Page 13 of Never Dance with the Devils

I interrupt him, testing again, pushing harder. “Totally irrelevant. While Greg is a trusted advisor, he doesn’t have the final say so. I do.” I pause, letting that sink in. When I see the acceptance in his eyes, I throw him a bone. “I would very much like to invest in Jessup Enterprises…ifthe partnership would be mutually beneficial.”

He huffs out a sound that borders on a laugh, shaking his head like he can’t believe my bluntness, but men much better than him have been shocked by my audacity and said as much in much more forceful and colorful manners than Jessup’s overly expressive eyebrows and noises of distaste. My personal favorite was a potential client who told me I had ‘big, clanging, brass balls’. He meant it as an insult. Luckily for him, I took it as a complimentand made us both a shit-ton of money, because despite his being an asshole, his company had actually been a solid investment.

“Maybe I should talk to Cameron about this? Or Charles? Someone who can see the potential in my company that you seem unable—or unwilling—to see.” He flashes a shark-like grin, as though that was a checkmate and not a rude dismissal.

Does he seriously think he’s the first man to try to bypass me by requesting my father or brother? If that’s all it took, I would’ve been stuck in behind-closed-door analysis for the past decade, not leading investments valued in the billions before breakfast.

“That’s one thing that definitely won’t be happening today. You get me or nothing. Even with me, you might get nothing.” I glance at my Rolex, noting the time. “You should take advantage of my remaining attention because I have another meeting in twenty minutes and the next words out of your mouth will determine your future.”

There’s no meeting, but arguing with him—or anyone—about my right to be in my position has grown tiresome, and I want to light a fire under him to get this deal done.

Not because of David Jessup. In fact, his reputation has preceded him much the same way mine does, and I want his company in spite of him and his misogynistic, old-school ways. I have plans for it. He holds a patented process that I want to scavenge and use for another Blue Lake asset, but not at the expense of my own bottom line. And I’m not only talking about financial. If I walked into this room, with a man like Jessup, and begged for the chance to invest in his company, yes, I’d overpay for the privilege, but more importantly, wordwould travel fast in an industry like ours and my name would take a hit that I’d have to work for years to recover from.

Hard, bitchy, and cold are my calling cards, and I play them with skilled precision, enjoying it even more when someone underestimates me. Witnessing the moment of realization that they’ve been outplayed by someone they dismissed as a pretty placeholder but actually has more brains than beauty is one of my favorite experiences, as a woman and as a businesswoman.

Jessup’s jaw is clenched tight and for a moment, I think he might actually hold out. I tick my eyes down to my watch once more, and he snarls, “Do you at least have a base understanding of what it is we do?”

Of course I do. I’d bet I understand what his company does even better than he does, because while he might’ve started it, they’ve grown exponentially since the days where Jessup was working in his garage at night, and the staff he’s recruited since are innovative, creative, and forward-thinking. All things the man before me is not.

I smile politely. “Why don’t you explain it to me?”

He sighs in annoyance but steadies himself and launches into a twenty-minute explanation of Jessup Enterprises, from inception to current incarnation. I listen intently, ask questions at the appropriate times, and give him my complete, undivided attention, truly wanting to understand not only his company, but him.

By the end of it, I think he’s even forgotten to be upset with me. He’s passionate about his work, his company, and the processes they’ve patented, and that’s the insight I needed out of this meeting.

A man who loves what he does is a man who will do anything to succeed. Even if it means partnering with someone like me.

“Do you have any questions?” he asks, wrapping up.

“Just one,” I say evenly. “How soon can we get this contract signed?”

I wait a beat, and then another, watching as understanding dawns on his face. For all his bravado, he’s not a poker player with a good bluff, and his smile is genuine. “Send it over and we’ll get this thing done.”

“I’ll have Legal finalize everything and send it ASAP.”

“Sounds good.” He rises, his hand extended. I stand to shake with a more reserved smile.

“Thank you for coming in, Mr. Jessup. I’ll be in touch soon. Mr. Hernandez will escort you back downstairs.” I gesture to the assistant who’s been standing by politely, just outside the conference room’s closed door.

Once they’re gone, I grab my leather portfolio and head back to my office. As I walk down the hall, noise quiets and heads duck down into cubicles. I’m not well-liked at work, but I am respected, which is more important. I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to make money, and I do… a lot of money—for Blue Lake, for myself, and for every one of the employees who prefer to stay out of my way.

I hit the door of my office, already talking to my assistant. “Angeline, can you let Greg know that I’m in on the Jessup deal? He’ll need to loop Legal in for the contract and then send it to me before it goes out to Jessup. I’d like it to go over this week, if possible.”

Angeline has been my right-hand for over a year and she’s the best of the best. If I had a friend at work, it’d be her, except friendship doesn’t come with a paycheck.Still, I appreciate that she’s one of the few people who treats me like a human being and not a robot.

“Kayla… Kayla…” She’s calling out to me, but I’m halfway through the outer office, not stopping as I open my door.

Except my office isn’t vacant the way I expected. The way it should be.

There are two very large, very attractive men sitting in the chairs in front of my desk. Two men I thought I’d never see again and who don’t look all that happy to see me, either.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I whisper, the words falling off my tongue before I can reframe them into something more appropriate.

RIGGS

“They have a meeting on your schedule?” Kayla’s assistant says uncertainly as we rise to our feet and face them fully.

I don’t have to imagine the image we make, given reporters love to photograph Maddox and me together as some sort of representation of the brotherhood in the league. Shoulder to shoulder, we’re a wall of muscle, broad shoulders, and dark looks. But we tried to fit in, even discussing our wardrobe selections like we were teenagers going to prom, settling on classic slacks and crisp button-downs, the sleeves rolled up to show our forearms and overpriced watches, and polished dress shoes. It’s basically what we wear for press walk-ins before games, but today it’d been designed to help us fit in a conservative corporate office environment.