Page 9 of Mad Rivals (The Bradley Legacy #1)

Could You Give Me a Ride

Is he freaking kidding me?

He’s doing this on purpose. He knows he just cornered me. I can’t say no in front of the client, but I sure as hell will give him a piece of my mind when we’re alone.

I don’t want to be alone with him.

I don’t even want to be in this office with him. He smells too good. Looks too good. Flirts too good.

I think back to my father’s words about the Bradley family. Under no circumstances am I to get involved with the Bradley family, which—fine. Okay. But what do I do now? SCS is forcing me to get involved with Bradley. We’re going to partner on this project.

I could easily hand this off to someone else in the office. Kenneth or Sara come to mind.

But I don’t want to hand this project off. I don’t want Sara getting close to him. Not because I’m jealous, but because he’s dangerous. He’s handsome and manipulative, and that’s a recipe for disaster.

I don’t even know if I can handle him, but since my dad owns VBC, I have a better shot at it than Sara .

We wrap things up with Simon, and he walks us out to the lobby after going on and on about how excited he is to work on this with both of us and our teams.

I’m decidedly not excited about it. I don’t particularly want to spend any more time with maddening Madden Bradley than is completely necessary, but apparently necessary just stepped up a few notches.

His car is waiting out front for him, and I’m the idiot who drove myself. I walk over toward my car, and he pauses by his car before he thinks twice and follows me.

I stop next to my little white Mercedes, and I glance over at him. “What?” I hiss.

He chuckles. “There’s a Starbucks just around the corner. Want to walk and talk there?”

I sigh. “Fine.”

“Give me a second.” He strides over toward his driver and says something, and the driver pulls out of the parking lot as he walks back over toward me.

“Did you send your driver home?” I ask casually as we start walking toward the coffee place.

He lifts a shoulder. “Figured you could give me a ride back.”

“You didn’t even ask,” I point out.

“Oh, right. Sorry. Could you give me a ride back to my office?”

“How do you know my office is anywhere near yours?” I demand.

“Because we were both on our way into the office when we met at Starbucks that morning, so I figure yours can’t be too far from mine, and Victor—the driver—has other shit to get to,” he says.

Okay, fine. Seems reasonable enough. Still, he doesn’t know I’m going back there.

It doesn’t matter.

I blow out a breath and pull my phone out to place my mobile order, and suddenly his big fingers are moving toward my arm, and he’s encircling my wrist before I even know what hit me.

His skin is touching mine. If he shifted his fingers infinitesimally, he’d feel my fluttering pulse as it picks up the pace at his proximity.

I refuse to give in to that feeling.

So he’s hot.

Big fucking deal.

I clear my throat as I fix a glare on him. “What are you doing?” I shake my arm from his grasp.

“I already ordered you one,” he says, and I don’t miss the hint of cockiness in his tone.

“So first you presume that I can drive you back to the office, then you presume to know my Starbucks order?” My voice is trembling with anger. God! The nerve of this guy.

“I do know your Starbucks order, but it was the other way around. I ordered in the elevator on the way down. Then I dismissed Victor.” His voice is warm and steady, and I hate him a little for it.

“Just because I ordered that once doesn’t mean it’s what I always order,” I point out.

“Okay,” he says, and there’s more than a hint of sarcasm there. “Then show me what you were about to order, caffeine queen.”

My head whips over to him. “Caffeine queen?” I repeat.

He lifts a shoulder, and then we’re at the door, so he pulls it open and nods for me to walk in first.

I know he’s not a gentleman. He can certainly stop pretending like he is one.

“It’s how I refer to you in my head,” he says, his voice low as I walk past him into the shop.

Wait a second.

Did he just admit that he thinks about me? I give voice to that thought. “You think about me? ”

He nods. “Yes. Mostly with irritation.”

I purse my lips. “Well I don’t think about you at all,” I lie. I think about how maddening he is all the time.

I’ve studied his Instagram. I’ve scrolled through the images of him on the field. I’ve recalled his words the morning we met, back when he called me gorgeous .

I’ve recalled my father’s words to stay away from him.

I think about him far more than I should.

He’s a forbidden fruit, and I need to stay away. I have to stay away.

“Okay,” he says on a chuckle as if he doesn’t believe me, but whatever. I don’t need him to believe me.

“Mobile for Bradley,” the barista calls, and two grande iced coffees sit on the counter. Madden walks over to pick them up, and he hands one to me.

“My treat,” he says.

“Thanks.” I narrow my eyes at him, not sure what his motivation is here. Knowing he’s got manipulation in his blood makes me nervous.

We find an open table near a window, and we sit across from each other with him facing the door.

“So you wanted to talk master planning?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “But obviously that was just a cover to get you here.”

“Huh?” I squeak.

He chuckles. “I need to confer with my team before we can really start talking master planning.”

“Yes, of course. So do I,” I say, though truthfully I have not the first clue what I’m doing, and I’m frankly shocked my dad sent me here this morning solo. He trusts me maybe more than he should, but he reminded me that I’m a bright businesswoman before I left the office.

“Where’s your old man?” he asks.

“Why do you care? ”

“Just curious. He was with you last time but seemed to be letting you take the lead. Are you taking over the company?” He tips his coffee to his lips, and for fuck’s sake, I’ve never been jealous of a coffee lid until this moment, but my eyes study the way his lips take on the side of that cup and suck in some of the liquid. It’s downright pornographic.

“Eventually,” I say.

“Me, too,” he says, and his jaw clenches a little at that. “Do you want to take over VBC?”

I raise a brow. “I don’t know you well enough to get into these sorts of details.”

“Right. I’ll take that as a no, then.” He clears his throat and looks away, and I get the sense that he doesn’t really want his father’s company, either.

I don’t ask about it, though. This outing was his idea, not mine. He treated me to coffee, and it sort of feels like a date. But I won’t let it be one.

“Take it how you want. I don’t really care,” I say.

He looks surprised by my words. “Why are you angry with me?”

“I’m a diehard Bears fan,” I say. “I’ll never cheer for anyone else. Or for anyone that’s not on my team.” I smirk at him.

He clenches his jaw, and it works back and forth in a super sexy way for a few beats. Clearly he’s affected by the trade, and my words just pushed a button. I’m interested to hear more. I don’t push it, though. A friend might ask, and we’re not friends. If anything, we’re enemies.

Before he can respond to my clear jab that he’s no longer with the team, I add, “Aside from the fact that I have to split this project with you? How about the history between our dads?”

His brows dip together, and I conclude that he hasn’t heard the story.

“You should ask your father about it,” I say, and I raise my brows pointedly as I press my lips together .

His eyes flick to my mouth for a beat, and he shrugs. “Their history has nothing to do with us. Go out to dinner with me.”

I blow out a breath. I can’t deny the way my stomach clenches at his question. A guy who looks like him is interested in me ? And it’s not just that. He’s not just hot as fuck.

He’s a professional athlete who could have anyone in the entire universe, but for some reason his attention has landed on me.

He appears to be smart—smart enough to lead his office in this bid, anyway.

He’s the total package, and he’s from the one family my father warned me away from.

I can’t get involved with him, and especially not now. He’s my competition in business, his father betrayed mine, and on top of it, we’re going to have to work together at least to some degree since we’ve both been hired to work on this project.

“No,” I finally say.

“Why the hell not?” he asked, his ego clearly bruised.

“You’re not my type.” I fold my arms across my chest.

“What if I wasn’t asking you out on a date?”

My head feels a little dizzy that I assumed he was, and I’m not sure how to respond to that.

“Fine, I was,” he mutters. “Then let’s have a dinner meeting after we discuss the master planning with our teams.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m happy to meet you during the daylight hours in either my conference room or yours,” I say.

“So you’re heading up this project for VBC?” he asks.

Say no, Kennedy. Tell him no. Put somebody else in because you can’t get tangled up with this guy.

“Yes.”

Fuck.