Page 11 of It's Not PMS, It's You

“Well, since the papers were never signed . . .” He cleared his throat. “Look, I’m not at liberty to get into the specifics of everything. I’m sure you understand that plans change. I’m sorry. Nothing personal. You know that I like your style. You’ve always been a straight-shooter with me and that means more than any business transaction, but sometimes it does come down to hard numbers, facts, and dollars.”

I nodded. “And Stewart? He’s been a straight-shooter?”

“Very much so. He opened my eyes to a few things that we overlooked, money we left on the table. Quite frankly, I was surprised that he knew so much about our company, but it was refreshing that he did his homework.”

He didn’t do any homework. He did your daughter.

I was tempted to mention to Teddy what the douchebag was up to, but I didn’t think it was my place to do so. Plus, I didn’t want to break the man's heart since he and his daughter were very close. I was sure I could solve this problem without him finding out about his daughter’s indiscretions.

“Did you already sign a contract?” I held my breath as I waited for his answer.

He shook his head. “I’m going to review the offer tomorrow and—”

“Mr. Markston!” a man called out.

Teddy gestured to the man approaching us. “Sorry, but I need to talk with Pete Jackson. Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

“I won’t.” I forced a smile and turned, walking toward Stewart Peters, ready to stick it to him.

He downed the rest of his beer, placed the empty bottle on the bar, and motioned to the bartender for another.

He turned to me, grinning. “No hard feelings?”

I shrugged. “Youtellme. You’re the one who’s going to come out on the losing end when all is said and done.”

He laughed. “Right . . .Thatis not going to happen.”

“Just watch.”

He took a step closer and stuck his chest out, like it was supposed to impress me. “You lost this round. Just accept it. Now why don’t you just run along like a good little girl?”

Here we go.

I took a step toward him. “You’re messing around with the wrong person.”

He eyed my admittedly impressive cleavage, bit his lower lip, and ran his finger along my arm. “Messing around with you isn’t a bad option at all. How much do you want this deal? Maybe we can work something out.” He winked.

His words were like a verbal tongue depressor.

I held off the gag reflex, grabbed his finger, twisted it, and clenched my teeth. “Touch me again and I will kick your balls so hard you’ll have to have them surgically removed from your stomach.”

He winced and yanked his finger from my grip, shaking it. “No need to go all psycho on me. Is it that time of the month?”

Another one who went there.

“It’s not PMS, it’syou. Now, here’s the deal, so listen up.Youare going to tell Markston you’re rescinding the offer.”

He laughed. “That’s not going to happen. It’s already a done deal and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Really? Because he just told me he hasn’t even looked at the paperwork yet. And there isplentyI can do about it.”

The bartender placed another beer in front of Stewart.

“Yeah? Like what?” He took a swig of his beer.

I shrugged. “I guess you’ll find out soon enough. In the meantime, why don’t you tell me how his daughter is doing? I hear you two areverychummy. Wait, that’s odd, aren’t you married?” I arched an eyebrow and stared at the wedding ring on his finger, waiting for my information to sink into his pea-sized brain.

Stewart glanced down at his wedding ring and then took a step back, like he had just let out some gas and didn’t want me to smell it.