When she turns for the door, I lose my mind…and my temper.

  “You fucking better not leave me.” I rattle my cuff against the metal pull impatiently. “Not like this.”

  “Hmm.” She turns back, finger pressed to her pursed lips that still have the power to snag my attention. “You’re right. Let’s trade. I’ll give you this”—she snaps the handcuff key on the desk beside her, way across the room—“and in exchange, I’ll take that.” I’m not sure what she means until she walks to the luggage rack and snatches up my rolling suitcase. “Thanks. When you get back to Satan, tell him I said he can fuck off, too, because Reservoir is here to compete.”

  When she strolls for the door, I gape at her. “Wait! You can’t just leave.”

  Once she walks out of my room, I’m afraid I’ll never get to explain. And I’m terrified I’ll never see her again.

  “The hell I can’t. We both know your seduction was bullshit.”

  It wasn’t, but I won’t convince her of that now, so I grasp at the first excuse to keep her here. “You can’t take most of my clothes and leave me butt-naked.”

  Sloan turns back to me, her hand pressed to her chest, lashes batting, as if she wonders how she could have possibly been so thoughtless. Bullshit. Sarcasm must be her middle name because it perfectly fits her now. “You’re right. I can’t take most of your clothes.” She plucks my pants up from the floor, leaving my wallet there when it tumbles out. “I’m taking all of them. Enjoy the rest of your evening. Buh-bye.”

  I should have known that 5 Seconds of Summer song playing in the bar last night was an omen. Sloan’s touch was so sweet, but she clearly fights dirty, and her heart has teeth.

  At least that’s what I’m thinking when I rip the drawer from the nightstand so I can reach the cuff key, then don the hotel’s provided bathrobe to find my suitcase and pants sitting next to the fucking elevator.

  Things go from back to worse when the next day dawns with an angry call from Evan.

  “’Ello,” I manage to rasp out, rubbing my sleep-deprived eyes.

  “What the hell happened? Sloan O’Neill left me a furious voice mail at the office, letting me know she has every intention of winning Wynam’s business. She also called me a cocksucker, then she told me I need a leash for you because you’re a lying dog.”

  I refrain from pointing out that it’s five a.m. in Dallas—and the middle of the night back home—and sigh. “She figured me out. I tried to do damage control, but…there’s no reasoning with that woman now.”

  “Seriously? I thought you were going to wine, dine, and recline her.”

  “I did my best, but she knew before I even reached the city that I work for the enemy. After that, nothing I said was going to matter.”

  “Well, fuck. The great Sebastian Shaw struck out? This is a first.”

  He’s not totally wrong. I’m not used to hearing no. It blows. “I wish I had better news, boss.”

  “We’re going to have to double-down to secure this Wynam deal because whatever you did lit a fire under her. She hates you.”

  “Oh, she made that abundantly clear.”

  “She’s already called Michael Astor and told him we’re black hats playing dirty pool. I don’t like this attached to our reputation.”

  In other words, he’s not happy, and I need to fix it. “I’ll do my best. You do damage control there and—”

  “Believe me, I am. After Wynam’s executive team here in London heard my presentation, they’d decided not to even hear Reservoir’s—until Sloan called. After she tattled to Astor, they invited her in on Tuesday.”

  No wonder he’s pissed. My feet haven’t even hit the floor, and my day has already turned to shit. “Sorry. I underestimated her. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  And I must be a sick fuck because my respect for Sloan has only grown. Her savviness, her moxie… I really can’t think of her equal. So I can’t stop wanting her. And I’ll be damned if I give up before I have her.

  “Good. Unfortunately, there’s shit going on at home. Someone broke into our house—”

  “A burglar?”

  “A killer. He tried to off Amanda,” he says of Nia’s half sister. “And her son. But—”

  I sit straight up. “Why? She’s sweet as pie, and that kid is just a baby.”

  “Yep. But Amanda’s ex has powerful enemies. Nia has the situation under control, and Amanda is with a bodyguard now. Until I get home, my wife will stay with Maxon and Keeley, who had a last-minute cancelation at their bed-and-breakfast, thank God. Maxon said that’s what family is for, and I’m grateful. My brother’s help allows me to stay here until late Wednesday, so I’ll do my best to mitigate whatever inroads Sloan makes in her upcoming pitch.”

  Unless I get to her before she flies out. But I won’t make promises to Evan that I can’t keep. “Sounds good.”

  “Be back in the office on Monday. And when you get there, you explain to my wife how this deal got fucked up. I’m not touching that…”

  Because Evan doesn’t like to get his hands dirty. Right.

  I sigh tiredly. “I’ll take care of it.”

  We ring off. After I call Jeremy to apologize and do damage control, I arrange both a car and a flight back, which doesn’t leave for twelve hours. That leaves me a lot of time to find Sloan. It might be a long shot, but I need to talk to her and undo whatever damage I can.

  I’m not sure where to find her on a Sunday. A phone call, if she even answered, would only piss her off more.

  This is going to require face time.

  After I hit the gym downstairs, I clean up and check out. Thankfully, the hotel will hold my luggage until I’m ready to head to the airport. But locating Sloan’s home address proves impossible. It probably doesn’t matter, anyway. With a presentation of this magnitude coming up, I bet she’s in the office.

  After grabbing a quick coffee and a protein bowl from a to-go restaurant downtown, I hail a taxi and take it the few miles to Reservoir’s offices. The building is older but pristine and clearly built when construction was short on chrome and long on charm with towering Doric columns, a sturdy portico, and dark edifices around the big windows. Despite the fact the sun has barely been up for twenty minutes, there’s a sedan in the lot. Just one, and I’m sure it’s Sloan’s.

  When I test the front door, it’s locked. But that won’t stop me.

  I trek around the building, testing a door here, a window there. All secure. Damn it, I know she’s in there…

  Just before I come full circle to the front again, I see a computer glare through a big picture window—and fiery hair twisted into a fat bun on top of her head.

  Gotcha.

  Pulling my phone free, I type out a quick text to her: Look behind you.

  On her desk, her cell lights up. Absently, she glances at it. Then she stiffens and whirls. When she catches sight of me, her face tightens. Her lips purse. She opens the window between us with a glower. “Leave. Or I’ll call the police. You’re trespassing.”

  On my way here, I thought of a thousand things to say to Sloan, ways to massage the situation. But the sight of her is a gut punch. She’s furious. That, I expected. But she looks tired. And it’s obvious she’s been crying.

  Suddenly, I can’t remember what I planned to say.

  Something thick and terrible gluts my stomach, turning over and over until I feel close to puking. I think it’s guilt.

  First, I failed Evan, which I’ll fix. But it’s clear I hurt Sloan. She’s trying to save her father’s company so she can win his love. The old bastard doesn’t deserve her. Sloan has so much drive, my boss and bestie would hire her in a heartbeat. But she sees Evan as the devil and me as his minion. We’re the enemy. And I’ve done more than stand in her way.

  I hurt her.

  That nearly activates my gag reflex again.

  Guilt is a bitch.

  “I’m sorry. I sincerely mean that.”

  “I don’t care. Go.”

  “Not until we’ve talked.”

  She cocks her head. “What exactly are you sorry for? Lying to me? Trying to undermine me?”

  No, all that was part of my job, and my motto has always been that if you don’t want to lose, you need to play the game better. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “Wait.” She frowns, puzzling out my words. “You’re not sorry for anything you did, just that you got caught. You didn’t mean to make me feel bad, but…oh well.”

  When she puts it like that… I wince. “Sloan, I—”

  “Stop. There’s nothing you can say. I don’t even know why you’re trying. We’re not allies. We’re not friends. We’ll definitely never be lovers. I have a mountain of work to finish before I leave for London tomorrow, so I’m not giving you a minute more of my time.”

  “Listen, not everything between us was a lie.” Why am I making myself vulnerable to her instead of going for the jugular?

  “Only the important parts. I hope you enjoyed fucking me over last night, Sebastian. Because I’m not even close to done fucking you.”

  With that, she shuts the window, flips me a middle finger before donning the headphones dangling around her neck, and lowers the shade.

  I knock. I text.

  Nothing.

  Clearly, she needs more time to cool off.

  But she’s out of her mind if she thinks I’m giving up on her. Maybe it’s the competitor in me. Or maybe it’s the man. Even though I’m returning to Maui tonight, Sloan will soon find out we’re nowhere near over.

  The flight back to Maui seems to take forever. Despite taking off around dusk, we fly toward the sun and I arrive back home to another sunny day in paradise. But I’m exhausted—mostly because I can’t think of a way out of this clusterfuck yet.

  When I walk in the door, my condo feels empty. My one houseplant is near death’s door, and I don’t have any mail that isn’t junk. Even the messages I received in-flight are all business related.

  I spend a rare evening alone, pacing in front of my TV while clips from the Masters tournament flash in the background before I catch the tail end of the A’s playing the Angels. But I’m so knotted up over my fucking debacle, I have no idea who won.

  The following morning is worse because now I have to face the music. Evan isn’t the sort to bite my head off or issue threats when I screw up. Nia is—and she won’t hold back.

  An early-morning text from my boss’s outspoken wife telling me to meet her at Maxon and Keeley’s place ASAP lets me know she’s not in the forgiving mood.

  I buckle up for a day of hell.

  The drive seems to take forever, and Fall Out Boy’s “Irresistible” blaring through my speakers sums up exactly where I’m at. Like second-hand smoke, I breathed Sloan in when we were together, but I don’t know what the hell she’s doing to me. I’m twisted in knots.

  By the time I arrive at the charming inn on the coast, guests are taking coffee on the lanai overlooking the ocean. Keeley leads others through a morning yoga session. Maxon kisses her as he heads for the office he shares with his brother, Griff. But his raised brow and his WTF expression tell me to brace myself.

  I’ve barely gotten out of the car when Nia slams out the front door and marches straight for me, rounding belly and all. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

  What’s the right answer here? It would cool her down if I admitted fault, but I hate to show weakness. Besides, look how well that worked out when I tried to talk to Sloan yesterday.

  Nope. I need another strategy—and a genius one occurs to me a split second later. I can disarm Nia and get some intel at once. “Probably, but I could use your help. I thought I spoke female pretty well, thanks to my sisters, but I misread this one.”

  Nia rolls her dark eyes, and the flush staining her umber cheeks tells me she’s pissed as hell. “We’re all still on the same team. Right?”

  Is she questioning my loyalty to Evan and Stratus? “Of course.”

  “Just checking. After your trip to Dallas, I wasn’t sure,” she jabs again, then softens. “I didn’t sleep much last night. I’m cranky. Follow me.”

  She leads me around the main house to the ohana, set back in a private garden with a secluded bench swing. When she climbs the stairs and opens the door, I look past the rumpled bed with the robe draped across the corner to the spectacular ocean views that fill every window.

  “This is our war room for the next three days,” Nia says, gesturing me to a bistro chair in the corner. The accompanying table has been moved to the lanai outside. In its place sits a card table, where her laptop is already humming.

  “Three days?”

  “Until Evan boards his flight home, we’ll be here supporting him in every way we can—facts, reports, charts, and whatever else Wynam wants—so we get them to sign on the dotted line. Don’t count on a social life until then.”

  “Wasn’t planning on it.” Especially since I haven’t been able to shake off my fascination with Sloan.

  “Don’t plan on sleeping much, either. We have tons of work to do, starting with a damage-control strategy.”

  I’m sure work piled on my desk during my absence, but nothing is more important to Stratus’s future than securing the Wynam deal. “I’m all yours.”

  She settles into the chair across from me. “Good. Before we start figuring out how to untangle this mess, tell me how we got here in the first place. Evan was vague, except to say that you got played. I never thought I’d see the day a woman pulled one over on you.”

  Yeah. Me, either.

  I fill Nia in, minus the juicy details. Not that I want to vomit up this crap, but she’ll keep after me until I do. Besides, whatever I don’t tell her, Evan will. Explaining just speeds up the process so we can root-cause this bad boy and figure out how to untangle my disaster. And I’m hoping Nia can help with my Sloan problem. After all, she’s savvy. She’ll be able to interpret the fiery redhead.

  When I get to the end of my story, she simply shakes her head. “I’d ask if your balls are bigger than your brains, Shaw, but I already know the answer. No wonder she’s gone scorched earth.”

  The reason seems obvious to Nia…but I didn’t foresee this much anger. “I should have expected it?”

  “Of course. God, men can be so dumb. She’s coming for you and she’ll destroy whatever’s in her path.” Nia sighs and makes her way into the kitchenette. “I haven’t been drinking coffee during my pregnancy, but I’m going to need some for this day.”

  “Is Sloan doing it because she’s vindictive?” I can’t picture that. She’s got a good heart.

  Nia shoves a pod in the single-cup brewer and presses the button. “Are you really that lost?”

  Isn’t it obvious? “Spell it out.”

  “She’s angry, right?”

  “Furious. I’m pretty sure she hates me.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “I tried to mess with her business.”

  Nia shakes her head. “No. Well, you did. But Stratus has been doing that simply by competing for a while now. She didn’t come after you—or any of us—guns blazing, then.”

  Nia has a point. “So you’re saying she’s coming after me now because I made it personal.”

  “Exactly. If she’s anything like me—”

  “A lot like you.”

  “Then she resents that you got to her,” Evan’s wife says as if that explains everything while she reaches for the powdered creamer.

  “I’m still lost.”

  Nia huffs. “Do you get mad at someone if they don’t mean anything to you?”

  “No.” And finally I grasp what this brilliant woman is telling me. “I doubt she does, either. That would explain why she’d been crying.”

  “Crying, too? Oh, then you’re in a heap of shit. How did you not figure that out?”

  “I thought she was angry that I played her. Or panicked that I might have ruined her opportunity to win her dad’s affection. Or…” But as I’m explaining, I realize that, while Sloan cares about that stuff, she’s never had her father’s affection. She’s too pragmatic not to know she might never.

  That means she cried about me. Because I bruised her heart. Because she doesn’t show her vulnerable side easily, and I conned her into doing just that.

  That thought disturbs and thrills me at once. I hate that I hurt her, but I love that she cares enough to let me past her defenses. Or at least she did.

  But now that I really think about it, I know she cares. Otherwise, she would never have kissed me, gotten naked with me, or begged me for an orgasm. Yeah, maybe she did that to torment me because she had to know I was hard as hell for her. But it’s likely she did that because, deep down, she wanted me, too.

  Hot damn. I can work with that.

  The rest of the day is a blur of statistics, analysis, and reports. Evan calls to say he’s secured a meeting with Michael Astor directly after Sloan’s, and we all breathe a sigh of relief—before we start creating a follow-up presentation for him to give, finally emailing it at close to midnight, which is eleven a.m. the following day in London. He reads it over quickly and requests a few changes. Poor Nia climbed into bed a couple of hours ago, after losing a bout with nausea and most of her dinner.

  At nearly two a.m., I send Evan the final draft, then head back to my condo.

  After a quick shower, I crawl into bed, exhausted. But sleep won’t come.

  It might be stupid or perverse, but I can’t resist texting Sloan, where her morning is just starting. I’m thinking about you.

  And the more I do, the harder I get.

  Immediately, she writes back. Fuck off.

  That makes me laugh. Clearly, Sloan is still angry. That means she still cares. I’m absolutely going to capitalize on that. I just need to figure out how.

  April 13

  By Wednesday, Evan jets home after what he termed successful meetings…but Wynam refused to say whether we actually won the account. The good news is, Michael Astor listened carefully to every word Evan said. The bad news is, Wynam’s CEO is apparently a difficult bastard to read.