people in this town other than Caroline who would remain loyal to me in a crisis. Someone who has zero ties to TinSpirits and the like.

  “Holy shit. You are alive,” Sloane says in greeting.

  “I am.”

  “You’ve been missing Wine Wednesday. Like, a lot of Wine Wednesdays,” she teases.

  “I’ve been rather busy,” I say as I glance up to the light on in Holden’s office and then shake the feeling away that he’s watching me.

  “I’ve heard.” She hums. “I have a feeling that ‘busy’ of yours is why you’re calling me.”

  “Would you be offended if I said yes?” I ask, hope laced through my tone. I’ve ditched socializing but then have no problem calling her up and asking for her legal advice. Nothing screams one-sided friendship like that.

  “No. Never.” I can all but feel her smile through the line. “I’m here to listen. To bounce things off of. And when you want advice, all you have to do is tell me, ‘Hey, this is the part I want advice on,’” she says.

  “You know I love you, right?” I say, a smile on my lips for the first time in hours.

  “Yes. I do. Now start talking.…”

  NINETEEN

  Rowan

  Music blasts through my headphones. The funky beat helps to erase the tension from the kind of day only a Monday can bring. The market analysis I’d worked on all weekend somehow managed to lose all my updates. A graphic designer we’ve used religiously for the past few years took on a new client and for some reason that I can’t get her to explain is dropping us midway through a new campaign. The board—where I technically don’t have a seat yet—sent out a letter to me about their displeasure over my new hair color.

  Essentially a “blondes have more fun” decree requesting I dye my hair back to its natural color.

  Then there’s Holden.

  In my doorway when I’d look up, shoulder against the jamb, an indecipherable smile on his face. Behind me in the company lunchroom when I was getting coffee so that his crisp, clean scent screwed with my senses. Summoning me to his office time and again for something he could simply ask about over the phone intercom. Then stopping me in the parking lot on the way out, asking me for opinions on things that normally Rhett handles.

  And then seeming to be genuinely interested in my responses.

  Chaos and confusion.

  That’s what I’ve felt since he barged into my life. Especially since that moment at Greatland last week that frequents my mind way more than I’d like to admit to.

  For fuck’s sake, stop thinking about him, Row. You’re here to clear your head, not screw it up more.

  I climb down off the elliptical and wipe the sweat from the back of my neck. People mill about, lifting free weights, waiting for machines, or shooting the shit with club employees. When a bench in the free weight area opens up in the far corner of the gym, I quickly move that way before it gets taken.

  I mouth the lyrics to the song, maybe even sway my hips to the beat a little, while purposefully choosing to be oblivious to those around me. I’m not here to meet men. I’m here to work out. I’ve found that keeping my head down and my eyes focused on what I’m doing prevents most unwanted advances.

  I begin my routine and am on my second time through when I look at my reflection in the mirrored wall and see Holden standing about twenty feet away.

  He’s in the middle of his own workout. His dark green tank top is loose and showcases tanned, muscular biceps that flex with each curl-up of his arms. His shoulders are broad, his face a furrow of concentration, and the tendons in his neck are taut.

  When he finishes his repetitions and sets the dumbbells on the floor, he proceeds to lift the hem of his tank to wipe the sweat from his chin.

  It’s a casual movement, one you see in the gym all the time, but if I wasn’t paying attention before, I sure as hell am now. I’m graced with an array of dips and dents of sculpted abs and the faintest hint of a happy trail that disappears beneath a pair of gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips.

  Well, well, well, Holden Knight looks good in a suit, but even more spectacular out of it.

  Like there was any doubt.

  But Jesus, seeing it and thinking it are two vastly different things.

  Why are you thinking about that, Rowan?

  I should be working out.

  Stop looking.

  I should be minding my own business.

  Stop gawking.

  Yet, I stand there like an idiot admiring a man who is just as beautiful as he is mysterious.

  He is the enemy. But what a beautiful enemy he is.

  I’m just about to look away when Holden glances up and meets my eyes—like he knew I was standing there staring at him—and a slow, knowing smile crawls over his lips.

  My stomach shouldn’t flutter. In fact, I’m pissed that it does, and so the only response I allow myself to give is a curt nod before turning back to my own workout.

  But I was stupid to think the man who happened to be everywhere I was today is going to be content with a simple nod.

  Irritated at myself for my reaction and at him for being here, I slam an extra plate on each side of the barbell and lie down on the bench. Just as I lift it off the rack and lower the bar to my chest, Holden’s face appears over me and upside down from mine.

  “Sunshine,” he says by way of greeting.

  I grit my teeth, close my eyes, and push the bar up, trying to ignore him. It’s not an easy feat when his cologne is in my nose and if I look back, his crotch is right there.

  Maybe he’ll just go away.

  I’m on my fourth rep when I realize, in my irritation of him being here, I put way too much weight on the bar. I’m strong for my size, but there’s no way I’m going to be able to finish this set, let alone lift the bar high enough to get it to the resting bar. A strangled groan escapes my lips as I try to get it there.

  “Want me to spot you?” The bar suddenly gets lighter, and as much as I do need the spot, I grip tighter to it so that he can’t take it out of my hands.

  “No. I’m fine. I don’t need your help.” I open my eyes to see his hands on either side of mine holding the bar. “Let go.”

  Holden doesn’t release it. “I expected you to be the type who only works out at the country club.”

  I snort. “No, thanks.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I’m here to work out. Not to be seen. Not to be gossiped about. Not to be invited to god knows what function I don’t give a flying fuck about.”

  “So you don’t like the Westmore Country Club then?” He angles his head to the side as he stares down at me.

  “All I want is to work out. Ninety minutes in, out, and done.”

  He smirks. Only a man would listen to that and hear an innuendo. “In. Out. Done,” he repeats with a hint of mischief in his eyes that I can recognize even upside down.

  “Can you go away, please?” I mutter as I fight with him over the bar that he’s still holding. “You’re making it hard to concentrate.”

  And you’re confusing me.

  One minute—well, the majority of the time—he’s an asshole, and now all of a sudden he’s cute and charming. I don’t want him to be that. I don’t want him to make me smile or want to talk to him.

  What in the hell is going on?

  “It’s the guns, right?” He lifts the bar even higher so that he can flex. “They’d ruin anyone’s concentration.”

  “Go away.”

  “Oh, the abs, then?”

  “Very far away.”

  He leans farther over so that his face is just over the bar he’s holding and whispers, “I’d say it’s the quads, but that would require me to pull my pants down to show you. Then we’d have to deal with the whole ‘you wouldn’t be able to resist me even more than you already do’ thing, and it might get messy.”

  I fight an irritated smile, but it’s a smile nonetheless. Holden’s words, or rather his demeanor, are so different from what I’m used to. “What is going on here?” I ask more to myself than to him.

  “We’re talking. Chatting.”

  “You don’t chat.”

  “No?”

  “No. You brood. You plot. You scheme. You attempt to ruin people’s lives. You don’t chat.”

  He flashes a grin that would make a lesser woman weak in the knees. “Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf.” He shrugs. “Stranger things have happened.”

  Charming isn’t exactly a word I’d use to describe Holden Knight and yet here he is, being just that. And who could have guessed that when he turned it on, it would make him even more devastating than he already was?

  “Can I have your asshole nature and my bar back, please?” The tug of war continues, except it seems like I’m the only one that has to put any effort into it.

  “Why? I rather like this conversation we’re having. You’ve yet to think I’m an asshole or a prick—at least that’s a guess considering I caught you ogling me a few minutes ago. I’d say we should keep this going.”

  “I wasn’t ogling you.”

  He snorts. “I’ll let you think that so you can keep your pride intact. It’s better for our working relationship that way.”

  “Why are you following me?”

  “I’m not.”

  “How did you know I was going to be here?”

  “I didn’t. Like you, I prefer ‘in, out, and done.’ Maybe a little more added pleasure in there for good measure between the ‘in’ and the ‘out’ parts, but that’s just personal preference.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “While working out? That’s counterproductive.”

  “Then what is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing.” He grins. “Maybe I’m just finding my footing.”

  Or maybe you’re using reverse psychology on me so that I start to like you.

  The problem? It’s working.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to spot you? I mean, this bar is going to feel pretty heavy once I let go.”

  I hold tight to my anger because I don’t want his charm to work. This time when I try to take the bar and say, “I’m fine,” Holden lets me.

  I struggle under its weight, my arms tired and my head not as focused as it should be. But I am determined not to show it as Holden stands there and watches me struggle through five more reps.

  I refuse to let him think I’m weak.

  And when I rack the bar and let my arms collapse to my sides, he chuckles. “Great job. Now tell me in the morning when you’re unable to move your arms because they’re so sore that not accepting help was worth it.” He gives a nod and then heads back over to his own workout without another word.

  I sit up and stare after him. Annoyed. Irritated. Confused. Needing to look away as he does squats on the rack but finding it hard to.

  “Weak woman,” I mutter to myself. A great body doesn’t negate who he is and what he stands for.

  As if on cue, Holden glances my way and flashes yet another grin that has me turning my back to him so I can concentrate.

  But there are mirrors. Everywhere there are freaking mirrors to the point that I have to look at the floor to avoid seeing him.

  Why does he have to be in my space here too?

  I storm through the rest of my lifting regimen with no shortage of huffs and puffs that do nothing to make me less irritated, but I do them nonetheless.

  My only saving grace is that when I’m finished and head to the locker room to grab my stuff, Holden Knight is nowhere in sight.

  At least there’s that.

  But my relief is short-lived when I head out to the parking lot and find him leaning against the back of some sporty SUV that’s parked next to mine. His legs are crossed at the ankles, and his head is down as he types something out on his phone. But he doesn’t miss a beat looking up when he hears my footsteps stop and the unhindered groan fall from my lips.

  “Here’s what I don’t get, Sunshine,” he says as if I want to be a participant in this conversation.

  “What’s that?” I cross my arms over my chest and hate him for being so damn good-looking.

  “How you can stand up to me without a second thought, but you don’t say a fucking word to your brother when he disrespects or discounts you?”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask but know I could name numerous things he could be referring to.

  “Today. Yesterday. Last week. Do you really want me to recount the various ways your brother has treated you terribly or is currently trying to fuck you over?”

  I roll my shoulders. It’s bad enough that Rhett feels entitled to act that way. It’s even worse that I’ve gotten so used to it and know that nothing is going to change, that I let it roll off my back most days. In my master plan, I’d get my ultimate fuck-you to my brother when I take the company from him after convincing the board to pass a no-confidence vote. But for now, it’s downright humiliating being called on the carpet by a man I need to think highly of me.