“Good, man. And from what I hear, Jeremy McBride is doing fantastic things, too. How’s the consulting gig?”

  “Lucrative. I can’t complain. Being my own boss is great, but you know I’m all about making money. Speaking of… You still working for Evan Cook? Or is it my lucky day and you’re calling me for a job?”

  I’m not, but he doesn’t need to know that. “What if I was?”

  “You could write your own ticket, my friend. A lot more money and a lot fewer hours. It’s pretty sweet.”

  “I’m sure. But Evan moved me to Maui. It’s fucking awesome here. Way better than Phoenix.” Where I’d probably have to relocate to consult with his mainland clients face to face. No, thanks.

  “Yeah. I can’t compete with that…unless you’re getting island fever?” he asks hopefully.

  I snort. “No chance.”

  “Hey, a guy can dream, right?” He sighs. “Seriously, I can’t hire you away from Evan? He speaks geek-tech. You and I, man, we speak the universal dirty language of money.”

  No arguing that, and that’s exactly how I’m going to bend him to my will. “We do. That’s actually why I’m calling. I hear you picked up a side hustle with Reservoir, Inc.”

  “Yeah. Word travels fast. I just inked that deal Friday afternoon. How the hell did you find out?”

  “I have a great network.”

  “You always have,” he says like he’s in awe.

  No idea why. He works his contacts over like a good whore. He touches them thoroughly, leaves them satisfied, and stays easy to find for the next trick.

  “Listen, strictly between you and me, I might be interested in jumping ship,” I lie. “Maybe. But I’m going to want an obscene salary to do it.” I toss out a number that borders on ridiculous.

  Predictably, McBride chokes. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am. But let me prove it to you.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “Let me take the Reservoir thing off your plate.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. It would save you a shit-ton of research…”

  “You got me there. I know squat about the data storage biz.”

  “And you’ll need to in order to really help them. After a decade with Evan, that’s my bag. I could solve that shit in my sleep. And hey, I’ll even work this one for free.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch.” Except I’m going to fuck your client out of a deal.

  I feel vaguely guilty, but that’s business. Besides, I’ve looked into McBride’s situation. It’s goddamn rosy—way better than I thought a guy who vodkaed his way through the last two years of college would ever do. He doesn’t need this gig to go well half as much as Evan needs them to go the fuck away.

  “Bullshit,” Jeremy tosses back.

  “Let me prove to you I’m worth the exorbitant salary. Give me the client. I’ll do it pro bono. You’ll see.”

  “It’s a conflict of interest. You’re competitors.”

  “We won’t be if I come work for you.”

  He pauses.

  Since I can almost hear the indecision rattling in his head, I lean on him a little. “C’mon. Don’t you want to free up some time to spend with that hot blonde you’ve been shacking up with? Sorry. What’s her name? Avery?”

  “Aria.”

  “That’s right. Pretty name for a gorgeous girl. I heard a rumor you two were getting married. When’s the big day?”

  “We split up last week.” And he sounds crushed.

  Shit. I didn’t hear that from the grapevine. “Oh, man. I’m sorry. What happened?”

  I don’t really have time to care, but I actually like Jeremy. Though screwing with this one account won’t mean much to his thriving business, some girl messing with his heart pisses me off on his behalf.

  “Apparently, she’s been fucking around on me—with my older brother. Who got her pregnant. It hasn’t been a great week.” He sighs. “So if you want to take this account off my back…”

  “And give you time to deal? You got it.”

  “If you’re as good as I think you are, I’ll hire you when it’s over. Hell, I’d hire you now, but that salary…”

  “Which is why I’m going to prove it to you first.” I BS him again. “We’ll talk about it when I’m done, okay?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “Fill me in. What does the client want?”

  “It’s weird. They say they want help eliminating redundancies and inefficiencies so they can streamline overall. But Bruce Rawson should know this stuff.” Jeremy sounds confused.

  True that. Rawson is too savvy to need the basics. After all, he built Reservoir by himself over the last half-dozen years. “But he doesn’t seem to?”

  “Hard to say. I’ve only talked to an assistant. Once the deal was done, Rawson had me contact his oldest son, Shane. We’ve traded emails since then. But I haven’t personally spoken to the old man or the kid yet.”

  That’s unusual. “And?”

  Jeremy hmms like the client is taxing his strained patience. “Confidentially? Shane Rawson is an idiot. If his dad thinks he’s taking over anything more complex than sweeping the floors, I’m not surprised they asked for my help.”

  Why doesn’t the old man just teach him? “When do you fly out to see the client?”

  “I don’t.” His tone says he finds that even more puzzling. “Rawson senior wants to do everything over the phone, like I’m a dirty little secret.”

  “Huh.” That will work in my favor. “No problem. I can handle it.”

  By convincing them the Wynam job isn’t right for them…

  “Thanks. But listen, you have to pretend to be me. I promised them personalized, white-glove treatment.”

  And Jeremy doesn’t want to let the new client down. “You got it.”

  “Really? Thank fuck. I appreciate that—and the call. And I appreciate you being a pal.”

  The fact I’m not makes me wince with guilt again. We hang up, and I make a few calls so he’ll get a delivery of a very friendly stripper and a few liters of Cîroc to help him forget Aria. And hopefully, he’ll remember my gesture later, when he finds out what I’ve done.

  February 26

  * * *

  Eight days later, at two o’clock in the afternoon Dallas time, where Reservoir’s offices are located, Shane Rawson returns my calls. Finally, we’re getting down to business.

  “Thanks for coming on board. You were really highly recommended, McBride.”

  I’ll have to get used to being called by Jeremy’s name with these clients, but it’s a small price to pay to shove them off Evan’s back.

  “I appreciate the opportunity. I’ve admired everything your father has accomplished. Over the years, he’s built multiple businesses into successful powerhouses.” Then smartly sold them off and made bank. “Reservoir is just another one of his fantastic achievements.”

  “Hmm. Yeah.” His voice dips low. “Amazing.”

  Rawson’s eldest son should be enthusiastic about his dad’s achievements. And his words indicate that…but Shane sounds distracted.

  I’m hardly shocked, given his history.

  Shane Charles Rawson just turned thirty-one. He made decent grades in high school, but nothing to get excited about. He scored a 1095 on his SAT, barely above average. Yet somehow he was accepted into Southern Methodist University, one of the most prestigious private colleges in Texas? There’s a simple five-letter explanation for that: M-O-N-E-Y. Daddy bought Shane’s way onto campus.

  In his first semester, he was accused of sexually harassing a faculty member and getting a girl in his dorm pregnant. The following spring, his frat kicked him to the curb for dismal grades. Not long after, a state trooper pulled him over for underage drinking and driving. The cop didn’t show up for the trial to provide testimony—I don’t have to guess who paid him off—so Shane walked free. Then, just before finals, he dropped out because he was failing every class, including Introduction to Campus Life, which should have been an easy A. The guy didn’t even last a year in college.

  After that, he tried various occupations, everything from selling real estate to—of all laughable endeavors—being a race-car driver. He bombed. For the past two years, he’s been working for his dad with a puffed-up title that carries zero responsibility. Grumbles around the office are that Shane sucks at his job, partly because he’s not bright. But mostly because he doesn’t give a shit. Because he’s in the middle of a contentious divorce? Or because that’s just who he is?

  “Will your father be overseeing this company restructure?” I ask.

  “Oh, yeah,” he drawls long and deep, his breathing suddenly harsh.

  Is the guy feeling okay?

  “Good. That’s good.”

  “I mean, no. Dad put me in charge of this while he—” Suddenly, Shane sucks air through his teeth in a hiss, then moans. “Oh…”

  What is Shane Rawson doing? Shitting? Gaming? Masturbating?

  “Do we need to have this conversation when you’re less busy?”

  “Nah, I got this, McBride. It’s fine. It’s so”—he blows out a heavy breath—“good. Fuck.”

  No need to guess anymore. He’s masturbating.

  Son of a bitch.

  I close my eyes and try not to imagine this guy whacking off during our call. In fact, I’ll try to ignore his rough pants and moans altogether. “You were saying your father won’t be available for our streamlining efforts because…”

  I’d a hundred times rather be dealing with Bruce Rawson. He’s a wily bastard, and he would be difficult to bluff. But I’d rather have the challenge—and not have to listen to his son heaving and puffing into the phone like he’s working up to a monster orgasm while we discuss things like org charts and balance sheets.

  “He’s busy. I got this.” His gasping picks up pace. “That’s right.”

  “In order to get started, I’ll need your financial statements for the last five years.” Somewhere in those figures, I’ll find a reason to convince Shane that pursuing Wynam will be bad for the company’s bottom line. The rest of it… If I’m going to figure out how stiff Evan’s competition really is, I’ll need their most recent years’ numbers, especially anything to do with product launches, advertising budget, month-over-month revenue and expenses, along with all the data about employee compensation, so I can assess their profits and losses—and their prospects for the future.

  “Got the previous four years. But…oh. Hmm. We haven’t finished last year’s. Been too—oh, fuck—busy.”

  I slap my palm over my face. Listening to him jack off isn’t how I wanted to spend my Monday. “Do you have a delivery date for that?”

  After all, first quarter is more than half over, and I don’t know how they’re making decisions about the future of the company without assessing their financial health for the previous twelve-month period.

  “No. Fuck. Oh, goddamn.” He’s panting like a bellows now.

  If I didn’t have to talk to the asshole in order to clear Evan a path to our next big client, I would have already hung up.

  “Too busy?” I can’t resist prodding him.

  “Yeah. Yeah. That’s fucking it. Oh…yeah!”

  At his long, growled groan of satisfaction, I shake my head. He’s rude. This is fucking unprofessional. I like getting off, too. I admit it. But not in the office. I have zero respect for a guy who’s unable to focus on critical business more than his dick.

  “So if you can’t do this, who should I be talking to?” Hell yes, I’m confronting him. I have my usual responsibilities around Stratus, plus this gig for Jeremy. I seriously don’t have time for Shane’s self-pleasure.

  “Will that be all, Mr. Rawson?” A female suddenly purrs in the background, and I can all but hear her licking her lips.

  My jaw gapes wide. Holy fuck, Shane was getting a blow job? That puts him into the lucky column versus the loner one, but either way, he’s a loser. He has a multimillion-dollar company with huge growth potential at his fingertips—and he can’t think past his cock.

  Shane clears his throat. “Nothing else for now, Karly. Check in with me before you leave today. I might need more…dictation.”

  Eww.

  “Of course,” the woman eagerly agrees.

  I hear the faint click of a door opening, then closing.

  Does Shane think this shit is cute? Or that I’m an idiot? Whatever. “Rawson? Who should I be talking to?”

  “Um, try my brother, Brady.”

  The fitness model and Instagram influencer? What the hell does he know about data storage solutions? “When did he join the organization?”

  And if he has, will it make a difference?

  Brady is twenty-nine. He ran track, swam, and wrestled through high school. He got an athletic scholarship to some little school in Mississippi. He graduated with a physical education degree and no job offers. But he was already posting pics of himself in the gym, drinking protein shakes, posing half-naked in bed, and smiling for his growing legion of adoring fans. Now with a couple million followers, he’s picked up endorsement deals, modeling gigs, and even an acting role or two. As far as I know, he’s never stepped foot in Reservoir’s offices.

  This ought to be a shit show.

  “He’s volunteered to help out while…” Shane stops himself. “Well, temporarily. Um, he’s getting himself acclimated and isn’t bogged down in other projects yet. I’ll give you his number.” He rattles off the digits. “I’m sure he’ll have a lot more time to give you. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

  Then Shane hangs up.

  Good riddance. If I never have to hear the guy get sucked off again—which I’m betting is a regular occurrence—I’ll count myself lucky.

  Immediately, I dial Brady’s number. My hopes aren’t high.

  He doesn’t return my call until Friday. It’s eleven p.m. in New York City, where he’s currently planning a fan meet-and-greet over the weekend. But it’s five o’clock in Hawaii, where I was hoping to get the hell out of my office on time for once this week. When I see his number on my display, I sigh and drop back into my office chair.

  “Thanks for returning my call, Mr. Rawson. Your older brother said I could count on you to help me with this reorganization Reservoir, Inc. paid me to oversee. I need some documents Shane couldn’t put his hands on—”

  “Fuck. You’re not the Jeremy from Men’s Health?” I hear a shuffling of papers and what sounds like a party in the background, complete with loud music and laughing women.

  “No. I’m Jeremy McBride of—”

  “Shit. I need Jeremy Collins. He wants to talk to me about a shoot for the mag.”

  “Congrats, but I called to discuss your father’s company. I’ve been hired to consult about your structure and practices, make recommendations, and—”

  “That’s not my bag. Talk to Shane.”

  I grit my teeth. “I did, and he said to talk to you because you’re joining the firm to help out.”

  “The hell I am! I told him I’d pitch in when I got back to Dallas, but that’s not happening anytime soon. I’ll be in New York for a few weeks, then I’m jetting to Milan for a fashion show before heading to San Diego for a private photo shoot. I’m fielding a lot of offers this summer. I don’t have time to grow my fitness empire and do his job, too, especially when he’s too lazy to work, too stupid to understand his role, and too absorbed by getting his dick sucked to care.”

  Brady might be irritable and crude, but I can’t fault his insight. No, he can’t help my cause, but I have more respect for him than Shane. So I feel compelled to say something. “You realize that, in your brother’s hands, Reservoir—and your inheritance—will be down the toilet?”

  He scoffs. “I don’t care. I’m making six figures a month right now with plans to expand. I’m opening an online fitness platform next year.”

  It’s clearly a big deal to him. “Awesome. If you’re not interested in—”

  “Can I hook you up with a trial membership? It’s really an honor since, right now, the service is by invitation only.”

  “Thanks, but you’re into your online fitness platform as much as I’m into my job. You know how it is, owning your own kingdom and all.”

  “I get it. You’re cool, man. If you want something, maybe you should talk to Rogan. He’s way smarter than Shane.”

  “Isn’t Rogan a bartender?” I remember that from my online research.

  “Part-time. For now. But he’s got two fucking degrees. We keep hoping he’ll do something more practical with them than sling drinks.”

  “Why doesn’t he?” Not that I care, but I’m curious.

  “Because he hates mornings and he loves a different piece of ass every night.”

  I can’t say I don’t understand his motivation. “Since he’s still making cosmos for the single ladies of Deep Ellum, maybe you can help me get in touch with your dad?”

  Jeremy didn’t expressly say so, but I’m guessing the old man hired him.

  “No one told you?”

  “What? I’ve only talked to Shane so far.”

  He sighs. “What a fucking douche. Dad hired you to help my brother out, so what does he do? Pawn you off on everyone else—without telling you the truth.”

  “The truth?”

  “Dad is in a bad way. He’s getting older, and his doctors recommended he totally unplug for health reasons. Shane promised to handle everything, but I think he just planned to drop it all in your lap.”

  That doesn’t shock me. “Any idea how long your father will be away from the office?”

  “Until his health improves. Who knows when that will be?”

  “Well, I wish him all the best.”

  But maybe I can use this to my advantage… After all, if Shane is supposedly helming the organization right now—which he’s clearly not—who’s leading the charge to win Wynam’s business?

  I’d love to ask, but I can’t without risking my cover. There’s an answer, though. I’ll find it.

  “Thanks. I found Dad a great, out-of-the-way, ultra-private spa in the Catskills. He’s learning yoga and meditation. He needs to rewire his brain to be more in sync with his body. Frankly, I think he needs to sell Receptacle and—”