Do I despise my brother right now? Of course I do. But the last thing I want Holden Knight to know is that there is a fissure between us. Fissures can be exploited. Taken advantage of. Used against you.

  I’ve already given him the advantage once. I won’t make that mistake again.

  “You’re not responding.” Irritation peppers his tone. No doubt he’s used to people being intimidated by him.

  “Here’s what I don’t get.” I stop at the window and look his way, still not giving him what he wants. “What’s a man with your background, your expertise in computer software, want with a company that sells alcohol. Spirits?”

  “Vices.”

  “So you like to exploit things. People. Norms.”

  His chuckle is a low rumble that reverberates through the room. “That was quite the leap, Rowan. Congratulations on going off the deep end as is expected.”

  “As is expected? You don’t know a thing about me.”

  “Hmm,” he says and the sound—judgment tinged with suggestion—tells me he thinks otherwise.

  “Keep playing your games. They won’t work on me.”

  “And yet you walked in here wanting to do just that. Play a game. Get the upper hand. Put me in my place,” he murmurs with a knowing arrogance that has me clenching my jaw. “You’re going to have to try a little harder if you plan to outsmart me. I’ll always be one step ahead of you.” He leans back in his chair, the squeak of it filling the silence. “Now, should we get back to the topic at hand? Your question about vices, in particular?”

  “Be my guest.” Asshole.

  “TinSpirits sells a good time—you, being the face of it, sell the idea. It also sells to the flip side. Those who use our product to escape their every day. To plug a void they need filled. Vices.”

  “That word has a negative connotation to it.”

  “There’s a light and a dark side to everything. You just have to look hard enough to find both.”

  “Wow. Bravo.” I make a show of clapping my hands. “Quite the show and yet you still didn’t answer the question. Why TinSpirits? Why the Rothschild brands?”

  The twist of his lips says he’s less than amused with me. Good. I’m not impressed with him either. But our eyes hold, and I take some pride that he’s the first to break.

  “I’m an entrepreneur at heart.”

  “Uh-huh.” I cross my arms over my chest and lean my ass against the windowsill. “An entrepreneur who picked up and moved across the country out of the blue.”

  He nods. “Ah. Yes. Well, you’ll learn I like to keep things close to the vest. I’ll leave the spilling of family secrets and the hitting on random strangers when tipsy to you.”

  My temper fires. “You’re an asshole. Trust me when I say I wasn’t hitting on you. If I’d known the real you—this you standing in front of me right now—I wouldn’t have been in the same room let alone breathing the same air as you.”

  He lifts a brow. I can’t quite read his expression, but I know I don’t like it.

  “You’re just as much of a coward as my brother.”

  He presses his hands against the table and stands abruptly, sending his chair rolling back into the cabinet behind him.

  “It would behoove you to remember who you’re talking to,” he says.

  I smirk. “Oh, I know exactly who and what I’m talking to.”

  He stands tall, looming over me from what must be a six-foot, two-inch frame. Undoubtedly, this posture—arms crossed over his chest, intense eyes pinning me to the glass from across the room—intimidates most people.

  I’m not most people.

  I cock my head to the side, begging him to argue with me. Fight with me. Let me tell you just how much I hate you, Holden Knight.

  Of course he doesn’t.

  “We’ll be working side by side going forward,” he says, his voice icy. “Late nights. Long hours. I’d suggest that you get your emotions in check. I would hate to have to let you go.”

  I push away from the wall, my head pounding. “You can’t do that. I’m the one who—”

  “Oh, I can,” he says, dropping his arms to his sides. “And I will without hesitation.”

  My mind races to find something to grab on to—something to level out the playing field in some way. “That would be a grave mistake on your part.” I walk across the room slowly, keeping my gaze glued to his. “Rhett? Chad? They’re the reason we’re in this mess, and it seems I’m the only one who sees that.”

  He lifts his eyebrows and gives me the slightest of nods as if to tell me his interest is piqued and for me to continue.

  “I’m the one who knows everything that goes on in this company.” Aside from the fact that they were selling it. “I do more around here than play golf and pretend to be an executive. I work. I’ve taught myself the ins and outs of this business, of this industry. I know it like the back of my hand, and you, sir, do not. I’m the one you need. Not them.” I stop a few feet in front of him.

  He squares his shoulders to mine. Despite his best effort to remain stoic, there’s a flicker of something, the tiniest crack in his veneer, hidden in the depth of his eyes.

  “I’m impressed. Truly. How many times did you practice that in the mirror?”

  “It’s the truth.” I refuse to back down. To let him disregard me.

  His smile is faint but there. “Did you ever think that there’s a reason you’re in my office right now and they’re not?”

  “What?” I ask, head tilting, eyes narrowing.

  “You’ve all but said it yourself. Everyone here discounts you.” He runs a finger over his bottom lip, and I hate that my eyes linger there. “Maybe I’m the only one who doesn’t.”

  I feel like I’m wading through a minefield. One wrong step and this could all blow up. Is he playing me? Mocking me? Or is he being serious?

  I don’t dare to lean too heavily one way or the other because his Jekyll and Hyde performance from the charity auction to the boardroom a few weeks later is fresh in my mind.

  “I’m not following you,” I say.

  “No? Then I guess I was wrong.”

  Wait. I scream the word in my head but don’t utter it. My mind spins as I try to figure out what game he is playing now. Pitting me against my brother? Making me think I’m helping him while he’s scheming against me?

  “What are you playing at, Knight?”

  He angles his head to the side and studies me. “The question is why are you here, Rowan? Why stay? Your brother disrespects you, your parents disregard anything other than your looks, and the whole damn town thinks you should be barefoot and pregnant—well, in heels and pregnant because that’s more Westmore, right? So why are you standing here fighting for something that clearly doesn’t want you?”

  Because I can’t walk away.

  Because this is where I’ve always belonged.

  Because I promised Gran I would fight.

  “What would it take to get you to tear the letter of intent up and walk away?” I ask, completely disregarding his question and suppositions.

  That toying smile of his returns full force. “There are only two reasons someone stays in a toxic relationship. They don’t have the money to leave, or they’re afraid of the ramifications. Which one is it for you, Sunshine?” He just quirks a brow in suggestion that has me turning my back to him and looking out the window.

  I don’t know how this conversation was supposed to go, but this wasn’t it.

  “Rowan?” His voice is a hushed murmur from right behind me, intimate almost, that causes chills to chase over my skin. I draw in a deep breath, steeling myself for his proximity and the scent of his cologne.

  I turn around, standing mere inches from him. His breathing is measured, his expressions calculated. I study the lines of his face.

  He doesn’t look the thirty-two years that the online stats give him. He’s younger somehow, yet comes off as wise and experienced. And damn it if he isn’t attractive in all the right kinds of ways. His build. The intensity of his blue eyes. The purse of his full lips framed by his strong jaw.

  He studies me too, making me shift from one foot to the other.

  “What more do you want from me?”

  “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to,” he says, and there is something in his tone that says there are many different meanings behind that comment.

  “Great. Perfect. I won’t.” Fuck this. I move toward the door. “Next time you want someone to spar with for your amusement, summon someone else. You’re wasting my time.”

  “Rowan.” There’s something in his tone that has me stopping in the doorway. “You’re allowed to look but not touch, right?”

  “What?” I turn to face him.

  “What if I allowed you to touch? To matter to this company?”

  My chuckle is disbelieving. “I’d think you’re full of shit just like the rest of them.”

  He tilts his head to the side and studies me. “No, I think you’re scared that I’m not. What if I gave you the chance? What if I let you help me? Then you just might have to prove your worth and the thought freaks you out because maybe you’re all show and no substance.”

  I grit my teeth, refusing to take the bait I think he’s throwing my way. The praise was first. Then the backhanded comment. Now the carrot dangled.

  He’s waiting for me to act with the irrationality everyone in this town expects from a female. I think.

  I don’t know.

  “Nothing to say to that?” He chuckles. “Then maybe I was right. Maybe you talk a good game but can’t back it up.”

  “This is amusing to you, isn’t it?” Just like every other male in my life.

  “How about you start small and stay in your lane, then?” He quirks an eyebrow. “What if I told you that I wanted to revamp our advertising campaign. The ads—the ones with you in them—are stunning, but they call to me. A man. Women drink, do they not? Isn’t that a massive demographic we should be courting? When is the last time you walked into a party and saw a man drinking a mixed cocktail out of a can? They don’t. We need new slogans. Male models on the beach—with you, of course.”

  “Alcohol is historically and typically marketed to men,” I say while staring at a man who is saying everything I’ve been espousing for months.

  I reject his suggestion out of principle. Off the assumption that he has somehow seen the proposals I gave to Rhett on this and is just using them to try to win me over.

  Minefield.

  Everywhere I look it’s a goddamn minefield.

  “And yet you’ve stated more than once in your online interviews that TinSpirits is anything but typical.” He folds his arms over his chest but keeps his eyes focused on me. “I think you’d jump at the chance to change things up. What’s wrong, Rowan? Afraid of change?”

  “No. I’m afraid of you.” The words are out before I can stop them. An honest answer when I should be anything but.

  He nods ever so subtly, arrogance brimming in every ounce of his posture. “A little dose now and again is healthy.”

  We wage a visual war. One I’m more than certain I’m losing as the entirety of this conversation repeats over and over through my mind. As I try to pinpoint what his angle is and his sincerity behind it.

  Or if I’m just a pawn in this game of his.

  “I don’t trust you.” The words are barely audible.

  “Nor I you,” he says casually. “But we have to start somewhere, don’t we?”

  There’s a catch here, and I can’t exactly figure what it is yet.

  “It takes a lot more than pretty words and flattery to win me over.”

  “I wouldn’t expect any less.” He pauses and the silence weighs heavy in the air, almost as if it knows what he’s about to offer next. “The way I see it, Rowan, is that you can either work with me on this deal or against me. It’s best that I point out that one option is assuredly better for you.”

  My curiosity is piqued. My reason is skeptical. “Why would I work with you?”

  “Your brother isn’t acting in your best interest.”

  “You say that like I should be surprised.”

  “If you’re not then me stating the obvious shouldn’t alarm you.”

  “Ah. So that’s what this is.” I draw in a frustrated breath as all the pieces of this conversation fall into place. “This is where you attempt to divide and conquer. Ask me to join you so you can make a show that I’ve turned against Rhett. Or Chad. Try to pit us against each other to make this acquisition easier for you. I may not be Rhett’s biggest fan, but I assure you I’m even less of one when it comes to you.”

  “And just like that you’re willing to side with him knowing you might be part of the collateral damage?” Holden gives a measured nod. “After all these grand speeches and defiant comebacks, I was expecting a bit more of a backbone.”

  “Nice try, Holden,” I say, my shoulders squaring and my anger simmering. “I don’t give a shit what you think about me.”

  “Don’t be mistaken,” he says, his eyes steeled against mine. “I’m not asking you to work with me because I want you to. I prefer to work alone. But you made a solid point earlier—you know the ins and outs of this business. I may very well be an asshole, as you so kindly pointed out…”

  I glare at him.

  “But I’m worth about four hundred million dollars.” He lifts his brows in emphasis. “I didn’t get here by making poor business decisions, and you, Sunshine, are a business decision.”

  I have no idea how to take that. It’s a compliment and a jab at the same time. My head dizzies from his words, the double-edged opportunity he’s offering, his cologne, and the smirk he casts casually across the room.

  I need to get out of here.

  “Are we done?” I ask.

  “Your hostility is blinding you in more ways than one. It’s a detriment; don’t let it be your downfall.”

  And with that, Holden Knight sits back down behind his desk and focuses on paperwork, effectively dismissing me.

  I stare at him for a beat more before stalking down the hallway, maybe stomping my feet a little harder than I should.

  I’m angry. Livid. Furious. At him for asking me. At him for thinking he can put a wedge between my brother and me to use to his advantage.

  And at myself for even considering it.

  ELEVEN

  Holden

  Goose bumps on her bare skin.

  A hitch in her breath.

  The pulse skating in her neck.

  Dare I say I admire Rowan Rothschild slightly? There’s a grit to her that I didn’t expect. That doesn’t negate who she is. How she grew up. The things she did or the last name she so proudly wants to represent in owning this business.

  Rowan Rothschild played her cards in my office the other day, and she didn’t even know it. She’s going to say yes to me. She’s going to partner up with me to screw over Rhett.

  I grin.

  And I’m going to fuck her in the process.

  A woman with a strong backbone and unapologetic defiance like hers? There’s no denying that it’s a definite turn-on.

  I’m rarely challenged by anyone, let alone an intelligent, stunning woman. To say she’s added an element of unknown to this whole venture is an understatement.

  To say I need to keep myself in check and not get distracted, even more so.

  Make no mistake, she’ll say yes, and I’ll have her twisted in the sheets beneath me in no time. I can’t say I won’t enjoy it.

  I will.

  I’ll take so much fucking pleasure in it. Mine. Hers. And because I’ll be taking one more thing away from them. I’ll get the company. I’ll get the face of it. I’ll leave them with nothing.

  I’m one step closer to my end game. To getting exactly what I want. I can all but fucking taste it.

  “Right?” Rhett asks.

  Only assholes hold business meetings in strip clubs.

  Assholes or men with small dicks who need someone to make them feel like they’re actually bigger.

  It’s pathetic, really, but no more pathetic than the two men sitting across from me in their expensive suits and holier-than-thou attitudes.

  As expected, some things don’t change.

  For them to think they are held in a higher regard than the rest of the TinSpirits employees and that their one-on-one meetings should take place here of all places. And together.

  Entitled, privileged pricks.

  “Right?” Rhett repeats.

  “Exactly,” I say more to myself than to him with no clue what the original question was.

  “So if we outsource marketing to a major PR firm, we can dismantle our own department and cut out that cost factor. Fewer salaries, lower insurance costs, fewer benefits. The trade-off will save us in the end.”

  I chuckle to myself, the sound silenced by the jarring music coming through the speakers overhead.

  Somehow the prick never ceases to amaze me.

  “So,” I say, not hiding my amusement. “Cut your sister out altogether?”

  “She’ll still remain the spokesperson. Ad campaigns and the like. I mean, let’s face it, that’s all she’s really good for.”

  “Hmmm,” I say, my finger strumming back and forth over my lips.

  “I’m talking more about her marketing department. I hate to say it, but our last four ad campaigns missed the mark. We told her they wouldn’t work. Some bullshit about changing the demographic. Pushing more to women. We had to shut her down, and her lack of enthusiasm for what we did approve shows in our sales figures.”

  Except your sales figures aren’t down, golden boy. It’s the increased expenses that are lowering profits. And Rowan’s denied vision is right.

  “Huh.” It’s all I say so that he keeps talking.

  “We could label it more as a restructuring. What I’d call smart business. It’s what you’re going to do anyway, right?” Rhett asks.

  “Last I checked, I can think for myself just fine,” I say above the hum of the music.

  Bide your time, Knight. Suck it up and only show your cards when you want to.