“The funds were supposed to be in our account by the close of business. It’s past then so I don’t want to hear shit about missing the bank’s wire deadline or something like that. You knew the deal was closing today. The money’s not here. It’s been less than two hours and you’re already defaulting on your promises.”

  My chuckle is a low, unforgiving rumble as Chad comes into view behind him. Don’t have the balls to confront me yourself, Rhett?

  “Surprise. Surprise. Chad’s here,” I say. “What’s that saying? Two’s a crowd, three’s a party?”

  “Rhett’s right. Only a very small portion of the funds is there,” Chad says.

  “Yeah, like you forgot an extra zero,” Rhett spits out.

  “First off, I haven’t defaulted on shit.” My smile is a sarcastic fuck you. My hatred for these two runs deep. “Second, the funds are there. I double-checked myself. I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about.”

  “The purchase price was one hundred million,” Rhett says.

  “I’m aware. I, too, signed the docs,” I say.

  “Only ten million is in the account,” Chad says.

  “Yes. I’m aware of that too.” I give a measured nod and bite back my smile that wants to gloat. This is what happens when you’re so eager robbing Peter to pay Paul that you don’t read the fine print.

  You had the chance to fix this, Rhett, but you were so goddamn eager, you dismissed your legal counsel’s advice during our meeting last week.

  “I don’t fucking care, Kyle. So long as the structure is the same, we’re good to sign,” Rhett says, pulling the papers from his lawyer’s hands and shaking his head.

  “But—”

  “But what?” Rhett snaps. “Is the ownership divvied up how we agreed? Are the board members the same? Do I still have four percent more than Rowan in total company holdings? Yada yada yada.”

  “They are,” Kyle says.

  “Is the purchase price the goddamn same?” Rhett barks.

  Kyle nods and meets my eyes across the table. “I still think it’s best—”

  “I don’t need to fucking think,” Rhett says, desperation in his voice and sweat on his brow.

  “As your attorney, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t advise you that it’s best if you reread all of the—”

  “And as your client who’s paying you a hefty sum, I demand to get the goddamn deal closed and the money transferred. That’s what I want. I need…” He shakes his head as if it’ll erase that last sentence.

  But I heard it.

  I know how it was supposed to end.

  You need … the fucking money, don’t you, Rhett? That land you thought you sold, the land you bought thinking it was a good deal but got snowed on because of your greed. The land you’re trying to snow some other unsuspecting sap into buying—that deal? It fell through this week and now you’re desperate.

  You emptied your family’s trust to buy that land and sustain the loan. You siphoned money out of this company to play the shell game, put the money into the trust so no one in your family noticed it was missing. You’re banking on this deal to save your ass, to prevent the loan from going into default, before anybody other than a trusted few figure it out.

  But you’re so goddamn greedy, so focused on the end game, that you’re refusing to see the forest for the trees.

  Why would a guy like me, the man who shows up out of the blue offering to buy a company that’s not for sale, do anything other than be your hero? Why would I try to screw you over when you are banking on me saving you?

  The devil was once an angel too, Rhett.

  Be careful who you put your faith in—especially when your back’s against the wall and you reek of desperation.

  “You sure you don’t want to take a moment to read things over again?” I offer. “The last thing I’d want you to do is to sign the deal without being one hundred percent informed.”

  Rhett’s attention switches to me. His hands fidget. His eyes flicker about. He’s so goddamn high on the prospect of finally getting his ass saved that he can’t see anything else but the dollar signs. He’s jonesing for this final fix.

  Exactly what I was planning on.

  “No. I’m fine.” He grabs a pen from the center of the table. “We’ve waited too fucking long to get to this point as it is.”

  “So where’s the other ninety million?” he asks.

  “In the escrow account like we agreed upon.”

  “So get it out. Get it transferred,” he demands with a frantic look to his business partner. His land deal partner who has emptied the family coffers as well.

  “I can’t.”

  “What do you mean you can’t?” His voice breaks.

  “Just what it sounds like. I can’t. That’s the point of the escrow account,” I say. “Ten percent up front to be dispersed among all the shareholders commensurate with the number of shares they own. The other ninety percent is to remain in an escrow account for a year so long as a set profit margin is retained. After that year fifty percent will be dispersed. Then after the second year the remainder will be. What exactly is the confusion over?”

  Rhett swallows and stares at me with confusion etched in the lines of his face. “That wasn’t the deal.”

  My smile is a slow crawl. “But it was. Your lawyer tried to review the terms with you. You told him no.”

  “Bullshit.” But the flicker of fear in his eyes says he’s questioning himself.

  “Not from where I sit.” I roll my chair back and pull the signed contract out of my top drawer. I drop the stack of papers on the desk with a thud before thumbing through it as both Chad and Rhett move closer. “Right here.” I point. “Section four. Clause five. It’s the payment terms. They’re all laid out. Right there. And your signature is a few pages after, agreeing to them.”

  When I look up, it takes everything I have not to gloat.

  “What in the flying fuck. That wasn’t in the original terms. That—”

  “By the number of hours my lawyer is charging me, I’m more than certain she went back and forth with your lawyer numerous times. It’s called negotiating. It’s called settling. There’s nothing shady in this deal. I assure you.”

  “But … why?”

  Why are you a greedy fuck who didn’t understand the terms of his own deal?

  Why do you need a better lawyer?

  Why are you so desperate for money that you refused to read the fine print?

  “Why?” I chuckle. “It’s a standard practice in large deals. It adds a guarantee that you won’t try to sabotage your own company. That you can’t try and deplete its capital, its staff, its whatever if you suddenly regret making the deal. And it’s a guarantee on my end that I can’t sabotage it from the inside—unless of course I don’t give a ‘flying fuck.’ That was your term, wasn’t it?”

  Chad yanks the paper out of my hands. He reads it, his eyes growing wider as each second passes. So much for being an awesome COO, huh, Chad?

  “You motherfucker,” he mutters.

  I smile. I dare him to look closer than he’s ever looked before. But then again, he never stopped to look into my brother’s eyes, he never stopped to help or even acknowledge he killed him even when he was found out, so how would he know?

  “You slimy piece of shit,” Rhett says.

  “Wow. I’d think you’d reserve that for the lawyers who worked out the deal, but hey”—I hold up my hands—“who am I to judge?” I chuckle and take the signed paperwork back, sliding it back into the top drawer. “Relax, Rhett. The time for cold feet is over. Besides, your cut of the ten mil should be more than enough to hold you over for the next year, right?”

  Rhett looks at me with shell-shocked eyes. “Wait until—”

  “Until what? Until who finds out?” I ask, knowing exactly where he’s going with this. And his glare only confirms it. “One, you signed a nondisclosure as part of the terms of the contract, so no one knows the deal is done until I announce it. And no one knows the terms of it—ever. Two, you complain to others about the deal? It only ends up making you look stupid and people look closer at why you’re so upset. Is there a reason you’re so upset, Rhett?” I bait him and I fucking love every goddamn second of it. Of this.

  “You conned me. Us.” He spits the words out.

  “I did no such thing. It’s in your hands in black and white.”

  His jaw is clenched so tight it’s a miracle his teeth don’t crack.

  “Is there anything further I can do for you?” I ask. Blank stares meet my amused one.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  Rowan

  “Holden needs your assistance.” I look up at my doorway to see Audrey and her ramrod-straight spine standing there.

  While I’m getting used to her presence, I’m still not sure what to think of her … nor do I exactly know what she thinks of me. She’s not the warmest of people—unless you’re talking about Holden. When it comes to Holden, Audrey is a completely different person. She’s softer, more personal. Her smile is genuine. Her tone gentler.

  And for some reason I don’t understand, I want to win her approval.

  “Oh. Okay. Is he in his office?”

  Her smile is tight. “No.”

  “The conference room?”

  “No.” This time there is no smile.

  “Have I done something to offend you, Audrey?” I ask the question that is on my mind every time I interact with her.

  She studies me. Her eyes narrow and her lips pinch momentarily as if she has to think about things. “The last thing Holden needs right now is to be distracted. There is too much at stake for him if he is.”

  “Good thing the deal will be finalized soon, and he can figure out his own distractions for himself, right?” I ask, more than peeved at her implication that I’m a distraction.

  And if she thinks that, then does that mean she knows about the two of us?

  The pinched mouth returns. So does the all-business attitude. “He’s off-site, evaluating a new asset.”

  “Oh.” Is that why he’s been holed up in meetings all day yesterday and nowhere in sight today?

  “He sent a car to take you to him.”

  “Okay. Um…” I don’t even know what to say. Other than a few comments in passing over the past few days, after the break room incident, we haven’t exactly had time to talk much. Sure, we’ve exchanged a few texts back and forth. Some flirty. Some professional. Neither have addressed that situation and I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. Regardless, it’s fallen by the wayside since we’ve both been seriously busy.

  Me buttoning up the deal Holden made with GWA—which he has stayed completely out of. And Holden behind a lot of closed doors in meetings during the day, and then at night out entertaining some old clients who are in town.

  Besides that, for some reason that I can’t put my finger on, there has been a tense undercurrent in the office the past few days. A lot of closed doors and not much of the lighthearted banter we’re used to.

  Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’ve been working too much with not enough downtime.

  I’ll admit that every time I come home, I’m a tad bummed not to find him sitting in the shadows of my porch waiting for me.

  “Should I tell the driver you’re on the way down?” she prompts. Clearly in her eyes I’m taking too much time and that’s her blunt way of letting me know.

  “Yes. Sure.” I rise from my chair and look around as if I’m not sure what to bring. Within seconds I have my purse and my phone in hand, head down the elevator, and get into the waiting car.

  Curious but not overly distracted by Holden’s request, I get lost in answering emails on my phone during the drive. My immediate assumption is that I’m being driven out to meet him at one of the properties he had me researching.

  I’d provided a long list. He most likely has narrowed it down and wants my opinion. I don’t know why that makes me feel good, but it does.

  The assumption is logical enough, but when the car jostles over something and I look up, I’m more than confused.

  Why are we at an airport?

  Moreover, why are we not just at the airport, but on the tarmac?

  What is going on here?

  I immediately sit up straighter, my head on a swivel as I look around before landing on the jet we’re headed for. It has a matte black exterior, a “KH” logo on the tail that I know stands for Knight Holdings, and a black carpet rolled out beneath a set of airstairs leading up to the open door.

  The Rothschilds have always had wealth. We’ve never done without. We have a huge trust of old family money. Hell, Gran has thirty million sitting somewhere for me alone. So we’re not poor by any means … but a private jet? And not just one to rent for a trip but one that he owns? That’s a whole other level of wealth that I don’t think I fully wrapped my head around Holden having until right this moment.

  “Here we are, Miss Rothschild,” the driver states as he pulls up to the edge of the carpet.

  If the logo weren’t on the plane, then I’d be questioning if we were in the right place. But it is.

  “Thank you,” I murmur as I exit the car, nerves suddenly bouncing around inside of me for some odd reason.

  Maybe because we’re always on my turf and for the first time in whatever this is, we are 100 percent on his.

  I take the stairs up to the plane and stick my head in the cabin as if I’m afraid of what I’ll find. But that fear is erased instantly when I see Holden sitting at a table on the right side of the plane. His laptop is out, his cell is to his ear, and he’s having an animated conversation with whoever is on the other end of the line.

  He sees me when I walk in and his face lights up in a way that affects me way more than it should. He waves to me to come in with his free hand.

  “Yeah. I get it. But the offer remains off the table. I said to let them stew, so let them stew. Antsy sellers are the best kind.” He nods even though the person can’t see him. “I have a feeling this owner is a bit more eager than most. Mmm-hmm. I know. But getting fucked over is part of doing business sometimes. Great if you see it coming. It sucks if you don’t.” He shrugs, his eyes still on me. “No skin off my back. Yeah. I know. Okay. We’ll talk later, but for now, don’t respond to the agent. Say I’m busy. Yep. Got it. Later.”

  He gives a nod as he ends the call and tosses his cell on the table in front of him with a clatter. “Sunshine,” he says, rising from his seat.

  “Hi.” I look around and smile at the two flight attendants in the back who are eyeing me subtly while pretending to keep themselves busy.

  What are they thinking? Is this normal for Holden to invite women on his jet, or is this new to them?

  I’d like to think it’s a rarity but I’m not that naive.

  I take a polite step to the right of Holden, turning my face so the kiss he plants hits my cheek to let him know we are being watched.

  His laugh is bombastic as he grabs my face and kisses me directly on the lips. I freeze. “I can’t kiss you on my private jet, but you’ll suck my dick in the server room?” he murmurs quietly against my lips. “You can do better than that, Row.” He brushes a lock of hair off my forehead as he studies me. “Besides, they are all bound by strict confidentiality agreements. They won’t break them. I make sure of it. The consequences are too dire.”

  “So you do things on your jet often enough that you need confidentiality agreements?” I ask.

  “Business deals. Meetings. Private conversations. If that’s what you’re talking about, then yes,” he taunts, almost as if he can see my mind spinning tales of him having sordid sex with someone at thirty thousand feet. “But I have a feeling you’re asking something entirely different.”

  “Perhaps,” I whisper.

  “Don’t let your imagination run too wild, Sunshine. Save some of that wild for me.” And this time when he goes in for the kiss, I don’t fight his tender brush of lips against mine. I don’t dodge the quick delve of his tongue to touch mine. He emits a soft groan that has my body reacting viscerally. His fingers loosen on my chin as our lips meet softly again. “Promise?”

  I nod. “Promise,” I whisper.

  When he takes a step back, there is a wickedly mischievous glint to his eyes and widening of his grin.

  “What?” I ask, surprised over the shift from sweet and soft to suddenly mysterious.

  “Nothing.” He lifts his brows and points to the seat across from his as he sits. “Take a seat. If we want to stay on schedule, we need to get taxiing.”

  “What do you mean stay on schedule?”

  “We are on a jet, Rowan.” He winks. “Flight plans aren’t the easiest to change.”

  “I—but—why are we on a jet? Are you going to look at property? Are we meeting with a potential client? Audrey said you needed my help on something. Why am I here?”

  He angles his head to the side, staring at me in that way of his that makes me feel seen and undressed at the same time. “How about all of the above?”

  “That’s not giving me much to go on.”

  “Little Miss Always-in-Control Sunshine doesn’t always need to know everything.” He flashes a grin that I hate to admit makes me melt.

  I glare at him in response as a small part of me—the romantic part of me that I’ll swear to any and everyone else doesn’t exist—might silently sag, realizing this is just a business trip.

  My mind goes back to our dinner on the beach. To being free to kiss him in public and just be normal with him.

  The part of me who holds tight to that night, who sticks her head in the sand instead of acknowledging that the “more than sex” part about that night meant something to me, deflates a little.

  “Is something wrong?” Holden asks.

  “No. Of course not.” I muster a smile.

  “You sure?”

  I nod. “Yep. Everything is fine,” I say as one of the flight attendants approaches to inform us that we need to put our seatbelts on as we’ve gotten clearance from the tower.

  Her eyes linger on Holden longer than they should. Her smile is fake; her cleavage in a conservative uniform is somehow pronounced.